Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
Fresh past-part fills post HERE
Comments and Suggestions go here
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index over here.
Remember though that you need not post your updates unless you posted in a new part
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Matthew pauses at the top of the shadowed stairs. There's no name or number on the building, but he thinks this must be it. It's nondescript, the kind of place you'd pass by without even noticing; even looking for it, Matthew nearly missed it. A path of street lamp light slants down the middle of the stairwell and he makes his way unaided by the handrail, soles thudding softly with each downward step. His heartbeat footfalls are all he hears; no sound from behind the door reaches out, though faint light seeps from its lower edge.
It's not until he pushes the door open and enters the sublevel bar that he realizes he was expecting something, after all. Something darker, something more colorful. The locals, probably regulars, turn to give him a perfunctory look, gazes glancing off him as they look away again without interest. Everyone except for the bartender; when their eyes meet, Matthew feels the tug, as natural as gravity.
He takes a seat at the corner end of the bar, hooking his feet under the rung on the stool as he settles himself, and leans forward to fold his arms along the bar top. As the bartender takes a first step toward him, someone calls for service. With a quick smile for Matthew and a finger asking him to wait, the bartender turns back to refill the pint glass held out to him. Matthew nods, although the man has already turned from him. His hand comes to his mouth, but his fingernails are too short to bite; taking a cue from the classic black & white movie playing on the large screen monitor, Matthew rubs his own well-manicured thumb smoothly along his lips, imitating an epitome of cool he doesn't feel.
The smoke in the air is already clinging to the roof of his mouth, bringing traces of alcohol with it, trickling down his throat. He clears the tickle but the taste lingers, and he swallows.
"Sorry." The bartender, suddenly in front of him, brings Matthew out of his reverie. "What'll you have?"
'You,' Matthew thinks, though he knows he could never say such a thing. "Surprise me," he smiles instead, and receives a smile in return.
As the bartender pull down a cocktail shaker, Matthew laughs at himself for imagining he was going to get a beer. The bartender pours another alcohol into the first, blushing it pink. Matthew watches curiously as other liquids are added, shaken, and strained into a cocktail glass. As the bartender brings it to him, Matthew can't help noticing that there's clearly enough left in the shaker to fill a second glass. So when his is set before him, he casually remarks that he doesn't like to drink alone. With a smile, the bartender pours the rest into a glass for himself and raises it to Matthew in silent toast; their eyes don't leave each other.
It's sweet. That must be the pink, Matthew surmises. Whatever it is, it's good. Good enough to get half through before Matthew sets it down. "So." He smiles, channeling the fidget of his fingers to caress the glass base. "Do you have a name? I mean, what should I call you?"
The bartender leans forward, elbow on the bar now, chin resting in the cradle of his palm, a lick of hair falling across his face as he tilts his head, tipping his mouth up into a smile. A hot, familiar little flush come over Matthew. "Whatever you like," the bartender murmurs, his smile sliding up more on one side.
"Oh. Um. Whatever you like, too."
"You'll always be Matthew to me," Alfred winks, leaning in conspiratorially, and Matthew blushes again, wondering if they're still just flirting.
Matthew downs the rest of his drink. Alfred matches him swallow for swallow, then clears the emptied glasses. He doesn't ask if Matthew would like another, or what he would like, but there are a couple of shot glasses between his fingers when he comes back, a bottle in the other hand, label obscured.
Curious about Alfred's incuriosity, Matthew finally asks, "Did Gilbert tell you I was coming?"
"The former Prussia?" Alfred's brow arches, but all he says is, "No." He hovers the mouth of the bottle, untipped, over the shot glasses.
Matthew shakes his head, politely declining the chaser. "He's still Prussia, though." It's not what he meant to say, but he couldn't help responding to that.
tbc...
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