[APH] Falling in Love in New York City - (7/?)
Title: Falling in Love in New York City - 7 / ?
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.
“I honestly do not want to be here. I can think of a million other places I would much rather be. And do you want to know why? Because of you. So don’t even begin to fancy the idea of whisking me off to some dastardly cottage in the middle of nowhere, because I wouldn’t even dream of going to the corner store with you.”
“Arthur, mon cher, please listen to me.”
“No. The answer will continue to be no independent of the threats you’ll be able to muster. Do not waste your breath on such a ludicrous idea.” Arthur slammed the glass door open as he stormed into the office, promptly ignoring the dozens of eyes and ears now perked up to pick up the argument he was having with his boss. Some of the employees snickered, others sighed in annoyance. Another lovers’ quarrel; they seemed to host at least three a month. They got worse as time went by, too. Flinging the suitcase tightly grasped in his hand dangerously close to Francis’ face, he skidded to a halt between one of the aisles of cubicles. He shoved his index finger, hard, against the Frenchman’s chest. “And that is final. Not another word.” Venom dripped from the words.
Blue eyes stared at the flustered Briton, indignation bubbling close to the edge. “It is simply a business meeting. I cannot comprehend why you are being so stubborn about this!” Francis kept his cool while running long fingers through his loose locks of hair, sighing in order to vent the frustration and, what he thought was, obvious sexual tension.
“Business meeting my arse.” Arthur turned again, making his way towards his private office once the heaviness of everyone’s stares became too obvious to ignore. “You said so yourself. It was meant as a nice and warm and relaxing vacation to southern France. Some place where I could clear my head from all the venomous bitter hate that courses through my bloody fucking veins.”
The flush on his cheeks was also too obvious to ignore. Francis thought it to be endearing, thinking that Arthur was just being his old difficult self. “You look so handsome when you flush like that.”
“Fuck you, Francis. Fuck you and everything that comes out of that mouth of yours.” Cranking the door to his office open with more force than was necessary, Arthur threw his suitcase in the nearest chair. Without giving it a thought, he reached for the flowers that sat innocently on his desk and dumped it into the bin. No apology was offered in his behalf.
“Ouch.”
“Now if you’d be so kind. These are my work quarters and I would very much like to get my work done before I get home.” Taking a seat behind his small desk, Arthur turned on his computer and fetched some papers from a nearby drawer, promptly ignoring the Frenchman still standing before him. Arms crossed at his chest.
Pale gray walls did nothing for the Briton’s mood. The monotony that came encased with those four walls poisoned his already bitter state of mind. And the Frenchman only served as an amplifier to that constant desire to just run away from it. He was a grown man who had lived his life and thus far was not happy with the results of it, but he had learnt to deal. Had been through university, graduated, wasn’t exactly holding the highest of posts in the company but was pretty well up there. Decent pay check, a comfortable apartment, up-to-date car. All was well beside the not unusual credit card debt. Perfectly normal life, once he thought about it. Arthur’s problem lied within his twisted love life, and even as a grown man it took more of a toll than it should have.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Gave it a nice… homely feel.” Francis spoke up once the silence had settled for long enough and Arthur had begun typing away. He walked closer to the desk and absently spun the small Union Jack perched on a white mug that read ‘Brits do it better’ in bright red.
Arthur continued to type.
“Have I ever told you that the gray carpeting does wonders for your eyes? Not that they need much help, mind you. They are simply stunning.”
Fluid typing was the only sound that filled the silence.
“You would really love it there, mon cher.” The soft sigh that escaped the Frenchman’s lips sounded genuine, but even then, Arthur seemed to not give a damn. Walking around the desk, Francis leaned against the cluttered edge, nudging the broody blonde’s thigh with his knee. Shoving several papers to the side, he took the liberty to completely sit on it. He was the boss after all, he could have done whatever the hell he wanted and gotten away with it. Childish thing to do, yes, but there was no harm in living a little. Something he wished he could make Arthur understand. “It’s very much like England, you know. Rolling hills as far as the eye can see…”
“Don’t even dare.” The sudden outburst, though quiet, startled him. “Do not compare my country to that debauched rat hole you call a home.”
Though offended at the statement, Francis proceeded to inspect his nails. A longer silence settled then. Uncomfortable and charged. There was just no possible way to get through Arthur’s defenses, no matter how unstable and weak they were. The man was just downright stubborn and unyielding. It was unfair that Francis had offered him so much and all he got in turn was bitter hate. He had offered him a three week escape to the country, away from the city life and day to day hustle and bustle of the streets, and he had turned it down without batting an eyelash.
Tapping the tip of his shoe when he neared his breaking point, Francis turned to look at the complete mess on Arthur’s desk when something caught his eye. “You’ve got yourself a new ashtray.” It wasn’t a question, just a mindless statement. Picking up the small glass, he sniffed it curiously. It seemed unused.
“Why would I buy a new one when my own is perfectly fine? I just cleaned it out.” The words were muttered. His mind was completely settled in his work, filling several phone numbers into the data bank.
Francis stopped to think for moment when a thought came across his mind unbidden. It had been several days since he had last seen his temporal lover smoke. He narrowed his eyes and thought a bit harder, before briefly shaking his head. No, he had seen him smoking just the other day. It just wasn’t as frequent as usual. A soft smile settled on the male’s lips as he slid down from his spot on the desk and moved beside Arthur, softly threading his fingers through short blonde hair.
The typing stilled instantly.
A kiss was pressed to his temple.
Arthur looked up, but his cheeks didn’t color that time. It was too simple a kiss for Francis. It had seemed honest but something was looming. The Frenchman was beaming at him. His smiles were soft and seductive when they weren’t amused and laced with some hint of ill intent; he didn’t beam at anyone. “What is it?”
“Pardon?”
“Why did you kiss me that way?”
“I would gladly kiss you another way.”
He didn’t grace him with an answer. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that gave Francis that slight push to steal the kiss; it was the kind of silence that meant that, if he tried, he’d be castrated in less than a second. The Frenchman didn’t mind it. Now he knew that Arthur was truly just being stubborn. He only pretended to dislike and be repulsed by his actions when deep down he was lifting a load off his shoulders. Slowly but surely, Francis’ displays of affection were changing Arthur’s outlook on life. So far, the chain smoking was chopped down to the occasional cigarette. It thrilled him and gave him the hope that by the end of the week, his little Briton would agree to be whisked off into the countryside.
Green eyes stared defiantly at the swooning man, so rudely perched on his desk again. The glare faltered though, as he took in the hue of those blue eyes. They were nothing like his. There was no innocence in them, no honesty even when he was being honest. Being the way he was, Bonnefoy was still a cold man.
His bitter mood that morning rested on the fact that he missed that little bit of honest attention that boy, Alfred, had given him a few nights past.
---------------------------------------------
Days turned into weeks. Two weeks, to be more exact, of going to bed early, heading to class the next morning then heading straight for the coffee shop to work his evening shift. Saturday nights aside, Alfred only had the chance to see his friends during lunch break or class. His social life had taken a bit of a blow, but starting the coming week he’d have Tuesday’s off as well. It wasn’t that big a deal, but he’d handle. Marco had kept his promise and trained him into becoming one of the best baristas the café had ever hosted, much to his eternal enjoyment. Vanilla steamers, lattes, mochas, all types of tea, frozen coffee; you’d name it, he’d make it.
He became acquainted with a handful of the other employees as well. His boss adored him and how his looks just made all the girls flock over for two or three servings a day. During break, Alfred would read some of his text books in order to not fall behind in class whenever he wasn’t feeling particularly lazy. He had gotten his phone replaced the weekend before, but made sure to keep the same number as a just in case. Of all his mates, only Kiku dropped by on a daily basis to see how he was doing, and for that Alfred was grateful. Though, Gilbert had stopped by once and opened up his big trap to make fun of him. It took all the self-control in the world to not spit in his coffee. He had behaved like a professional.
There had also been no sign of Arthur.
The thought of spotting the Brit in the crowd slipped into second priority as me focused on his work, but that didn’t stop him from looking around every once in a while. He started to question why he had even bothered on taking up the job in the first place. All was said and done. All he had to do now was suck it up and be a man. Word spread pretty fast on campus too. The rich student with a part-time job. They made it sound like it was a crime, and it was pretty much sickening.
It was on a cold Wednesday night that Alfred felt the floor beneath his feet give way as he stood behind the counter taking an order. Blue eyes finally caught sight of the most dashing thing he had seen to date. He grunted when an elbow was driven into his side. “Hey!” Marco looked up at him less than amused. “Oh! Beg your pardon.” Smiling crookedly, and blushing up to his ears, he turned to his costumer, asking for them to repeat the order as smoothly as was possible. This time he made sure to messily scribble down the name before shoving it into his Cuban friend’s chest.
“What’s the big idea?”
“I’m taking my break now.”
“You just came in!”
“Do me the favor, please?” Alfred held his hands together pleadingly; pulling off his infamous puppy eyed stare as he walked backwards out of the serving area. A short glare later, he was waved off. Marco was perhaps one of the coolest guys he knew. He wasted no time.
Running his hands quickly through his hair, he tugged at his stubborn flyaway before promptly ignoring it. He took a moment to adjust his glasses and green-colored apron, and to make sure his shirt was properly put. The smell of coffee permanently stuck to him, and he was rather grateful for that. No need to feel self-conscious about smelling like dirt or sweat. Clearing his throat, he approached that one red booth by the fogged window, popping his smile into place. He looked like all a professional and he dearly hoped that made a better impression than last time.
“How may I help you on this fine evening, sir?”
Thick lashes fluttered in confusion for a moment when the costumer looked up, green eyes narrowing for a brief moment. Automatic reaction. Despite the sour look on those features, they softened a tad bit; a ghost of a smile. “I wasn’t aware this café staffed waiters.” That thick accent made the butterflies in Alfred’s stomach wreak havoc.
The barista watched intently as Arthur set his briefcase on the booth before slipping in, mindful of his suit and tie. He was stunned. Taken off guard. Of all places, of all times, he did not expect to run into his… acquaintance right there and then. It had been another cruddy day and it was just ridiculous to see just how that one phrase made it so much better.
Alfred smiled down at him, bright and sincere. “We don’t, but I thought you’d probably appreciate the offer?” He looked stunning in a suit. Day by day it turned harder to believe that this was the same man he had danced with so long ago. So prim and proper.
Keeping a cool head, Arthur reached for his laptop. “In that case, I’ll take a black tea latte.” He tried his best to seem indifferent; it worked for the most part, but his lips continued to pull up at the corners. Giving up, he looked up at the bright blonde and gave him a polite smile. “And the sweetest piece you’ve got.” He regretted saying the words the moment they escaped his lips. “Cake! The sweetest piece of cake you’ve got. It would be very much appreciated.” Arthur nearly crawled beneath his booth as he adjusted his tie in embarrassment, heat spreading to every part of his body. He was acting like a teenager for Christ’s sake; he needed to get it together.
It took Alfred a moment to get why his new favorite costumer was acting so flustered, and when he did, his cheeks pinked. Clearing his throat, he couldn’t help the loud yet short laugh that escaped him, causing Arthur to look back at him in surprise. “Uh, well, we have a double chocolate fudge cake.”
“Yes, that. I’ll have a piece of that. A piece of that cake.” The Briton continued to blabber as he tried to connect his laptop to the wireless internet service to no avail. Anything to not look at the young man standing by his side.
“All right, Mr. Kirkland. A black tea latte and a piece of double chocolate fudge cake. Back in a jiff.” Alfred beamed down at him before casually walking back to the counter, grinning like a complete buffoon. This time, he did remember him. And he was totally blushing up a storm on top of it all. Maybe he did have a chance with the stodgy gentleman. Blue eyes narrowed at the thought; he was again thinking about hooking up with another dude.
To be honest, looking back to where he could see the small head of tussled blonde hair, he didn’t give an honest damn. Arthur was handsome and polite. Polite when he wanted to be; mostly he was stubbornly rude. And even though he didn’t feel remotely comfortable with that thought, it wasn’t as bad as before.
The line of people had gone down, thankfully enough, as he set off to make Arthur’s drink. Humming loudly to himself, he didn’t notice a rather amused Marco staring at him from behind the cashier. “Oye, you’re kind of swooning there, bro.”
“No idea what you talkin’ about.”
“And there goes that clipped accent. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.” The dark-skinned man laughed as he passed a foam cup to Alfred, who in turned looked down at it confused. “Just cause lover boy came to pay you a visit doesn’t mean you can slack off on the job. You’ve got drinks to serve.”
A slight frown settled into place. Marco was right. He had work to do even if there were other baristas running the floor as well. “Geez, fine. I’ll get to it then.” And to his surprise, he didn’t slug his way through. Alfred exploited his skills, preparing drinks at record speed and never missing a mixture. Except for that one order where he forgot to add the whip cream. “Happy now?”
“Just go make that guy’s drink before he leaves.” One of the other employees took over the orders as Marco grabbed a handful of cups. “I’ll prepare the rest of the orders. You go clean or something before you accidently add something to another something.”
“That made no sense.” Alfred flashed him a grin as he served the tea. “But thanks for having my back, man.”
“Don’t make a habit out of it.”
“I won’t!” Squeezing his way towards the fridge, he made sure to carefully remove the glass dome that kept the cake safe, before sliding a cold piece into an ornate plate they usually kept for special costumers. He was sure his boss wouldn’t mind.
The amount of junk mail he had was bordering the edge of bloody ridiculous. Arthur cleaned out his inbox on a daily basis and still he somehow managed to end up with it full to the max every evening. Most of them were just alerts from his profile, Francis stalking him through the social network and random game requests. He would eventually have to ask Antonio how to block those things the next time he met up with him. In truth, Arthur loathed all that social network rubbish. The internet was meant for him to do his work and (the occasional porn) nothing more.
But then, it was difficult not to log in everyday to look over that one person’s profile.
Thin fingers absently touched the computer screen, green eyes dimming. First with a sorrowful sort of melancholy, and then followed by searing hate. He silently seethed as he watched that woman, the woman with the long dark hair and equally dark eyes, sitting so… so debauchedly on some random man’s lap. Blouse open, obvious marks across her chest… He would always wonder who the cur that took her away from him was. With a new one every month, it was hard to keep track. Why should he even keep track? He was acting like some sort of deranged stalker. But he honestly didn’t care. There had been no closure to the day she walked out on him, leaving him alone in his cozy little London flat that suddenly felt so hollow and cold. Heartbroken, the wedding bands abandoned on the palm of his hand. ‘It isn’t you… it’s me,’ had been her last words as she walked out; as if ending a two week relationship instead of a two year marriage. She, Elizabeth, had called him too good a man for her. Arthur understood what she meant, he wasn’t stupid or blind.
It was never just him since the beginning.
It was him because he had offered her a home, a car, gifts every weekend. He brought her flowers and wrote her poems like the terrible romantic he was. Showered her with love and affection and smiles and laughs. But it was never truly just him. It happened the same week Arthur asked to speak with her in all seriousness. When he sat her down on his pristine couch with some white wine, kissed her cheek and whispered his innermost desire to finally… start a warm and loving family. Three days later, she was out the door and out of his life.
Arthur had been young. It had first seemed like a ray of hope in his troubled life, freshly emerged from his punk phase, just starting college. Four years later, it all came crashing down. His grades, his part time job, his sanity. His brothers had tried to reach out a helping hand, but before he knew it, he found himself wrapped in a web again. Francis Bonnefoy, his first boyfriend, had walked in through the door of his flat.
There were no civilized discussions. Just yells and vengeful rants. Francis pointed out that he deserved getting left behind, like he had done to him. Had said that Arthur walked out on him because he had fallen in love, while Arthur points out that Francis left him alone for his big break in the United States. Not that it all mattered anymore. Everything had changed…
“You okay, man?”
Closing the tab, he turned his green eyes up to the young man who patiently stood there, drink and pastry in hand, looking somewhat concerned. Arthur gave him a soft smile and a stiff nod. Alfred placed his things on the table. “Thank you, Alfred.” He then stared when the blonde slipped into the booth right in front of him. “Umm…”
“How are you?” Alfred tried to be smooth but his shaking hands were ruining the act. He discreetly placed them on his lap. The smile was blinding, genuinely happy to see the stodgy Brit again after so long. He clung to the fabric of his jeans.
Arthur blinked momentarily before turning his attention to his drink, sniffing at it and deeming it good enough to drink. He took a small sip, relishing the warm and bitter taste, his back instantly relaxing as he sighed soundlessly. Even his eyebrows eased into a pleasing expression. Alfred found it utterly intoxicating to take in. “It’s been a stressful week, but I’m quite all right.” Another sip; this time the reaction was a bit more discreet. “And yourself?”
“Great! I’m great.” Deep green eyes stared at him steadily; he chuckled nervously. “Classes are going well and stuff.”
“You’re a student?” Come to think of it, Arthur knew absolutely nothing of the boy. Just that he had a rather worrying hero complex and his personality was best suited for a children’s program. Endearing yes, but unsettling.
“Uh, yeah. The Art Institute of New York. Aspiring model, I am. The modeling isn’t the problem though; it’s the other classes that suck. Big time. Just landed a part time job too. Right here, obviously.” He was rambling, it was embarrassing, but Arthur kept nodding. All of his attention on him. It made him excited and slowly but surely, the anxiety began to melt away.
“A model, eh? Sounds like a fanciful career. I suppose it is rather fitting; you’d make a dashing addition to the fashion world.” His tone was casual, thank God. Arthur reached for his piece of cake and scraped off the chocolate icing with his spoon, leisurely tasting it on his tongue as he pulled the spoon away, nearly moaning at how mind-blowingly delicious it tasted. Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He could feel his hormones beginning to kick in. “So are you a native New Yorker or…?”
“Yeah. Born and raised. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“Lovely.”
“I’d ask if you’re from England, but that’d kind of make me sound stupid and stuff.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
It was as if they had silently agreed on getting to know each other, right there on the spot. Neither of them seemed bothered by it, so they went along with what felt like the most natural thing in the world. Conversing like old mates. Afraid of ruining a perfectly pleasant moment.
“Nonsense, I get asked that all the time. I’m actually from Liverpool; moved to London when I was lad then came here after… some unfortunate events.” He grumbled that last bit quickly but masked it by slipping a spoonful of cake into his mouth.
“That sounds so cool-well, not the unfortunate events thing. Do girls swoon over you when they hear your accent? Cause, I mean, I wouldn’t blame them.” Alfred made a waving gesture before stopping himself, analyzing what he had just said. “I-It’s common knowledge that most Americans jizz when they hear a Brit. I don’t get what the big deal is. You sound normal to me.” He was quick to fix what he had said, but it was too late.
Arthur nearly thought the sexual tension to be palpable between them. It was so damn obvious that the American wanted a taste; Arthur did too. And vice versa. Normally, the Englishman wouldn’t waste a minute in taking him to bed; it wasn’t like he had never done so before. His reputation still held strong even if his playboy antics dimmed to nearly nonexistent the moment he officially started seeing Francis. But this was different. Arthur wanted to touch him. He wanted to inhale the smell of his hair and taste those innocent lips. Run his hands along those slender sides and feed off that raw energy that came with those teenage hormones. Arthur wanted to see if that constant ray of happiness was contagious… because he wanted some of it. Craved it.
It was time to let go of the past.
“You’d be surprised. Not all Americans have a thing, as you’d say, for my accent. Some just find me downright annoying.”
Alfred gave a short laugh, leaning back as he sunk a bit into the booth, allowing himself to get comfortable. He enjoyed watching the way Arthur pressed the cup to his lips and tipped his head back; enjoyed watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his drink. The slick way he licked his lips briefly afterwards. “What a load of bull. You’re a pretty okay guy. Don’t see why someone would find you annoying. Rude, maybe, but not annoying.”
“Oh shut it, you sod.”
Laughing nervously, Alfred willed his suddenly stiff body to loosen up a bit. The words had gone right through him. “Would you like a refill? Some more cake?” He blurted out the questions, grinning like mad and perhaps blushing like mad as well. The look in those green eyes across from him seemed unreadable for a moment. And then they dimmed. Dimmed into a look that made every single ounce of blood in the teen’s body head south without much preamble.
“I can guarantee you that there is something I’d like.” Alfred wasn’t crazy, but he swore Arthur purred the words in a near whisper. It had probably been his imagination, but the leg that was now sliding between his and rubbing against his thigh was pretty real. Without thinking, he darted his hand across the table, laying it over the Briton’s who stared wide-eyed at him. Of all reactions, he truly hadn’t been expecting that.
“Uh, I… I.” He was dumbfounded at his own actions.
“What’s the matter, Alfred?” Leaning slightly across the table, Arthur leered. “Is it the accent?”
“…Fuck.”
Arthur flashed a dirty little smirk and leaned away, deeply satisfied at how he had left the lad. Turning his sights back to his computer he made sure it didn’t fall on the screensaver. He turned his hand around, palm up, without pulling it away from under Alfred’s. “Be a dear and fetch me another drink.” It was then that he slowly slid his hand from under it, making sure he ghosted his fingertips across the other’s palm.
Alfred banged his knee as he stood up from the booth, cursing beneath his breath as he limped his way back to the serving area where Marco glared daggers at him. “I told you to-”
“Just give me five more minutes, please!” Frantically, he pulled another drink from the machines in record speed. His pants were extremely uncomfortable but he didn’t give a fuck. If his hormones had been the ones driving him these past few months, then he had no idea what he was going to do. Arthur was teasing him, blatantly so, and Alfred was sure he was not being taken seriously. It sucked, big time. But his body was thrumming with something he couldn’t even place. He’d play along to the very end, no matter where it took him.
No matter how hard the fall.
He darted back to the table and placed the drink as casually as possible in front of the Englishman. “Here you go, Arthur. Enjoy.”
“Already am.” Picking up the cup, he toasted the air as if it were a beer instead of tea and took a sip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. And I’m quite sure you do too.” The older male gave him a small, distant smile and a short nod.
With a large smile of his own, Alfred nodded back. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for kind of being all up on your face and stuff. Just holler and I’ll come right back.”
“Of course.”
“Right. Yeah.” With an awkward wave, Alfred made his way back to Marco who chose to ignore him this time. “Sorry, bro.”
“You and I need to have a talk.”
The blonde winced as he reached for a clean rag and the water pump. He had that one coming. “Sure thing. I’ll just… clean up and stuff.”
“Yes, you do that.”
Never had Alfred suffered such a stressful night. The warning in Marcos tone, Arthur sitting by the window casting him occasional glances while he typed away at his computer, the raging hard on in his pants… He wanted the night to end already. A cold shower would have done wonders at the moment, not to mention a nice meal. Or maybe he could talk more with him… Either option sounded about right.
As the night went on and the costumers began to take their leave, only a handful staying behind, Marco called up Alfred who was furiously cleaning the remaining tables that had just been unoccupied. “Pretty intense conversation you two had there. You know him?”
Alfred fidgeted as he stored away his cleaning supplies, biting his lower lips anxiously. “Kind of, yeah.”
“Or is he the one you’ve been looking for all this time?”
“….Yeah. That’s… pretty much him.”
Marco looked over to the businessman, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “He’s rather old for you.”
“Hey! It’s not like-it’s not like that!” Alfred sidestepped one of his fellow workers, scratching his cheek and wondering if he was as red as he felt. Marco was too perceptive for his own good and it was beginning to get him paranoid. Like he wasn’t already. “We’ve only met just a couple of times and stuff. He’s taken. Not that I’m interested! Or… anything.”
The beads on Marco’s hair clinked together as he shook his head with a laugh, waving the American off. “I’m not even going to comment on that, man. You’re too much.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion anyway.” Pout in place, Alfred crossed his arms, pointedly looking in the opposite direction from where Arthur was currently working. “I just helped him out with something a few weeks ago.”
Gripping Alfred’s shoulder, a dark eye winked at him. “Go ask if he needs a refill. It’s almost closing time. Make it count.”
“Huh? Make what count?” Tossing a few packets of sugar into a glass container, Marco jerked his head with a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean, dude?!” Standing there, he huffed in exasperation. Why was everyone more perceptive than him? Why was he surrounded by so many perceptive people in the first place? First Kiku, now Marco. “Bunch a’ jerks.”
He didn’t bother asking if the Brit needed a refill. Alfred prepared the drink and served another piece of the chocolate cake, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ as he somehow managed to balance both items in one hand. Reaching the table without spilling a drop, he quietly placed them down, his stomach twisting in not so painful knots.
Green eyes fluttered up, somewhat surprised. He didn’t speak as he took the new drink and chugged it down, despite how hot it was. Alfred chuckled as he took a seat again; it looked like Arthur had been thinking rather deeply about something.
They stood in silence.
Closing his laptop, the blonde stored it safely away once he noticed the time. Tomorrow would be another long day, and he had wasted the night by just sitting there, idly. Quietly looking at the young man who so politely served him his drinks. He turned his eyes towards the window, watching as raindrops chased each other down the foggy glass. Watched as the water distorted and amplified the vivid colors of the city street. It was awfully comforting, yet unsettling. It reminded him of London.
A whistle made Alfred look up, seeing Marco gesture something unintelligibly. It was then that he had noticed; the coffee shop was empty for the exception of him and Arthur. He nodded and stood up. “Closing time.”
“Ah, yes of course. I think I dawdled more that I should have.” Arthur quickly gathered his things before reaching for his wallet and pulling out a card. “Company card. Let her rip.” He said rather disdainfully as he shoved it onto Alfred’s chest rather rudely. The American held up his hands.
“Naw, it’s all on me.”
“Excuse me?”
The boy shrugged, smiling down at the man as he walked towards the main doors, the lights at the farthest end of the café shutting off. “You looked like you had a shitty day. To make it better, you’re on the house.”
Arthur stared at him steadily before looking down at the card. What a small and insignificant gesture… yet it had made a world of difference to him. “T-Thank you. I feel like I’m indebted to you more and more each week.” He let out a small laugh, slipping his card back into place.
“Don’t worry about it; I’m a hero. S’what I do.” He beamed.
“You truly are something else.” Arthur’s smile had been genuine as he extended his hand; Alfred shook it. “I apologize for being somewhat lewd; it was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Forgive me if I did.”
“No way, man! A lot more people need that kind of self-esteem. Not to mention the balls to hit on someone like me.” Puffing his chest out, he grinned. He was beginning to feel surer of himself, as if he was getting used to the Briton’s presence. This whole situation had been something else. It was all too good to be true, like one of those Hollywood romances. The thought only made his grin grow wider, if possible.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur reached for the door. “Such language.” He pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold, looking back at those beautiful blues one more time with a barely visible smile. “Good night, Alfred. Thank you for the pleasant company.”
“How long till I see you again?”
The question took him off guard. The boy, the young man, was so obviously smitten that it was difficult to watch. Arthur felt the need to remind him that he was already seeing someone…but he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he broke that ridiculously bubbly heart. He shouldn’t lead him on… but the attention was intoxicating. Thrilling. He was a terrible person.
“I’ll see you when I see you.” It pulled at his heartstrings, seeing Alfred’s face fall. Arthur had brought his defenses up again, leaving the dilly-dallying behind. He had acted on impulse all evening long and as a result he had acted like some immature child. He was an English gentleman, not some debauched ruffian. “Hopefully it’ll be sooner than later.” There, he had said it. There was no denying he meant those words; none whatsoever.
“Awesome then. Good night, Arthur.” Alfred felt the urge to hug the shorter man but restrained himself. He didn’t want to put any unnecessary strain at that unexpected meeting. “Have a nice day tomorrow.”
Gripping his suitcase tightly, he gave a short nod and went on his way.
Alfred watched Arthur run to his car, the suitcase over his head to prevent getting too wet from the pouring rain, his beige coat flapping behind him as he went. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the car pull out and drive away, and even minutes later, he still looked in the direction he had driven off to. It had been a good night after all. A damn good one.
Locking the door, he threw the keys at a grinning Marco who was oh so casually leaning against the counter. “Not a word.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Night, man.”
“Good night, lover boy.”
-------------------------
The evening after, while absently jotting down an order, Alfred turned his sights towards the glass doors as they swung open for the umpteenth time that day. His permanent smile widened, his chest going aflutter.
A head of blonde, tussled hair stuck out in the small crowed. Familiar green eyes looking about as he approached the line to order. He hadn’t seen Alfred yet.
The American already knew that the day would have an awesome end.
_______________________________________________________________________________
AN: Timely update is timely. I was surprised that I managed to pull two updates in less than a month.
Here's to hoping my muse decides to stay this way all the way to the end, eh?
I also hope that this answers the question if Marco is actually Cuba. ~
As always, reviews are love!
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.
“I honestly do not want to be here. I can think of a million other places I would much rather be. And do you want to know why? Because of you. So don’t even begin to fancy the idea of whisking me off to some dastardly cottage in the middle of nowhere, because I wouldn’t even dream of going to the corner store with you.”
“Arthur, mon cher, please listen to me.”
“No. The answer will continue to be no independent of the threats you’ll be able to muster. Do not waste your breath on such a ludicrous idea.” Arthur slammed the glass door open as he stormed into the office, promptly ignoring the dozens of eyes and ears now perked up to pick up the argument he was having with his boss. Some of the employees snickered, others sighed in annoyance. Another lovers’ quarrel; they seemed to host at least three a month. They got worse as time went by, too. Flinging the suitcase tightly grasped in his hand dangerously close to Francis’ face, he skidded to a halt between one of the aisles of cubicles. He shoved his index finger, hard, against the Frenchman’s chest. “And that is final. Not another word.” Venom dripped from the words.
Blue eyes stared at the flustered Briton, indignation bubbling close to the edge. “It is simply a business meeting. I cannot comprehend why you are being so stubborn about this!” Francis kept his cool while running long fingers through his loose locks of hair, sighing in order to vent the frustration and, what he thought was, obvious sexual tension.
“Business meeting my arse.” Arthur turned again, making his way towards his private office once the heaviness of everyone’s stares became too obvious to ignore. “You said so yourself. It was meant as a nice and warm and relaxing vacation to southern France. Some place where I could clear my head from all the venomous bitter hate that courses through my bloody fucking veins.”
The flush on his cheeks was also too obvious to ignore. Francis thought it to be endearing, thinking that Arthur was just being his old difficult self. “You look so handsome when you flush like that.”
“Fuck you, Francis. Fuck you and everything that comes out of that mouth of yours.” Cranking the door to his office open with more force than was necessary, Arthur threw his suitcase in the nearest chair. Without giving it a thought, he reached for the flowers that sat innocently on his desk and dumped it into the bin. No apology was offered in his behalf.
“Ouch.”
“Now if you’d be so kind. These are my work quarters and I would very much like to get my work done before I get home.” Taking a seat behind his small desk, Arthur turned on his computer and fetched some papers from a nearby drawer, promptly ignoring the Frenchman still standing before him. Arms crossed at his chest.
Pale gray walls did nothing for the Briton’s mood. The monotony that came encased with those four walls poisoned his already bitter state of mind. And the Frenchman only served as an amplifier to that constant desire to just run away from it. He was a grown man who had lived his life and thus far was not happy with the results of it, but he had learnt to deal. Had been through university, graduated, wasn’t exactly holding the highest of posts in the company but was pretty well up there. Decent pay check, a comfortable apartment, up-to-date car. All was well beside the not unusual credit card debt. Perfectly normal life, once he thought about it. Arthur’s problem lied within his twisted love life, and even as a grown man it took more of a toll than it should have.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Gave it a nice… homely feel.” Francis spoke up once the silence had settled for long enough and Arthur had begun typing away. He walked closer to the desk and absently spun the small Union Jack perched on a white mug that read ‘Brits do it better’ in bright red.
Arthur continued to type.
“Have I ever told you that the gray carpeting does wonders for your eyes? Not that they need much help, mind you. They are simply stunning.”
Fluid typing was the only sound that filled the silence.
“You would really love it there, mon cher.” The soft sigh that escaped the Frenchman’s lips sounded genuine, but even then, Arthur seemed to not give a damn. Walking around the desk, Francis leaned against the cluttered edge, nudging the broody blonde’s thigh with his knee. Shoving several papers to the side, he took the liberty to completely sit on it. He was the boss after all, he could have done whatever the hell he wanted and gotten away with it. Childish thing to do, yes, but there was no harm in living a little. Something he wished he could make Arthur understand. “It’s very much like England, you know. Rolling hills as far as the eye can see…”
“Don’t even dare.” The sudden outburst, though quiet, startled him. “Do not compare my country to that debauched rat hole you call a home.”
Though offended at the statement, Francis proceeded to inspect his nails. A longer silence settled then. Uncomfortable and charged. There was just no possible way to get through Arthur’s defenses, no matter how unstable and weak they were. The man was just downright stubborn and unyielding. It was unfair that Francis had offered him so much and all he got in turn was bitter hate. He had offered him a three week escape to the country, away from the city life and day to day hustle and bustle of the streets, and he had turned it down without batting an eyelash.
Tapping the tip of his shoe when he neared his breaking point, Francis turned to look at the complete mess on Arthur’s desk when something caught his eye. “You’ve got yourself a new ashtray.” It wasn’t a question, just a mindless statement. Picking up the small glass, he sniffed it curiously. It seemed unused.
“Why would I buy a new one when my own is perfectly fine? I just cleaned it out.” The words were muttered. His mind was completely settled in his work, filling several phone numbers into the data bank.
Francis stopped to think for moment when a thought came across his mind unbidden. It had been several days since he had last seen his temporal lover smoke. He narrowed his eyes and thought a bit harder, before briefly shaking his head. No, he had seen him smoking just the other day. It just wasn’t as frequent as usual. A soft smile settled on the male’s lips as he slid down from his spot on the desk and moved beside Arthur, softly threading his fingers through short blonde hair.
The typing stilled instantly.
A kiss was pressed to his temple.
Arthur looked up, but his cheeks didn’t color that time. It was too simple a kiss for Francis. It had seemed honest but something was looming. The Frenchman was beaming at him. His smiles were soft and seductive when they weren’t amused and laced with some hint of ill intent; he didn’t beam at anyone. “What is it?”
“Pardon?”
“Why did you kiss me that way?”
“I would gladly kiss you another way.”
He didn’t grace him with an answer. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that gave Francis that slight push to steal the kiss; it was the kind of silence that meant that, if he tried, he’d be castrated in less than a second. The Frenchman didn’t mind it. Now he knew that Arthur was truly just being stubborn. He only pretended to dislike and be repulsed by his actions when deep down he was lifting a load off his shoulders. Slowly but surely, Francis’ displays of affection were changing Arthur’s outlook on life. So far, the chain smoking was chopped down to the occasional cigarette. It thrilled him and gave him the hope that by the end of the week, his little Briton would agree to be whisked off into the countryside.
Green eyes stared defiantly at the swooning man, so rudely perched on his desk again. The glare faltered though, as he took in the hue of those blue eyes. They were nothing like his. There was no innocence in them, no honesty even when he was being honest. Being the way he was, Bonnefoy was still a cold man.
His bitter mood that morning rested on the fact that he missed that little bit of honest attention that boy, Alfred, had given him a few nights past.
---------------------------------------------
Days turned into weeks. Two weeks, to be more exact, of going to bed early, heading to class the next morning then heading straight for the coffee shop to work his evening shift. Saturday nights aside, Alfred only had the chance to see his friends during lunch break or class. His social life had taken a bit of a blow, but starting the coming week he’d have Tuesday’s off as well. It wasn’t that big a deal, but he’d handle. Marco had kept his promise and trained him into becoming one of the best baristas the café had ever hosted, much to his eternal enjoyment. Vanilla steamers, lattes, mochas, all types of tea, frozen coffee; you’d name it, he’d make it.
He became acquainted with a handful of the other employees as well. His boss adored him and how his looks just made all the girls flock over for two or three servings a day. During break, Alfred would read some of his text books in order to not fall behind in class whenever he wasn’t feeling particularly lazy. He had gotten his phone replaced the weekend before, but made sure to keep the same number as a just in case. Of all his mates, only Kiku dropped by on a daily basis to see how he was doing, and for that Alfred was grateful. Though, Gilbert had stopped by once and opened up his big trap to make fun of him. It took all the self-control in the world to not spit in his coffee. He had behaved like a professional.
There had also been no sign of Arthur.
The thought of spotting the Brit in the crowd slipped into second priority as me focused on his work, but that didn’t stop him from looking around every once in a while. He started to question why he had even bothered on taking up the job in the first place. All was said and done. All he had to do now was suck it up and be a man. Word spread pretty fast on campus too. The rich student with a part-time job. They made it sound like it was a crime, and it was pretty much sickening.
It was on a cold Wednesday night that Alfred felt the floor beneath his feet give way as he stood behind the counter taking an order. Blue eyes finally caught sight of the most dashing thing he had seen to date. He grunted when an elbow was driven into his side. “Hey!” Marco looked up at him less than amused. “Oh! Beg your pardon.” Smiling crookedly, and blushing up to his ears, he turned to his costumer, asking for them to repeat the order as smoothly as was possible. This time he made sure to messily scribble down the name before shoving it into his Cuban friend’s chest.
“What’s the big idea?”
“I’m taking my break now.”
“You just came in!”
“Do me the favor, please?” Alfred held his hands together pleadingly; pulling off his infamous puppy eyed stare as he walked backwards out of the serving area. A short glare later, he was waved off. Marco was perhaps one of the coolest guys he knew. He wasted no time.
Running his hands quickly through his hair, he tugged at his stubborn flyaway before promptly ignoring it. He took a moment to adjust his glasses and green-colored apron, and to make sure his shirt was properly put. The smell of coffee permanently stuck to him, and he was rather grateful for that. No need to feel self-conscious about smelling like dirt or sweat. Clearing his throat, he approached that one red booth by the fogged window, popping his smile into place. He looked like all a professional and he dearly hoped that made a better impression than last time.
“How may I help you on this fine evening, sir?”
Thick lashes fluttered in confusion for a moment when the costumer looked up, green eyes narrowing for a brief moment. Automatic reaction. Despite the sour look on those features, they softened a tad bit; a ghost of a smile. “I wasn’t aware this café staffed waiters.” That thick accent made the butterflies in Alfred’s stomach wreak havoc.
The barista watched intently as Arthur set his briefcase on the booth before slipping in, mindful of his suit and tie. He was stunned. Taken off guard. Of all places, of all times, he did not expect to run into his… acquaintance right there and then. It had been another cruddy day and it was just ridiculous to see just how that one phrase made it so much better.
Alfred smiled down at him, bright and sincere. “We don’t, but I thought you’d probably appreciate the offer?” He looked stunning in a suit. Day by day it turned harder to believe that this was the same man he had danced with so long ago. So prim and proper.
Keeping a cool head, Arthur reached for his laptop. “In that case, I’ll take a black tea latte.” He tried his best to seem indifferent; it worked for the most part, but his lips continued to pull up at the corners. Giving up, he looked up at the bright blonde and gave him a polite smile. “And the sweetest piece you’ve got.” He regretted saying the words the moment they escaped his lips. “Cake! The sweetest piece of cake you’ve got. It would be very much appreciated.” Arthur nearly crawled beneath his booth as he adjusted his tie in embarrassment, heat spreading to every part of his body. He was acting like a teenager for Christ’s sake; he needed to get it together.
It took Alfred a moment to get why his new favorite costumer was acting so flustered, and when he did, his cheeks pinked. Clearing his throat, he couldn’t help the loud yet short laugh that escaped him, causing Arthur to look back at him in surprise. “Uh, well, we have a double chocolate fudge cake.”
“Yes, that. I’ll have a piece of that. A piece of that cake.” The Briton continued to blabber as he tried to connect his laptop to the wireless internet service to no avail. Anything to not look at the young man standing by his side.
“All right, Mr. Kirkland. A black tea latte and a piece of double chocolate fudge cake. Back in a jiff.” Alfred beamed down at him before casually walking back to the counter, grinning like a complete buffoon. This time, he did remember him. And he was totally blushing up a storm on top of it all. Maybe he did have a chance with the stodgy gentleman. Blue eyes narrowed at the thought; he was again thinking about hooking up with another dude.
To be honest, looking back to where he could see the small head of tussled blonde hair, he didn’t give an honest damn. Arthur was handsome and polite. Polite when he wanted to be; mostly he was stubbornly rude. And even though he didn’t feel remotely comfortable with that thought, it wasn’t as bad as before.
The line of people had gone down, thankfully enough, as he set off to make Arthur’s drink. Humming loudly to himself, he didn’t notice a rather amused Marco staring at him from behind the cashier. “Oye, you’re kind of swooning there, bro.”
“No idea what you talkin’ about.”
“And there goes that clipped accent. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.” The dark-skinned man laughed as he passed a foam cup to Alfred, who in turned looked down at it confused. “Just cause lover boy came to pay you a visit doesn’t mean you can slack off on the job. You’ve got drinks to serve.”
A slight frown settled into place. Marco was right. He had work to do even if there were other baristas running the floor as well. “Geez, fine. I’ll get to it then.” And to his surprise, he didn’t slug his way through. Alfred exploited his skills, preparing drinks at record speed and never missing a mixture. Except for that one order where he forgot to add the whip cream. “Happy now?”
“Just go make that guy’s drink before he leaves.” One of the other employees took over the orders as Marco grabbed a handful of cups. “I’ll prepare the rest of the orders. You go clean or something before you accidently add something to another something.”
“That made no sense.” Alfred flashed him a grin as he served the tea. “But thanks for having my back, man.”
“Don’t make a habit out of it.”
“I won’t!” Squeezing his way towards the fridge, he made sure to carefully remove the glass dome that kept the cake safe, before sliding a cold piece into an ornate plate they usually kept for special costumers. He was sure his boss wouldn’t mind.
The amount of junk mail he had was bordering the edge of bloody ridiculous. Arthur cleaned out his inbox on a daily basis and still he somehow managed to end up with it full to the max every evening. Most of them were just alerts from his profile, Francis stalking him through the social network and random game requests. He would eventually have to ask Antonio how to block those things the next time he met up with him. In truth, Arthur loathed all that social network rubbish. The internet was meant for him to do his work and (the occasional porn) nothing more.
But then, it was difficult not to log in everyday to look over that one person’s profile.
Thin fingers absently touched the computer screen, green eyes dimming. First with a sorrowful sort of melancholy, and then followed by searing hate. He silently seethed as he watched that woman, the woman with the long dark hair and equally dark eyes, sitting so… so debauchedly on some random man’s lap. Blouse open, obvious marks across her chest… He would always wonder who the cur that took her away from him was. With a new one every month, it was hard to keep track. Why should he even keep track? He was acting like some sort of deranged stalker. But he honestly didn’t care. There had been no closure to the day she walked out on him, leaving him alone in his cozy little London flat that suddenly felt so hollow and cold. Heartbroken, the wedding bands abandoned on the palm of his hand. ‘It isn’t you… it’s me,’ had been her last words as she walked out; as if ending a two week relationship instead of a two year marriage. She, Elizabeth, had called him too good a man for her. Arthur understood what she meant, he wasn’t stupid or blind.
It was never just him since the beginning.
It was him because he had offered her a home, a car, gifts every weekend. He brought her flowers and wrote her poems like the terrible romantic he was. Showered her with love and affection and smiles and laughs. But it was never truly just him. It happened the same week Arthur asked to speak with her in all seriousness. When he sat her down on his pristine couch with some white wine, kissed her cheek and whispered his innermost desire to finally… start a warm and loving family. Three days later, she was out the door and out of his life.
Arthur had been young. It had first seemed like a ray of hope in his troubled life, freshly emerged from his punk phase, just starting college. Four years later, it all came crashing down. His grades, his part time job, his sanity. His brothers had tried to reach out a helping hand, but before he knew it, he found himself wrapped in a web again. Francis Bonnefoy, his first boyfriend, had walked in through the door of his flat.
There were no civilized discussions. Just yells and vengeful rants. Francis pointed out that he deserved getting left behind, like he had done to him. Had said that Arthur walked out on him because he had fallen in love, while Arthur points out that Francis left him alone for his big break in the United States. Not that it all mattered anymore. Everything had changed…
“You okay, man?”
Closing the tab, he turned his green eyes up to the young man who patiently stood there, drink and pastry in hand, looking somewhat concerned. Arthur gave him a soft smile and a stiff nod. Alfred placed his things on the table. “Thank you, Alfred.” He then stared when the blonde slipped into the booth right in front of him. “Umm…”
“How are you?” Alfred tried to be smooth but his shaking hands were ruining the act. He discreetly placed them on his lap. The smile was blinding, genuinely happy to see the stodgy Brit again after so long. He clung to the fabric of his jeans.
Arthur blinked momentarily before turning his attention to his drink, sniffing at it and deeming it good enough to drink. He took a small sip, relishing the warm and bitter taste, his back instantly relaxing as he sighed soundlessly. Even his eyebrows eased into a pleasing expression. Alfred found it utterly intoxicating to take in. “It’s been a stressful week, but I’m quite all right.” Another sip; this time the reaction was a bit more discreet. “And yourself?”
“Great! I’m great.” Deep green eyes stared at him steadily; he chuckled nervously. “Classes are going well and stuff.”
“You’re a student?” Come to think of it, Arthur knew absolutely nothing of the boy. Just that he had a rather worrying hero complex and his personality was best suited for a children’s program. Endearing yes, but unsettling.
“Uh, yeah. The Art Institute of New York. Aspiring model, I am. The modeling isn’t the problem though; it’s the other classes that suck. Big time. Just landed a part time job too. Right here, obviously.” He was rambling, it was embarrassing, but Arthur kept nodding. All of his attention on him. It made him excited and slowly but surely, the anxiety began to melt away.
“A model, eh? Sounds like a fanciful career. I suppose it is rather fitting; you’d make a dashing addition to the fashion world.” His tone was casual, thank God. Arthur reached for his piece of cake and scraped off the chocolate icing with his spoon, leisurely tasting it on his tongue as he pulled the spoon away, nearly moaning at how mind-blowingly delicious it tasted. Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He could feel his hormones beginning to kick in. “So are you a native New Yorker or…?”
“Yeah. Born and raised. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“Lovely.”
“I’d ask if you’re from England, but that’d kind of make me sound stupid and stuff.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
It was as if they had silently agreed on getting to know each other, right there on the spot. Neither of them seemed bothered by it, so they went along with what felt like the most natural thing in the world. Conversing like old mates. Afraid of ruining a perfectly pleasant moment.
“Nonsense, I get asked that all the time. I’m actually from Liverpool; moved to London when I was lad then came here after… some unfortunate events.” He grumbled that last bit quickly but masked it by slipping a spoonful of cake into his mouth.
“That sounds so cool-well, not the unfortunate events thing. Do girls swoon over you when they hear your accent? Cause, I mean, I wouldn’t blame them.” Alfred made a waving gesture before stopping himself, analyzing what he had just said. “I-It’s common knowledge that most Americans jizz when they hear a Brit. I don’t get what the big deal is. You sound normal to me.” He was quick to fix what he had said, but it was too late.
Arthur nearly thought the sexual tension to be palpable between them. It was so damn obvious that the American wanted a taste; Arthur did too. And vice versa. Normally, the Englishman wouldn’t waste a minute in taking him to bed; it wasn’t like he had never done so before. His reputation still held strong even if his playboy antics dimmed to nearly nonexistent the moment he officially started seeing Francis. But this was different. Arthur wanted to touch him. He wanted to inhale the smell of his hair and taste those innocent lips. Run his hands along those slender sides and feed off that raw energy that came with those teenage hormones. Arthur wanted to see if that constant ray of happiness was contagious… because he wanted some of it. Craved it.
It was time to let go of the past.
“You’d be surprised. Not all Americans have a thing, as you’d say, for my accent. Some just find me downright annoying.”
Alfred gave a short laugh, leaning back as he sunk a bit into the booth, allowing himself to get comfortable. He enjoyed watching the way Arthur pressed the cup to his lips and tipped his head back; enjoyed watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his drink. The slick way he licked his lips briefly afterwards. “What a load of bull. You’re a pretty okay guy. Don’t see why someone would find you annoying. Rude, maybe, but not annoying.”
“Oh shut it, you sod.”
Laughing nervously, Alfred willed his suddenly stiff body to loosen up a bit. The words had gone right through him. “Would you like a refill? Some more cake?” He blurted out the questions, grinning like mad and perhaps blushing like mad as well. The look in those green eyes across from him seemed unreadable for a moment. And then they dimmed. Dimmed into a look that made every single ounce of blood in the teen’s body head south without much preamble.
“I can guarantee you that there is something I’d like.” Alfred wasn’t crazy, but he swore Arthur purred the words in a near whisper. It had probably been his imagination, but the leg that was now sliding between his and rubbing against his thigh was pretty real. Without thinking, he darted his hand across the table, laying it over the Briton’s who stared wide-eyed at him. Of all reactions, he truly hadn’t been expecting that.
“Uh, I… I.” He was dumbfounded at his own actions.
“What’s the matter, Alfred?” Leaning slightly across the table, Arthur leered. “Is it the accent?”
“…Fuck.”
Arthur flashed a dirty little smirk and leaned away, deeply satisfied at how he had left the lad. Turning his sights back to his computer he made sure it didn’t fall on the screensaver. He turned his hand around, palm up, without pulling it away from under Alfred’s. “Be a dear and fetch me another drink.” It was then that he slowly slid his hand from under it, making sure he ghosted his fingertips across the other’s palm.
Alfred banged his knee as he stood up from the booth, cursing beneath his breath as he limped his way back to the serving area where Marco glared daggers at him. “I told you to-”
“Just give me five more minutes, please!” Frantically, he pulled another drink from the machines in record speed. His pants were extremely uncomfortable but he didn’t give a fuck. If his hormones had been the ones driving him these past few months, then he had no idea what he was going to do. Arthur was teasing him, blatantly so, and Alfred was sure he was not being taken seriously. It sucked, big time. But his body was thrumming with something he couldn’t even place. He’d play along to the very end, no matter where it took him.
No matter how hard the fall.
He darted back to the table and placed the drink as casually as possible in front of the Englishman. “Here you go, Arthur. Enjoy.”
“Already am.” Picking up the cup, he toasted the air as if it were a beer instead of tea and took a sip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. And I’m quite sure you do too.” The older male gave him a small, distant smile and a short nod.
With a large smile of his own, Alfred nodded back. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for kind of being all up on your face and stuff. Just holler and I’ll come right back.”
“Of course.”
“Right. Yeah.” With an awkward wave, Alfred made his way back to Marco who chose to ignore him this time. “Sorry, bro.”
“You and I need to have a talk.”
The blonde winced as he reached for a clean rag and the water pump. He had that one coming. “Sure thing. I’ll just… clean up and stuff.”
“Yes, you do that.”
Never had Alfred suffered such a stressful night. The warning in Marcos tone, Arthur sitting by the window casting him occasional glances while he typed away at his computer, the raging hard on in his pants… He wanted the night to end already. A cold shower would have done wonders at the moment, not to mention a nice meal. Or maybe he could talk more with him… Either option sounded about right.
As the night went on and the costumers began to take their leave, only a handful staying behind, Marco called up Alfred who was furiously cleaning the remaining tables that had just been unoccupied. “Pretty intense conversation you two had there. You know him?”
Alfred fidgeted as he stored away his cleaning supplies, biting his lower lips anxiously. “Kind of, yeah.”
“Or is he the one you’ve been looking for all this time?”
“….Yeah. That’s… pretty much him.”
Marco looked over to the businessman, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “He’s rather old for you.”
“Hey! It’s not like-it’s not like that!” Alfred sidestepped one of his fellow workers, scratching his cheek and wondering if he was as red as he felt. Marco was too perceptive for his own good and it was beginning to get him paranoid. Like he wasn’t already. “We’ve only met just a couple of times and stuff. He’s taken. Not that I’m interested! Or… anything.”
The beads on Marco’s hair clinked together as he shook his head with a laugh, waving the American off. “I’m not even going to comment on that, man. You’re too much.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion anyway.” Pout in place, Alfred crossed his arms, pointedly looking in the opposite direction from where Arthur was currently working. “I just helped him out with something a few weeks ago.”
Gripping Alfred’s shoulder, a dark eye winked at him. “Go ask if he needs a refill. It’s almost closing time. Make it count.”
“Huh? Make what count?” Tossing a few packets of sugar into a glass container, Marco jerked his head with a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean, dude?!” Standing there, he huffed in exasperation. Why was everyone more perceptive than him? Why was he surrounded by so many perceptive people in the first place? First Kiku, now Marco. “Bunch a’ jerks.”
He didn’t bother asking if the Brit needed a refill. Alfred prepared the drink and served another piece of the chocolate cake, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ as he somehow managed to balance both items in one hand. Reaching the table without spilling a drop, he quietly placed them down, his stomach twisting in not so painful knots.
Green eyes fluttered up, somewhat surprised. He didn’t speak as he took the new drink and chugged it down, despite how hot it was. Alfred chuckled as he took a seat again; it looked like Arthur had been thinking rather deeply about something.
They stood in silence.
Closing his laptop, the blonde stored it safely away once he noticed the time. Tomorrow would be another long day, and he had wasted the night by just sitting there, idly. Quietly looking at the young man who so politely served him his drinks. He turned his eyes towards the window, watching as raindrops chased each other down the foggy glass. Watched as the water distorted and amplified the vivid colors of the city street. It was awfully comforting, yet unsettling. It reminded him of London.
A whistle made Alfred look up, seeing Marco gesture something unintelligibly. It was then that he had noticed; the coffee shop was empty for the exception of him and Arthur. He nodded and stood up. “Closing time.”
“Ah, yes of course. I think I dawdled more that I should have.” Arthur quickly gathered his things before reaching for his wallet and pulling out a card. “Company card. Let her rip.” He said rather disdainfully as he shoved it onto Alfred’s chest rather rudely. The American held up his hands.
“Naw, it’s all on me.”
“Excuse me?”
The boy shrugged, smiling down at the man as he walked towards the main doors, the lights at the farthest end of the café shutting off. “You looked like you had a shitty day. To make it better, you’re on the house.”
Arthur stared at him steadily before looking down at the card. What a small and insignificant gesture… yet it had made a world of difference to him. “T-Thank you. I feel like I’m indebted to you more and more each week.” He let out a small laugh, slipping his card back into place.
“Don’t worry about it; I’m a hero. S’what I do.” He beamed.
“You truly are something else.” Arthur’s smile had been genuine as he extended his hand; Alfred shook it. “I apologize for being somewhat lewd; it was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Forgive me if I did.”
“No way, man! A lot more people need that kind of self-esteem. Not to mention the balls to hit on someone like me.” Puffing his chest out, he grinned. He was beginning to feel surer of himself, as if he was getting used to the Briton’s presence. This whole situation had been something else. It was all too good to be true, like one of those Hollywood romances. The thought only made his grin grow wider, if possible.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur reached for the door. “Such language.” He pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold, looking back at those beautiful blues one more time with a barely visible smile. “Good night, Alfred. Thank you for the pleasant company.”
“How long till I see you again?”
The question took him off guard. The boy, the young man, was so obviously smitten that it was difficult to watch. Arthur felt the need to remind him that he was already seeing someone…but he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he broke that ridiculously bubbly heart. He shouldn’t lead him on… but the attention was intoxicating. Thrilling. He was a terrible person.
“I’ll see you when I see you.” It pulled at his heartstrings, seeing Alfred’s face fall. Arthur had brought his defenses up again, leaving the dilly-dallying behind. He had acted on impulse all evening long and as a result he had acted like some immature child. He was an English gentleman, not some debauched ruffian. “Hopefully it’ll be sooner than later.” There, he had said it. There was no denying he meant those words; none whatsoever.
“Awesome then. Good night, Arthur.” Alfred felt the urge to hug the shorter man but restrained himself. He didn’t want to put any unnecessary strain at that unexpected meeting. “Have a nice day tomorrow.”
Gripping his suitcase tightly, he gave a short nod and went on his way.
Alfred watched Arthur run to his car, the suitcase over his head to prevent getting too wet from the pouring rain, his beige coat flapping behind him as he went. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the car pull out and drive away, and even minutes later, he still looked in the direction he had driven off to. It had been a good night after all. A damn good one.
Locking the door, he threw the keys at a grinning Marco who was oh so casually leaning against the counter. “Not a word.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Night, man.”
“Good night, lover boy.”
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The evening after, while absently jotting down an order, Alfred turned his sights towards the glass doors as they swung open for the umpteenth time that day. His permanent smile widened, his chest going aflutter.
A head of blonde, tussled hair stuck out in the small crowed. Familiar green eyes looking about as he approached the line to order. He hadn’t seen Alfred yet.
The American already knew that the day would have an awesome end.
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AN: Timely update is timely. I was surprised that I managed to pull two updates in less than a month.
Here's to hoping my muse decides to stay this way all the way to the end, eh?
I also hope that this answers the question if Marco is actually Cuba. ~
As always, reviews are love!