Booze Speaking [2.4/A few]
anonymous
February 20 2010, 06:20:05 UTC
"Did Frogger put something in Alfred's drink?" Arthur asked in a hasty whisper.
"Non." Francis answered.
"Alfred may have had a bit too much to drink tonight." Matthew sighed.
Arthur made a noise to indicate he understood, but kept his eyes on Alfred. He watched as the American came towards the table, giving no indication that he had come to notice Arthur. It looked like the man was attempting to pull off a confident swagger as he approached, but managing only to perform a stooping and drunken lope.
"Hello." Arthur said as Alfred neared them.
Alfred turned surprised eyes on Arthur, a deer in the headlights. "You!"
"Er, yes. Me." Arthur took an involuntary step back, wary of Alfred's reaction.
Alfred looked around, as though expecting to see more new arrivals. "Are we having a world meeting at the bar?"
"Not quite, Alfred." Matthew stood to escort his brother the rest of the distance to the table. "Francis and I need to go, and Arthur graciously offered to escort you home, so you'll be leaving with him."
Graciously offered, my arse. Arthur thought.
"Does this mean you're leaving me?" Alfred questioned, his grip finding its way about Matthew's arm. "And since when do I need a babysitter?"
"Arthur isn't a babysitter, Alfred. He's your friend." Matthew's words carefully evaded the first question.
"Pfft. Try telling him that." Alfred leaned his weight against Matthew.
"I'm right here, idiot boy." Arthur snapped.
"See? Look at that." Alfred hissed, "Calling me words like 'idiot' and 'boy'."
Francis glanced at the clock hanging from the patterned wall. "Mathieu, if we wish to make our flight, we will have to leave as quickly as possible."
Matthew began to guide Alfred to the door, glancing over his shoulder at Arthur and Francis. "Come on then, let's get this show on the road."
Arthur followed silently behind the two young men, suppressing a wince as the stench of heavy liquor slapped him in the face. He watched through watering eyes as Alfred's form was half dragged by his brother, bobbing slightly back and forth, hiccuping over quiet words, almost pleas, to Matthew. Arthur's eyes ran along the seams of Alfred's faded and tattered jeans, fraying at the edges, though they snugly wrapped themselves around the flesh of his thighs as they moved upwards, until the hanging hem of his bomber jacket obscured any more of the man from view.
"Like what you see?" Francis murmured, a smile trailing on his words.
"What are you talking about?" Arthur barked back, an uncomfortable heat forming in his chest.
"Nothing, nothing at all." Francis gave a flippant wave and pocketed his hands, ducking out ahead of Arthur and into the blackness of the street.
Arthur crept out of the door last, looking over his shoulder and nodding good-naturedly at the barkeep before shutting the door behind him. His vision momentarily losing its focus in the change from well lit pub to the barely visible street. Immediately the soft kiss of a tempered drizzle brushed against his skin, a slick and shining black road beginning to form in front of him.
Arthur took a deep breath, shuddering at the iciness of the air as it entered his chest, pausing to appreciate the outward puffs of white mist as he exhaled. He curled his toes within his shoes, rocking slightly before setting out down the street to rejoin the others.
The two brothers were already in position beside Arthur's beat-up clunker as he drew closer. Alfred appeared to have grown bored in the short amount of time it had taken for Arthur to catch up, his arms now looped about his brother's shoulders, urging him to start up a waltz.
Matthew indulged Alfred momentarily, if only to get Arthur in his sight. He gave the older man a look that breathed exasperation, and Arthur gave a nod of acknowledgment in return. Arthur hurried his step, rounding the side of the car, hands aflutter as he fished his keys from his pocket.
Booze Speaking [2.6/A few]
anonymous
February 20 2010, 06:50:22 UTC
At first attempt, they glanced away from the lock. Arthur mumbled a curse under his breath, uncomfortably aware of how chilled the air felt against the warmth of his cheeks, the hotness of his ears. Stupid Francis, Arthur's key finally connected with the lock, Making something out of nothing. I was only thinking about how much stitching and ironing that boy's pants needed he assured himself, jerking on the handle of the passenger's side door before going back to the driver's side.
Arthur slid into his seat, closing the door before either of the young men could say anything to him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, wide and unblinking. What was he supposed to do with Alfred? Play board games until he sobered up, make sure he didn't go on a drunken archaeologist dig in the back garden? Arthur hadn't thought this far ahead.
Matthew slung Alfred into the passenger seat, earning a loud bark of laugh from the other. He pulled Alfred's seat belt and buckled it, checking to make sure it would hold up with a tug of his hand. Alfred made no attempt to help the other, content to laugh at the efforts of his brother.
"Now, Alfred." Matthew half knelt, his hands gently grabbing the cloth of Alfred's shirt, bringing the American's attention back into focus. "Promise me you'll keep your hands to yourself tonight." He gave the slightest of jerks on Alfred when the man looked away to consider the request. "Promise."
"Why are you making him promise?" Arthur asked, watching the two brothers from the hazed edge of his peripheral vision. "He better not be a violent drunk."
Matthew bit back his laughter before it left his mouth, but Arthur could hear it reverberating in his throat. "He's not a violent drunk. I don't think I'd be alive if he were."
"Are you sure?" Arthur was unconvinced.
"Look, pretend I never even said anything, okay?"
"Okay!" Alfred piped up.
"I didn't mean you." Matthew chided.
Alfred lay his hands over Matthew's, giving them a light and patronizing pat. "You run along with Francis now, me and Arthur are going to get along swimmingly." He slurred, smiling the content and relaxed smile that only the drunk can.
"Alright, but behave yourself." Matthew stood, his hands sliding from Alfred's grasp.
"Hey, don't leave me hanging, bro." He frowned.
"What?"
"You're going to leave me without so much as a hug?" Alfred whined, low and distressed.
"Oh, right." Matthew knelt again, holding his arms open for an embrace.
Alfred quickly latched his arms around his brother, make a throaty purr and his nuzzled into the fabric of the other's shirt. Arthur's jaw clenched in his effort not to turn his head and witness the act. Sickening shame sluiced over his chest, the feeling of being a voyeur combined with the stirrings of all around uneasiness.
It was fine if Alfred wanted to hug his brother, but Arthur would have preferred it if he had done so in private. Public acts of adoration always knocked his mind off kilter, distracted him from more important situations. Especially at the moment, as the highly affectionate squeals the boy was emitting were becoming downright worrisome.
"Okay, hug time is over." Matthew again pulled away, Alfred's arms slackening as he sat back in his seat. "I'll call you in the morning, go straight to bed when you get home."
"Okay, Mom." Alfred snorted as Matthew shut the door. He tapped on the glass a few times, a tuneless tattoo that could not reach Matthew's ears as he walked away from the car.
Arthur sat, his own fingers tempted to join in the sound. In Arthur's stead, the rain picked up to weld together with Alfred's tapping, minutes passing as the movements of Alfred's right hand grew bored with fatigue. His hand slumped to his side, head lazily turning to watch Arthur.
"Which bar we goin' to next, hot shot?" The odor of alcohol curled from Alfred's lips.
Arthur wrung the window's hand crank, cracking the window open to relieve the stifling stench. "Don't call me that, and we're heading home, not to another pub." He scratched at the warmth creeping up his neck.
"Home?" Alfred snirked, his body seeming to shift closer to Arthur's. "You can't drive across the pond, silly billy."
Author's Notes
anonymous
February 20 2010, 06:51:55 UTC
I promise for a whole lot more drunkenly affectionate Alfred in the chapters to come. Hopefully this isn't boring everyone to tears so far. I'll have the updates in a handful of days, as well.
Not boring at all! Your writing style is actually quite refreshing - the prose and the pacing and the quirky little details like Francis keying Arthur's car makes reading this quite enjoyable! And I'm really loving each character's voice in this - especially Arthur's! He's just the right amount of grump, nonchalance, snark, with a little sprinkling of secret interest that's covered up with denial. Aah, but your characterizations all around are just love~
Haha, I'm really looking forward to see where this is heading (and I'm quite curious to see if you'll take up the OP's bonus as there's much potential for angst in it and I'm a sucker for such things), so here's hoping you update soon!
Thank you very much for your kind and encouraging words!
I am most assuredly going to be incorporating the bonus into the end of the fic, so I'm sure there will be a good amount of angst and other such fun things to write.
Booze Speaking [3.1/A few]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 01:27:14 UTC
"I never agreed to go to your house." Alfred frowned, "If you take me there, you're taking me against my will. Villain."
"And what are you going to about it?" Arthur merged back in to the street, beginning the journey home.
"Leave." Alfred teasingly plucked at the handle several times, gauging Arthur's reaction.
Arthur blinked oddly as a stray drop of rain snuck in between the cracked window and struck him in the face. "I'm afraid you'll find your door doesn't open from the inside."
Alfred tested his newly acquired information by giving a severe tug on the handle, once, twice, three times. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"Of course not. Peter likes to sit in the front, but I don't trust him not to open the door and hurl himself into traffic because he wants to go to a toy shop or something inane like that." Arthur shook his head, grumbling, "As if I'd want to keep you around."
A stark silence swallowed the interior of the vehicle the instant the words had fallen from Arthur's lips, and he knew without doubt he had spoken his thoughts too loudly. He ignored it at first, pretending there was not another soul in the car. That it was only him, and the swirling tension of the air was a result of the electrically charged air. His eyes refused to play into the act.
They flicked at an even and quick tempo, from the road to Alfred, then back again. Arthur's eyes avoided grazing over Alfred's face, unwilling to confront any sadness or hurt they might hold. They instead traced over his chest, the rise and fall as the man's breath, slightly hitched at times, the breathing of someone in a desperate struggle to hold back tears.
Arthur's eyes moved on. Sliding over Alfred's stomach, glancing across the button and down the metallic zipper of his jeans, content to settle on Alfred's thighs. Arthur frowned as he took in the curve of the soft flesh, marred holes made upon the jeans distracted him from his visual conquest. A particularly large tear sat upon the thigh closest to Arthur, a twinge of need surfaced, a need to touch the lack of fabric.
He knew the hole would not leave if his fingers were to glance over it, but a biting voice in the back of his head urged him on, begging for the tactile sensation. If only he could hook a single finger into that hole, give a simple tug to reaffirm its existence. Arthur's teeth ground together, the desire growing thick within his head, becoming swollen and demanding.
Arthur flicked through different excuses he could give if Alfred were to question his touch, which surely the young man would. He could not design a single excuse that could stand up to questioning before crumbling into a mess of lies, his hidden intention laid naked and exposed in an instant.
Strangled breath wrenched Arthur's attention back into the present. Alfred was still struggling to suppress his emotional distress, managing only to feed it in the silence. Arthur's hand twitched with a patronizing urge to quell Alfred's pain with a well placed touch, a mix of kind words and gentle whispers.
His hand moved of its own accord, Arthur having only the strength to direct it towards the other man's shoulders, instead of a more sensitive area. His fingers crept quickly along, spider like in their scurrying movements, covering the width of Alfred's shoulders before coming to languidly rest near Alfred's collar. Close enough to surreptitiously flick his fingers against the other's disheveled blonde locks without drawing much attention.
"I didn't mean what I said." Arthur mumbled belatedly.
"Yes, you did." Alfred looked out into the night, his hands clenched in his lap.
"That's not true, I'm simply-" Arthur swallowed any semblance of pride he owned. "Being a grumpy man."
"Like always?" Alfred glanced back, his words hopeful but reserved, wanting the tension to pass.
"Like always." Arthur forced a rough laugh at the end of his words, but the unease between them refused to fade.
Booze Speaking [3.2/A few]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 01:45:02 UTC
"Grumpy old man or not, you don't like me. I try everything I can to be your buddy," Alfred bemoaned, his chest puffing like an upset child's. "I mean, at the Country Club last week I even left you a doughnut." He deflated, chin dropping to his chest.
"Country club?" Arthur could not recall ever golfing with Alfred, knowing the other would use the gold karts to play go-kart.
"When we all get together at our little meetings. Because we're all countries, and it's like, a club." Alfred's eyes flashed to Arthur's face, seeking reassurance that his self-coined term was not ridiculous.
"I see." Breathed Arthur, "Certainly quite an, erm, artistic name." He tenderly tickled his fingers along the smooth surface of Alfred's neck, noting the warmth of his skin, the slight touch of sweat.
Alfred gave no signal that he had noticed Arthur's touch, his head lolling only slightly. "Can I turn on the radio?"
"Be my guest." Arthur welcomed, giving the back of Alfred's neck a motivating rub.
Alfred punched the radio on with a drunken fumble, his other hand readjusting his spectacles as he studied the radio frequency. He began to scan the stations without a word, pausing only long enough at every station to obtain the general gist of what genre was playing. Smooth jazz he passed, metal he passed, and with a somber grimace from Arthur, classical music he passed.
He went through this movement several times, scanning up and down the range of frequencies available. When static would make itself apparent, Alfred would lean towards the radio, his back curving and his eyes scrutinizing the air, trying desperately to see what sound lay beneath the buzz of noise.
Arthur's fingers clutched at the air every time he felt Alfred lean away, eager to brush against the man's hair and skin, to make subtle yet comforting contact. Alfred's peculiar musical decisions were beginning to strain his nerves, he wanted the boy to just pick something already, throw caution to the wind and listen to whatever came next so he could return himself to Arthur's touch.
"Your radio is broken." Alfred announced, throwing himself back into his seat with a heave.
Arthur's nerves settled as he felt the tickle of Alfred's silken hair against his forearm. "What makes you say that?"
"No Spanish folk music. Not a lick." Alfred moaned dramatically.
"Beg pardon?" Arthur wondered if he had misheard, or at least missed a segment vital to the conversation.
"You heard me, no Spanish folk music. No accordions, no happy singing voices, no catchy castanets."
"And how do you draw the conclusion that my radio is broken because it hasn't any Spanish folk music to play for you?"
Alfred shot a serious look at Arthur, his lips taught and thin, his glazed eyes slightly wild. "There is always Spanish folk music."
"Why do you need such music so badly to begin with?"
Alfred's eyes drained of their rowdy touch, and Arthur was sure he felt the other leaning into his arm, as opposed to merely tolerating it. "I feel kind of homesick," he hastily muttered, his words jumbling in their hurry to be spoken.
"That doesn't explain the music." Arthur thumbed the collar of Alfred's jacked, the grooves of the fabric settling into his memory.
"Like I said, Spanish folk is always on the radio back home. I swear it's on every other station even. At first I wasn't so big on it, but it's grown on me. The musicians and singers always sound so lively, like they're having a grand ol' time with their simple instruments."
Unable to completely grasp why folk music would cause Alfred to feel better, Arthur diverted the course of their conversation. "How long have you been here? In England, I mean." Their last meeting had been only three days ago, and surely a well-traveled man like Alfred would not be pining for his homeland in such a short period of time.
Booze Speaking [3.3/A few]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 01:59:33 UTC
The arm that had been resting on Alfred's shoulder snapped back to the wheel, colliding inadvertently with the back of Alfred's skull "Two weeks?" Arthur questioned, more than a bit incredulous.
"Ow, yes." Alfred readjusted his glasses with slightly jittering fingers, the frame having come to balance precariously upon his nose after the blow to his head. "I was vacationing with Mattie."
"And this entire time, you haven't made a single attempt to contact me?"
"No, why would I?"
Arthur's chest was struck with ice, a sweeping and bitter chill coming to rest on his thoughts. His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, it creaked obligingly under his strength. "Oh, I don't know," Arthur spat, "Maybe to spend time with me."
"Believe me, I thought about it," Alfred began, but his lips pursed as he looked back on his words. "I don't mean I obsessed over it. But I considered it. Maybe. Not for a long time. Maybe like, for a minute." Alfred took to backpedaling.
"And of all the things on God's green Earth, what stopped you?" Arthur began to give the wheel a deep tissue massage, ignoring the mounting whines of protest.
"You'd be all like, 'You are a git-faced wanker who gives hand-relief to corporate mascots' and then I'd call you a slang word that sounds bad, but might not be bad." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Like a toff. I don't know what one is, but I'd call you one anyway."
Arthur loosened his grip on the wheel, his shoulders shedding a hint of their anxiety. "I suppose that sounds more or less like our conversations."
"We're doing pretty good so far, I think." Alfred hugged himself. "We haven't gotten to the hand-relief bit part of our conversation yet."
"Yes, we've certainly proved ourselves to be more civil than is usual for us, tonight."
The two men again fell silent, their company doing little to soothe each other. Wind whipped loudly through the window, carrying small torrents of water into the car, but Arthur was unwilling to roll up the window. His close proximity to Alfred constantly reminded him of the other's mental and physical state, one that involved extravagant amounts of alcohol.
Alfred began to hum, reserved if not lackluster. His hands moved fleetingly up and down the restraint that stretched across his chest, strumming and caressing. He shifted his weight in his seat, restless and seemingly full of excess energy despite the late hour. Soon Alfred's coat was off, pooling at his waist while his face was pressed against the plexiglass pane of the window, blinking every time a drop of rain hurled itself against the window.
Arthur was content to drive in silence, knowing that it lessened the chances of an argument breaking out if neither were speaking. He pulled into the drive of his home, slightly impressed that Alfred could manage to hold himself together without speaking for more than twenty seconds.
"This your pad?" Alfred straightened up as Arthur parked. "The little joint way off there?" He gestured to Arthur's cottage, several hundred yards away.
"Home, sweet home." Arthur smiled, he didn't mind if it was a cozy, if not somewhat cramped living space. "There's nowhere but tall grass and wildflowers leading up to the door, so we're going to have to make a bit of a run for it. You can put your jacket over your head."
"I think I'll pass." Alfred began to unbuckle himself.
"That wasn't a request, lad."
Alfred wavered in his seat, weighing his options. "I bet the rain feels nice," he mused.
"I'm sure it does, but I won't have any wet beasts crossing my hearth."
"Yeah, not when you can summon 'em up in your basement." Alfred quipped.
"How long have you been waiting to tell that joke, a few decades?"
"Something around there," Alfred divulged.
Arthur shrugged his own coat off, pro-actively pulling it over his head to shield himself from the rain. "Either you put your jacket over your head, or you sleep in the car." His tone left no weak-point for cajoling.
Booze Speaking [3.4/A few]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 02:10:10 UTC
"But your coat is better than mine. Not to mention mine is leather, and it's so old it really does smell pretty funky if it gets damp."
"Then what shall I do? Hand over my coat and simply soak in the rain?"
"I never said that," Alfred balked awkwardly. "We could, maybe, share it or something."
"Do you even know how to share?" Arthur scoffed.
"With you, I do!" Alfred whined, childlike in his determination.
"Name one instance."
"The doughnut I mentioned before."
Arthur's mind recovered their earlier conversation, the fleeting mention of the fried sweet dough. He wracked his mind for the memory of finding it. Faintly, he recalled seeing a doughnut in the break room during the last 'Country Club', but he hadn't eaten it. Something had been distinctly wrong with it, something vital─
"Wait. I remember this doughnut you're going on about."
"You do?"
"It had the icing eaten off of it."
Alfred went silent, no doubt projecting the memory onto his own mind, watching the frames slip by. "Right. Yeah, that was me." His fingers knit together, his shoulders hunched with embarrassment.
Arthur studied Alfred. Studied his saddened posture, the red blush of both booze and shame painted upon his cheeks, the nervous twitching of his fingers. His irritation melted into a thick and tallowy mass too unmotivated to go on. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose."
Arthur rolled his window up before exiting the car, quickly stepping to the passenger side and pulling the handle. Alfred blinked up at him momentarily, eyes clouded and confused, puzzled by Arthur's rapid change of heart. An unsure smile curved across his lips as he also stepped out of the car and under the protection of Arthur's upraised arm.
Rain assaulted the two men as they struggled towards the front door, making their way at a frustratingly slow pace. Alfred repeatedly knocked into Arthur's side as he drunkenly teetered in one direction before swinging in another, each time his amused laugh hurried away by the whip of the wind.
Arthur clenched his teeth in surprise as Alfred's shoulder collided with him, employing a particular bit of force. He winced and attempted to will the pain away, stopping in his tracks to recover for a moment. Alfred stilled with him, leaning most of his weight into Arthur as he waited.
"What are you doing, you lug of a man?" Arthur barked against the wind.
"I think-" Alfred shouted back, strands of hair tangled hair lashing his face as his form lurched to the side, "-I think I'm gonna fall. Yes. That is definitely going to happen."
"You are not going to fall. We've made it far enough with you on your feet, you can manage for another hundred yards or so."
Arthur smothered a mix of astonishment and fondness as Alfred's arms began to wind around his waist for support, shackling their bodies together. His own body refused to move as Alfred molded to it, mumbling to himself as he went. He took a step forward to urge Arthur on, who started up without a word of protest.
The physical closeness warmed Arthur, pushing him to carry on into the pounding rain that seemed only to gain in its strength. He pulled Alfred along with him, the young man almost tripping them both when he tried to stride ahead. Arthur found himself distracted by every step the other man took, his bear-like hold on Arthur, how his head had come to rest on Arthur's shoulder, bumping and swaying with every step.
Despite being bogged down with the task of half dragging Alfred, a smile spilled across Arthur's lips as they reached the door, their journey having come to an end. He hesitated at the door, removing their coat cover and dipping a hand into his pocket to find his keys. Alfred's grasp stayed strong, his breathing labored and hot as it traveled along Arthur's jawline, unsettling the man.
"L-let go of me, you o-oaf," Arthur stammered, every breath that scattered across his neck detracting from his focus to get the door ajar.
Booze Speaking [3.5/A few]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 02:22:41 UTC
Alfred slackened his grip, but refrained from completely releasing Arthur. Slick strands of hair plastered themselves along Englishman's skin as Alfred lowered his head to rest in the crook where shoulder and neck met, his breathing still deeply tenuous.
Arthur unlocked the door with ingrained movements, attempting to take Alfred with him while shouldering it open. He made to shut the door with a snap of his hip, as he always did when his arms were full, but the sucking of the wind slammed it for him.
The echoing noise stirred Alfred from his silence, and the man eased himself away from Arthur, yawning and stretching as he toed off his shoes. A scowl tweaked at Arthur's features as Alfred had pulled away, aware of how oddly comfortable it had been to feel the other so close to his body.
"Your hair is soaking," Arthur remarked with a certain casualness, not wanting to rip into the boy right off the bat.
Alfred gave his head a few pats before drawing his hand away and giving his palm a scrutinizing look. "Indeed it is," he remarked, a slightly bemused look drifting across his face.
Arthur touched his own hair, and felt a hint of smugness at the fact it was bone-dry, if not a little straw like. He removed his own shoes as Alfred peeled off waterlogged socks which he promptly inserted into his sneakers. "Don't do that." Arthur groaned. "Ring out your socks and hang them up, then stuff some wadded up newspaper into your shoes."
Alfred gave him a look that said Truly, you ask too much of me.
"Fine. Leave them there. I hope they get moldy." Arthur's gaze slipped over Alfred's clothes, noticing wet splotches. Is this boy some kind of water magnet? he silently asked himself. "Go change into some dry pajamas."
"Don't got any."
Arthur stared at him, unamused. "What do you mean, 'don't got any'?"
"I mean, I don't have any spare clothes, only what I have on my back." Alfred frowned, his eyes holding a mix of emotions Arthur could not quite pinpoint.
Arthur closed his eyes and gave them a firm rub with the flats of his hands. "I can't deal with this," he wheezed.
He repressed a flinch as he felt Alfred's hands wrap around his wrists and begin to pull them away from his eyes, grip gentle, but with a certain firmness that told Arthur not to resist.
"Are you mad at me?" Alfred asked, his voice quiet in fear of the answer.
"No," Arthur assured him, unable to lash out at Alfred for the time being. "I'm not cross with anyone, only frustrated."
"With me?"
"Only a bit." He weaseled his wrists from Alfred's grip to give the other a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "Why don't we get you some clothes?"
Alfred's expression relaxed as he nodded in agreement. Arthur turned with a smile and made his way down the main corridor until he found himself in a spare room that had, over the years, gone in to a metamorphosis that left it as a cluttered storage area.
He rummaged through box after box, his hands sifting through a variety of objects, from thimbles to non-functioning kitchen appliances. A splash of red fabric caught his eye, and without a thought he began to tug upon the hem of the clothing. Soon, a long, plain red shirt emerged from the box.
"I think that'll fit," Alfred said, surprising Arthur with how close he was.
Arthur whirled around and shoved the shirt towards Alfred, keeping the other at arm's length. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Alfred momentarily refused to take the shirt from Arthur, instead opting to strip off the top he was presently wearing.
"S-stop that, I don't need you changing in front of me." Arthur ran the tip of his tongue over paling lips.
Alfred ignored Arthur's protests, struggling to pull his shirt over his head. Soon his arms had become tangled, locked in an upright position. He flailed about like a headless monster in his endeavor to change his top. Arthur reached out and steadied Alfred, his eyes rolling as he helped the other escape from the self imposed prison.
"Non." Francis answered.
"Alfred may have had a bit too much to drink tonight." Matthew sighed.
Arthur made a noise to indicate he understood, but kept his eyes on Alfred. He watched as the American came towards the table, giving no indication that he had come to notice Arthur. It looked like the man was attempting to pull off a confident swagger as he approached, but managing only to perform a stooping and drunken lope.
"Hello." Arthur said as Alfred neared them.
Alfred turned surprised eyes on Arthur, a deer in the headlights. "You!"
"Er, yes. Me." Arthur took an involuntary step back, wary of Alfred's reaction.
Alfred looked around, as though expecting to see more new arrivals. "Are we having a world meeting at the bar?"
"Not quite, Alfred." Matthew stood to escort his brother the rest of the distance to the table. "Francis and I need to go, and Arthur graciously offered to escort you home, so you'll be leaving with him."
Graciously offered, my arse. Arthur thought.
"Does this mean you're leaving me?" Alfred questioned, his grip finding its way about Matthew's arm. "And since when do I need a babysitter?"
"Arthur isn't a babysitter, Alfred. He's your friend." Matthew's words carefully evaded the first question.
"Pfft. Try telling him that." Alfred leaned his weight against Matthew.
"I'm right here, idiot boy." Arthur snapped.
"See? Look at that." Alfred hissed, "Calling me words like 'idiot' and 'boy'."
Francis glanced at the clock hanging from the patterned wall. "Mathieu, if we wish to make our flight, we will have to leave as quickly as possible."
Matthew began to guide Alfred to the door, glancing over his shoulder at Arthur and Francis. "Come on then, let's get this show on the road."
Arthur followed silently behind the two young men, suppressing a wince as the stench of heavy liquor slapped him in the face. He watched through watering eyes as Alfred's form was half dragged by his brother, bobbing slightly back and forth, hiccuping over quiet words, almost pleas, to Matthew. Arthur's eyes ran along the seams of Alfred's faded and tattered jeans, fraying at the edges, though they snugly wrapped themselves around the flesh of his thighs as they moved upwards, until the hanging hem of his bomber jacket obscured any more of the man from view.
"Like what you see?" Francis murmured, a smile trailing on his words.
"What are you talking about?" Arthur barked back, an uncomfortable heat forming in his chest.
"Nothing, nothing at all." Francis gave a flippant wave and pocketed his hands, ducking out ahead of Arthur and into the blackness of the street.
Arthur crept out of the door last, looking over his shoulder and nodding good-naturedly at the barkeep before shutting the door behind him. His vision momentarily losing its focus in the change from well lit pub to the barely visible street. Immediately the soft kiss of a tempered drizzle brushed against his skin, a slick and shining black road beginning to form in front of him.
Arthur took a deep breath, shuddering at the iciness of the air as it entered his chest, pausing to appreciate the outward puffs of white mist as he exhaled. He curled his toes within his shoes, rocking slightly before setting out down the street to rejoin the others.
The two brothers were already in position beside Arthur's beat-up clunker as he drew closer. Alfred appeared to have grown bored in the short amount of time it had taken for Arthur to catch up, his arms now looped about his brother's shoulders, urging him to start up a waltz.
Matthew indulged Alfred momentarily, if only to get Arthur in his sight. He gave the older man a look that breathed exasperation, and Arthur gave a nod of acknowledgment in return. Arthur hurried his step, rounding the side of the car, hands aflutter as he fished his keys from his pocket.
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Arthur slid into his seat, closing the door before either of the young men could say anything to him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, wide and unblinking. What was he supposed to do with Alfred? Play board games until he sobered up, make sure he didn't go on a drunken archaeologist dig in the back garden? Arthur hadn't thought this far ahead.
Matthew slung Alfred into the passenger seat, earning a loud bark of laugh from the other. He pulled Alfred's seat belt and buckled it, checking to make sure it would hold up with a tug of his hand. Alfred made no attempt to help the other, content to laugh at the efforts of his brother.
"Now, Alfred." Matthew half knelt, his hands gently grabbing the cloth of Alfred's shirt, bringing the American's attention back into focus. "Promise me you'll keep your hands to yourself tonight." He gave the slightest of jerks on Alfred when the man looked away to consider the request. "Promise."
"Why are you making him promise?" Arthur asked, watching the two brothers from the hazed edge of his peripheral vision. "He better not be a violent drunk."
Matthew bit back his laughter before it left his mouth, but Arthur could hear it reverberating in his throat. "He's not a violent drunk. I don't think I'd be alive if he were."
"Are you sure?" Arthur was unconvinced.
"Look, pretend I never even said anything, okay?"
"Okay!" Alfred piped up.
"I didn't mean you." Matthew chided.
Alfred lay his hands over Matthew's, giving them a light and patronizing pat. "You run along with Francis now, me and Arthur are going to get along swimmingly." He slurred, smiling the content and relaxed smile that only the drunk can.
"Alright, but behave yourself." Matthew stood, his hands sliding from Alfred's grasp.
"Hey, don't leave me hanging, bro." He frowned.
"What?"
"You're going to leave me without so much as a hug?" Alfred whined, low and distressed.
"Oh, right." Matthew knelt again, holding his arms open for an embrace.
Alfred quickly latched his arms around his brother, make a throaty purr and his nuzzled into the fabric of the other's shirt. Arthur's jaw clenched in his effort not to turn his head and witness the act. Sickening shame sluiced over his chest, the feeling of being a voyeur combined with the stirrings of all around uneasiness.
It was fine if Alfred wanted to hug his brother, but Arthur would have preferred it if he had done so in private. Public acts of adoration always knocked his mind off kilter, distracted him from more important situations. Especially at the moment, as the highly affectionate squeals the boy was emitting were becoming downright worrisome.
"Okay, hug time is over." Matthew again pulled away, Alfred's arms slackening as he sat back in his seat. "I'll call you in the morning, go straight to bed when you get home."
"Okay, Mom." Alfred snorted as Matthew shut the door. He tapped on the glass a few times, a tuneless tattoo that could not reach Matthew's ears as he walked away from the car.
Arthur sat, his own fingers tempted to join in the sound. In Arthur's stead, the rain picked up to weld together with Alfred's tapping, minutes passing as the movements of Alfred's right hand grew bored with fatigue. His hand slumped to his side, head lazily turning to watch Arthur.
"Which bar we goin' to next, hot shot?" The odor of alcohol curled from Alfred's lips.
Arthur wrung the window's hand crank, cracking the window open to relieve the stifling stench. "Don't call me that, and we're heading home, not to another pub." He scratched at the warmth creeping up his neck.
"Home?" Alfred snirked, his body seeming to shift closer to Arthur's. "You can't drive across the pond, silly billy."
"My home."
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Haha, I'm really looking forward to see where this is heading (and I'm quite curious to see if you'll take up the OP's bonus as there's much potential for angst in it and I'm a sucker for such things), so here's hoping you update soon!
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I am most assuredly going to be incorporating the bonus into the end of the fic, so I'm sure there will be a good amount of angst and other such fun things to write.
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( Ugh, and that Mat/Al hug was the damn cutest thing ever, I nearly melted, and woke people up by going "Aw!" )
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So much awesome.
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"And what are you going to about it?" Arthur merged back in to the street, beginning the journey home.
"Leave." Alfred teasingly plucked at the handle several times, gauging Arthur's reaction.
Arthur blinked oddly as a stray drop of rain snuck in between the cracked window and struck him in the face. "I'm afraid you'll find your door doesn't open from the inside."
Alfred tested his newly acquired information by giving a severe tug on the handle, once, twice, three times. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"Of course not. Peter likes to sit in the front, but I don't trust him not to open the door and hurl himself into traffic because he wants to go to a toy shop or something inane like that." Arthur shook his head, grumbling, "As if I'd want to keep you around."
A stark silence swallowed the interior of the vehicle the instant the words had fallen from Arthur's lips, and he knew without doubt he had spoken his thoughts too loudly. He ignored it at first, pretending there was not another soul in the car. That it was only him, and the swirling tension of the air was a result of the electrically charged air. His eyes refused to play into the act.
They flicked at an even and quick tempo, from the road to Alfred, then back again. Arthur's eyes avoided grazing over Alfred's face, unwilling to confront any sadness or hurt they might hold. They instead traced over his chest, the rise and fall as the man's breath, slightly hitched at times, the breathing of someone in a desperate struggle to hold back tears.
Arthur's eyes moved on. Sliding over Alfred's stomach, glancing across the button and down the metallic zipper of his jeans, content to settle on Alfred's thighs. Arthur frowned as he took in the curve of the soft flesh, marred holes made upon the jeans distracted him from his visual conquest. A particularly large tear sat upon the thigh closest to Arthur, a twinge of need surfaced, a need to touch the lack of fabric.
He knew the hole would not leave if his fingers were to glance over it, but a biting voice in the back of his head urged him on, begging for the tactile sensation. If only he could hook a single finger into that hole, give a simple tug to reaffirm its existence. Arthur's teeth ground together, the desire growing thick within his head, becoming swollen and demanding.
Arthur flicked through different excuses he could give if Alfred were to question his touch, which surely the young man would. He could not design a single excuse that could stand up to questioning before crumbling into a mess of lies, his hidden intention laid naked and exposed in an instant.
Strangled breath wrenched Arthur's attention back into the present. Alfred was still struggling to suppress his emotional distress, managing only to feed it in the silence. Arthur's hand twitched with a patronizing urge to quell Alfred's pain with a well placed touch, a mix of kind words and gentle whispers.
His hand moved of its own accord, Arthur having only the strength to direct it towards the other man's shoulders, instead of a more sensitive area. His fingers crept quickly along, spider like in their scurrying movements, covering the width of Alfred's shoulders before coming to languidly rest near Alfred's collar. Close enough to surreptitiously flick his fingers against the other's disheveled blonde locks without drawing much attention.
"I didn't mean what I said." Arthur mumbled belatedly.
"Yes, you did." Alfred looked out into the night, his hands clenched in his lap.
"That's not true, I'm simply-" Arthur swallowed any semblance of pride he owned. "Being a grumpy man."
"Like always?" Alfred glanced back, his words hopeful but reserved, wanting the tension to pass.
"Like always." Arthur forced a rough laugh at the end of his words, but the unease between them refused to fade.
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"Country club?" Arthur could not recall ever golfing with Alfred, knowing the other would use the gold karts to play go-kart.
"When we all get together at our little meetings. Because we're all countries, and it's like, a club." Alfred's eyes flashed to Arthur's face, seeking reassurance that his self-coined term was not ridiculous.
"I see." Breathed Arthur, "Certainly quite an, erm, artistic name." He tenderly tickled his fingers along the smooth surface of Alfred's neck, noting the warmth of his skin, the slight touch of sweat.
Alfred gave no signal that he had noticed Arthur's touch, his head lolling only slightly. "Can I turn on the radio?"
"Be my guest." Arthur welcomed, giving the back of Alfred's neck a motivating rub.
Alfred punched the radio on with a drunken fumble, his other hand readjusting his spectacles as he studied the radio frequency. He began to scan the stations without a word, pausing only long enough at every station to obtain the general gist of what genre was playing. Smooth jazz he passed, metal he passed, and with a somber grimace from Arthur, classical music he passed.
He went through this movement several times, scanning up and down the range of frequencies available. When static would make itself apparent, Alfred would lean towards the radio, his back curving and his eyes scrutinizing the air, trying desperately to see what sound lay beneath the buzz of noise.
Arthur's fingers clutched at the air every time he felt Alfred lean away, eager to brush against the man's hair and skin, to make subtle yet comforting contact. Alfred's peculiar musical decisions were beginning to strain his nerves, he wanted the boy to just pick something already, throw caution to the wind and listen to whatever came next so he could return himself to Arthur's touch.
"Your radio is broken." Alfred announced, throwing himself back into his seat with a heave.
Arthur's nerves settled as he felt the tickle of Alfred's silken hair against his forearm. "What makes you say that?"
"No Spanish folk music. Not a lick." Alfred moaned dramatically.
"Beg pardon?" Arthur wondered if he had misheard, or at least missed a segment vital to the conversation.
"You heard me, no Spanish folk music. No accordions, no happy singing voices, no catchy castanets."
"And how do you draw the conclusion that my radio is broken because it hasn't any Spanish folk music to play for you?"
Alfred shot a serious look at Arthur, his lips taught and thin, his glazed eyes slightly wild. "There is always Spanish folk music."
"Why do you need such music so badly to begin with?"
Alfred's eyes drained of their rowdy touch, and Arthur was sure he felt the other leaning into his arm, as opposed to merely tolerating it. "I feel kind of homesick," he hastily muttered, his words jumbling in their hurry to be spoken.
"That doesn't explain the music." Arthur thumbed the collar of Alfred's jacked, the grooves of the fabric settling into his memory.
"Like I said, Spanish folk is always on the radio back home. I swear it's on every other station even. At first I wasn't so big on it, but it's grown on me. The musicians and singers always sound so lively, like they're having a grand ol' time with their simple instruments."
Unable to completely grasp why folk music would cause Alfred to feel better, Arthur diverted the course of their conversation. "How long have you been here? In England, I mean." Their last meeting had been only three days ago, and surely a well-traveled man like Alfred would not be pining for his homeland in such a short period of time.
"Something like two weeks," Alfred responded.
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"Ow, yes." Alfred readjusted his glasses with slightly jittering fingers, the frame having come to balance precariously upon his nose after the blow to his head. "I was vacationing with Mattie."
"And this entire time, you haven't made a single attempt to contact me?"
"No, why would I?"
Arthur's chest was struck with ice, a sweeping and bitter chill coming to rest on his thoughts. His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, it creaked obligingly under his strength. "Oh, I don't know," Arthur spat, "Maybe to spend time with me."
"Believe me, I thought about it," Alfred began, but his lips pursed as he looked back on his words. "I don't mean I obsessed over it. But I considered it. Maybe. Not for a long time. Maybe like, for a minute." Alfred took to backpedaling.
"And of all the things on God's green Earth, what stopped you?" Arthur began to give the wheel a deep tissue massage, ignoring the mounting whines of protest.
"You'd be all like, 'You are a git-faced wanker who gives hand-relief to corporate mascots' and then I'd call you a slang word that sounds bad, but might not be bad." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Like a toff. I don't know what one is, but I'd call you one anyway."
Arthur loosened his grip on the wheel, his shoulders shedding a hint of their anxiety. "I suppose that sounds more or less like our conversations."
"We're doing pretty good so far, I think." Alfred hugged himself. "We haven't gotten to the hand-relief bit part of our conversation yet."
"Yes, we've certainly proved ourselves to be more civil than is usual for us, tonight."
The two men again fell silent, their company doing little to soothe each other. Wind whipped loudly through the window, carrying small torrents of water into the car, but Arthur was unwilling to roll up the window. His close proximity to Alfred constantly reminded him of the other's mental and physical state, one that involved extravagant amounts of alcohol.
Alfred began to hum, reserved if not lackluster. His hands moved fleetingly up and down the restraint that stretched across his chest, strumming and caressing. He shifted his weight in his seat, restless and seemingly full of excess energy despite the late hour. Soon Alfred's coat was off, pooling at his waist while his face was pressed against the plexiglass pane of the window, blinking every time a drop of rain hurled itself against the window.
Arthur was content to drive in silence, knowing that it lessened the chances of an argument breaking out if neither were speaking. He pulled into the drive of his home, slightly impressed that Alfred could manage to hold himself together without speaking for more than twenty seconds.
"This your pad?" Alfred straightened up as Arthur parked. "The little joint way off there?" He gestured to Arthur's cottage, several hundred yards away.
"Home, sweet home." Arthur smiled, he didn't mind if it was a cozy, if not somewhat cramped living space. "There's nowhere but tall grass and wildflowers leading up to the door, so we're going to have to make a bit of a run for it. You can put your jacket over your head."
"I think I'll pass." Alfred began to unbuckle himself.
"That wasn't a request, lad."
Alfred wavered in his seat, weighing his options. "I bet the rain feels nice," he mused.
"I'm sure it does, but I won't have any wet beasts crossing my hearth."
"Yeah, not when you can summon 'em up in your basement." Alfred quipped.
"How long have you been waiting to tell that joke, a few decades?"
"Something around there," Alfred divulged.
Arthur shrugged his own coat off, pro-actively pulling it over his head to shield himself from the rain. "Either you put your jacket over your head, or you sleep in the car." His tone left no weak-point for cajoling.
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"Then what shall I do? Hand over my coat and simply soak in the rain?"
"I never said that," Alfred balked awkwardly. "We could, maybe, share it or something."
"Do you even know how to share?" Arthur scoffed.
"With you, I do!" Alfred whined, childlike in his determination.
"Name one instance."
"The doughnut I mentioned before."
Arthur's mind recovered their earlier conversation, the fleeting mention of the fried sweet dough. He wracked his mind for the memory of finding it. Faintly, he recalled seeing a doughnut in the break room during the last 'Country Club', but he hadn't eaten it. Something had been distinctly wrong with it, something vital─
"Wait. I remember this doughnut you're going on about."
"You do?"
"It had the icing eaten off of it."
Alfred went silent, no doubt projecting the memory onto his own mind, watching the frames slip by. "Right. Yeah, that was me." His fingers knit together, his shoulders hunched with embarrassment.
Arthur studied Alfred. Studied his saddened posture, the red blush of both booze and shame painted upon his cheeks, the nervous twitching of his fingers. His irritation melted into a thick and tallowy mass too unmotivated to go on. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose."
Arthur rolled his window up before exiting the car, quickly stepping to the passenger side and pulling the handle. Alfred blinked up at him momentarily, eyes clouded and confused, puzzled by Arthur's rapid change of heart. An unsure smile curved across his lips as he also stepped out of the car and under the protection of Arthur's upraised arm.
Rain assaulted the two men as they struggled towards the front door, making their way at a frustratingly slow pace. Alfred repeatedly knocked into Arthur's side as he drunkenly teetered in one direction before swinging in another, each time his amused laugh hurried away by the whip of the wind.
Arthur clenched his teeth in surprise as Alfred's shoulder collided with him, employing a particular bit of force. He winced and attempted to will the pain away, stopping in his tracks to recover for a moment. Alfred stilled with him, leaning most of his weight into Arthur as he waited.
"What are you doing, you lug of a man?" Arthur barked against the wind.
"I think-" Alfred shouted back, strands of hair tangled hair lashing his face as his form lurched to the side, "-I think I'm gonna fall. Yes. That is definitely going to happen."
"You are not going to fall. We've made it far enough with you on your feet, you can manage for another hundred yards or so."
Arthur smothered a mix of astonishment and fondness as Alfred's arms began to wind around his waist for support, shackling their bodies together. His own body refused to move as Alfred molded to it, mumbling to himself as he went. He took a step forward to urge Arthur on, who started up without a word of protest.
The physical closeness warmed Arthur, pushing him to carry on into the pounding rain that seemed only to gain in its strength. He pulled Alfred along with him, the young man almost tripping them both when he tried to stride ahead. Arthur found himself distracted by every step the other man took, his bear-like hold on Arthur, how his head had come to rest on Arthur's shoulder, bumping and swaying with every step.
Despite being bogged down with the task of half dragging Alfred, a smile spilled across Arthur's lips as they reached the door, their journey having come to an end. He hesitated at the door, removing their coat cover and dipping a hand into his pocket to find his keys. Alfred's grasp stayed strong, his breathing labored and hot as it traveled along Arthur's jawline, unsettling the man.
"L-let go of me, you o-oaf," Arthur stammered, every breath that scattered across his neck detracting from his focus to get the door ajar.
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Arthur unlocked the door with ingrained movements, attempting to take Alfred with him while shouldering it open. He made to shut the door with a snap of his hip, as he always did when his arms were full, but the sucking of the wind slammed it for him.
The echoing noise stirred Alfred from his silence, and the man eased himself away from Arthur, yawning and stretching as he toed off his shoes. A scowl tweaked at Arthur's features as Alfred had pulled away, aware of how oddly comfortable it had been to feel the other so close to his body.
"Your hair is soaking," Arthur remarked with a certain casualness, not wanting to rip into the boy right off the bat.
Alfred gave his head a few pats before drawing his hand away and giving his palm a scrutinizing look. "Indeed it is," he remarked, a slightly bemused look drifting across his face.
Arthur touched his own hair, and felt a hint of smugness at the fact it was bone-dry, if not a little straw like. He removed his own shoes as Alfred peeled off waterlogged socks which he promptly inserted into his sneakers. "Don't do that." Arthur groaned. "Ring out your socks and hang them up, then stuff some wadded up newspaper into your shoes."
Alfred gave him a look that said Truly, you ask too much of me.
"Fine. Leave them there. I hope they get moldy." Arthur's gaze slipped over Alfred's clothes, noticing wet splotches. Is this boy some kind of water magnet? he silently asked himself. "Go change into some dry pajamas."
"Don't got any."
Arthur stared at him, unamused. "What do you mean, 'don't got any'?"
"I mean, I don't have any spare clothes, only what I have on my back." Alfred frowned, his eyes holding a mix of emotions Arthur could not quite pinpoint.
Arthur closed his eyes and gave them a firm rub with the flats of his hands. "I can't deal with this," he wheezed.
He repressed a flinch as he felt Alfred's hands wrap around his wrists and begin to pull them away from his eyes, grip gentle, but with a certain firmness that told Arthur not to resist.
"Are you mad at me?" Alfred asked, his voice quiet in fear of the answer.
"No," Arthur assured him, unable to lash out at Alfred for the time being. "I'm not cross with anyone, only frustrated."
"With me?"
"Only a bit." He weaseled his wrists from Alfred's grip to give the other a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "Why don't we get you some clothes?"
Alfred's expression relaxed as he nodded in agreement. Arthur turned with a smile and made his way down the main corridor until he found himself in a spare room that had, over the years, gone in to a metamorphosis that left it as a cluttered storage area.
He rummaged through box after box, his hands sifting through a variety of objects, from thimbles to non-functioning kitchen appliances. A splash of red fabric caught his eye, and without a thought he began to tug upon the hem of the clothing. Soon, a long, plain red shirt emerged from the box.
"I think that'll fit," Alfred said, surprising Arthur with how close he was.
Arthur whirled around and shoved the shirt towards Alfred, keeping the other at arm's length. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Alfred momentarily refused to take the shirt from Arthur, instead opting to strip off the top he was presently wearing.
"S-stop that, I don't need you changing in front of me." Arthur ran the tip of his tongue over paling lips.
Alfred ignored Arthur's protests, struggling to pull his shirt over his head. Soon his arms had become tangled, locked in an upright position. He flailed about like a headless monster in his endeavor to change his top. Arthur reached out and steadied Alfred, his eyes rolling as he helped the other escape from the self imposed prison.
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