Rat Trap [3/6]
Title: Rat Trap [3/6]
Author/Artist: Sayasama
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Russia/US, and an "It's complicated" UK->US. Minor pairings include: LietPol, Netherlands/Canada, and GerIta. France and Prussia also make some appearances later.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe M) for sexual themes, some swearing, and later allusions to violence.
Warnings: Prostitution and the psychology thereof, psychological abuse, Dub-con and/or non-con depending on how you define the terms, swearing, and OOC.
Summary: "'Tis the strumpet's plague/To beguile many and be beguiled by one"-Iago; Othello, Act 4, Scene 1
A/N: Due to a doctor's appointment, followed by an impromptu visit to an army surplus store, this chapter's out a bit later in the day than I would've liked but... It's still technically Monday where I am so whooo! This is the not-fluffy-at-all chapter where things just go wrong. It's also a bit short, but the next chapter is like, really long so that should make up for it? I was just stubborn about where to cut the chapter off. xD
---
“Arthur, stop it.”
This time when the bartender called a cab, Arthur had been more than willing to go into it with Alfred. He was so cooperative that Alfred would’ve wondered how anyone could have had a problem with him, only he knew from experience how stubborn Arthur could be when he wanted something a specific way. Now he was leaning against Alfred in the back seat of a dirty cab that smelled like cigars and Mexican food, slipping his hand up Alfred’s shirt, running it up and down the younger man’s lower back. The touches made his muscles twitch unpleasantly, as though a spider were crawling over him.
“Whatever d’you mean boy?” Arthur asked, moving closer to Alfred in order to curl his arm around the other man’s waist. Teasingly, he ran his hand over Alfred’s side, allowing his fingers to dip below the waist of his pants before moving back up. Alfred’s skin twitched, aware of even the lightest of touches and how they skimmed over his scars. The results of work-related incidents, all of them, their presence a specter that haunted his very skin. The memories of those incidents weren’t clear, but they didn’t need to be when the remnants of each were written across the canvass of his body.
“That. Arthur we’re in a cab for God’s sake, you can’t do that,” Alfred practically hissed at him, hoping the cabbie couldn’t hear them over the radio, quietly playing some jazz number or other. He was annoyed beyond belief with the entire situation; not a half hour before he’d been having a nice, fun dinner with someone he-he trusted, that was the word, trusted-and now he was being groped by his drunk pimp in the back of a cab and it didn’t even matter if he didn’t want it because Arthur owned him and could do whatever he wanted.
“So cold Alfred!” Arthur whispered into his neck, sounding much more sober than he should. Alfred was starting to question the necessity of his presence. Arthur was a lot better at playing drunk than he was at actually being drunk. “I remember when you were younger, you were so much warmer to me.” A nip at the skin above his collar, sucked until the mark was made red and lasting, then licked over in a mockery of apology; Alfred hoped the cabbie was keeping his eyes strictly on the road.
“So much warmer. And shy and innocent.” Arthur nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his hands roaming freely about Alfred’s person with no sense of propriety whatsoever. “Mm, you liked it when I used to call you beautiful. Would you like me to again? You were so, so good to me whenever I was kind.”
Alfred tried not to move, not to think, not to breathe. He hated Arthur when he was drunk. Hated how he said those things that made Alfred ashamed and guilty. It was true; he had grown unused to kindness from anyone but Matthew while in the system, and then suddenly Arthur was there, offering them a place to stay and financial support for Matthew and wonderful, sweet words for Alfred.
“Stop it Arthur,” Alfred said, nearly choking on the words when Arthur’s hand lingered over his crotch.
“But I can’t Alfred. Wouldn’t you just hate it if I left you alone? All alone? You wouldn’t like that at all, would you? You hate being alone.” Arthur’s hand moved over his lap, the movement a little sloppy, belying his drunken state. Alfred willed himself not to react, but he was trained well (like a dog, a goddamned dog), and despite his best efforts his nether regions began to stir ever so slightly.
“You hate being alone, and you don’t say it but you love me, because I’ll never leave you alone. I told you that the first time didn’t I? Oh and it was your first, wasn’t it? So green to it you didn’t even know how to enjoy yourself.”
“Arthur, please stop,” Alfred could feel himself shaking, coming closer to breaking down with every word. He didn’t want to remember his truth; he hated when Arthur reminded him. “Stop talking, please.”
Arthur’s hands continued to move over his lap, his chest, anywhere they felt like being. “But I taught you well, didn’t I? How to like it. Such a fast learner, you were. Are. Good boy. Smart boy.”
“Please, please stop Arthur, just-“
Suddenly the cab jerked to a stop. “That’ll be $10.80,” the cabbie said flatly, sounding thankfully unaware of what was happening behind him. Sighing in relief, Alfred dug around his pockets for his wallet. His stomach clenched when he realized it wasn’t there.
‘Shit, I must’ve left it at the restaurant. I’ll just have to call later and hope they found it,’ he thought, resigning himself to patting down Arthur until he found the drunken man’s wallet. Ignoring the pleased sounds Arthur made as he pulled the damn thing out of the man’s back pocket, he handed the money off to the cabbie before wrestling the other man out of the car and all the way up the stairs to the second floor.
“Okay, so where am I dumping you tonight?” Alfred thought aloud, considering the different places he could set the older man down to sleep. The couch was close, the floor even closer and a much more tempting option, in Alfred’s opinion.
“Oh? Shouldn’t you take me to bed?” Arthur grinned up at him, drunk and oblivious to Alfred’s desire to run. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a condemnation.
“I suppose,” Alfred conceded, and began the trek to the other’s room, dread pooling in his stomach with every step. He hated Arthur when he was drunk, more than anything else in the world.
He wasn’t surprised by it when Arthur kicked his bedroom door shut, nor when Arthur started dragging him to the bed, pulling off his jacket and the nice blazer he was still wearing under it. Arthur couldn’t summon the dexterity needed to undo the buttons of Alfred’s shirt, nor the patience to let Alfred do it himself, so he just ripped it off and let the buttons fly. Alfred was too busy ruing the destruction of yet another shirt to even realize it when the rest of his clothes were removed.
“Arthur, you’re drunk. Please let me go,” Alfred said as he was dragged down onto the mattress with Arthur, who was shimming out of his own clothes.
“You didn’t want me to before,” Arthur said, making Alfred wonder just what he was talking about. “You were afraid but so eager. You loved me. Love me. You do and you’re just being difficult. Dunno why, it’s a bit late for that.” Arthur pushed Alfred down and swung a leg over his torso, straddling him.
“No, Arthur that’s not-“ But what did Alfred know? His memory of that time had become so muddled, and Arthur was so sure of what he remembered whereas Alfred hardly knew left from right around the man, so who was he to argue? Who was he to say this wasn’t love? Arthur knew better than him and said he did, so he probably did.
“Are you still shy, after all these years? Just need a bit of encouragement, do you? Good boy, beautiful boy.” Arthur moved down his body, squirmed until he was no longer on top of Alfred’s legs but between them, spreading them, drinking in the view.
“So pretty here,” Arthur kissed Alfred’s cheeks, burning red with shame. “And here.” He flicked a nipple with his tongue. “And here.” Bit the skin just above his belly button. “Certainly here.” Another kiss, to the top of his half-hard member. “But you’re the prettiest here,” Arthur finished, pressing a dry finger to Alfred’s entrance. Alfred tensed, hoped to God Arthur didn’t intend to have him dry. He hated it dry. He hated it either way. He hated Arthur drunk.
“Don’t worry darling, I won’t hurt you,” Arthur soothed, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand. Alfred relaxed, but only marginally. He took deep breaths and tried to think of something, anything that wasn’t in this house, wasn’t Arthur, wasn’t probing at his ass, stretching him open and making him shamefully hard when he didn’t want to be.
But Arthur grabbed him by his chin, not having any of that. “Don’t you do that to me. Don’t you dare go escaping into your mind like that.”
Alfred was stricken by the command. He couldn’t be here, couldn’t stay here like this. Arthur already had him, wasn’t that enough? Why did he need Alfred to be so terribly aware of it? Why did he even know what Alfred was doing in the first place?
His expression must have belied his inner panic, for Arthur released his hold on Alfred’s chin, instead moving to stroke his cheek. “Dear Alfred, it’s not that I want to frighten you, it’s simply that you are mine and I want all of you. It’s selfish of you to go hiding parts of yourself from me, you understand?”
Shamefaced by the accusation, he nodded his understanding and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Come now, don’t be embarrassed. I love you, even if you’re scarred and used and oh so selfish, you’re beautiful to me. Pretty and sweet and such a good, good boy,” Arthur soothed as he once again tried to separate Alfred’s closed legs. In the end Arthur leaned over him and kissed him until he was too dizzy to stop the man from opening him up and quickly entering him in one push. His mind became scrambled in the frenzy of motion and pleasure and disgust.
He hated Arthur drunk. But good boy, dear, sweet, beautiful boy rang in his ears and something dark in him loved those words, needed them. But he hated sex and he hated Arthur drunk and he didn’t know what he needed anymore.
000
The sound that woke him was the hurried, clumsy shuffle of someone rushing to the bathroom and puking. Not the most pleasant way to start the day, but Alfred supposed he’d had worse. After taking a few deep, calming breaths, Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur’s room, all tasteful and elegant and completely at odds with the trashy area of town it existed in. Realizing that he couldn’t stay there all day and didn’t really want to besides, Alfred got up and went to go check on his ailing landlord.
“You ever consider not drinking so much?” Alfred asked as he sat beside Arthur, who was kneeling before the porcelain altar, offering up yesterday’s drinks to it. So he had been somewhat drunk, after all.
“Prat,” Arthur spat out at him before spitting out something much less pleasant into the toilet. Alfred ignored the comment and with a mix of sympathy and disgust, rubbed circles into Arthur’s back in an attempt to comfort him. It was sights like these, of Arthur so much less than the domineering man Alfred knew he could be, that made it so hard to forget that he was human and just hate him.
‘Yup, it’s hard to hate a man who’s puking out his guts.’
Before long Arthur had run out of things to throw up. Alfred washed his face, carried his drained landlord to bed, and helped him get dressed in some cleaner clothes. Though it was mean to think it, Alfred had to admit that he much preferred this subdued Arthur to the one he’d spent the night with.
“Tea,” Arthur croaked out once he was situated in bed, clearly intending to milk his hangover for all it was worth.
“Coffee would sober you up better.”
“Tea.”
Alfred sighed and left the room to get some of the requested beverage. It was as he waited for the water to boil that he discovered it was nearly one o’clock, and in less than an hour he had to be at work. He’d have to hurry if he was going to get ready for the day (and after such a night he certainly had a lot to fix up) and still make it to work on time.
Finishing up Arthur’s tea, he resolved himself to leave it on the nightstand and make a quick retreat. It was difficult to be resolved though when he came back and saw Arthur looking so terribly miserable. One part of his mind was screaming about how unfair that was; he was the one who should be miserable, not Arthur! Why did he have to play nanny for the man anyway?
Arthur took the tea from him, sipping it gratefully. He looked up at Alfred, mumbling a quick “Thank you.”
“It’s ah… no problem. Um, I have to go and get ready for work now, so…” Alfred tried to move away from the bed and beat a hasty retreat before he felt too guilty about leaving someone who looked so pitiful alone.
“Don’t!” Arthur shot forward to grab Alfred’s arm before he could leave, disrupting his cup and getting scalding tea on his hand in the process. “Ah, ouch…”
“Oh, geez, hold on a sec,” Alfred said hurriedly, taking the cup from Arthur and putting it on the nightstand. He then disappeared into the bathroom to get the burn cream and a wet towel for Arthur. They were quiet as Alfred tended to the light burn on Arthur’s hand, Alfred’s resolve to leave breaking down even further with every pained noise the older man tried to stifle.
“Please don’t go,” Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. Alfred breathed in sharply through his teeth.
“I have work.”
“I want you here. Please.”
‘You never listen when I say please. Why should I?’
“I need to be at work.”
“I need you here. Please, Alfred.”
For a moment he considered what to do, but in the end knew that there was no real choice. Sighing, he stood up. “I’ll go call in sick, then,” he said. Arthur responded with a grateful smile that held a barely-concealed glimmer of something like victory. Alfred decided not to dwell on it; if he was being played for a fool, he didn’t want to know. Still, sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t these little concessions that would lead to him being trapped for good.
000
“Good morning Sir, what can I get for you?”
Ivan looked away from the window to the brunette standing at his table. He was familiar, one of Alfred’s co-workers. For a moment Ivan wondered if he’d sat in the wrong section by accident. A look around the café confirmed that he had not.
The confusion must’ve shown on his face, for before he could ask the waiter said, “I’m sorry, Alfred’s not here today. He called in sick.”
Ivan’s eyebrows raised, alarm rising in him for some reason. He’d been restless all night, feeling troubled over something he couldn’t place. “Oh.”
“I…Um, sorry if this is too forward, but you were with him last night, right? I thought you would’ve known.”
“No, I did not.”
A moment of awkward silence, then, “I will have the house blend, black.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“No.” Ivan wasn’t sure if he could stomach much more than that with the way his insides were clenching in worry. Alfred’s wallet felt heavy in his pocket, and now worry weighed heavy on his heart. After deliberating over his coffee, Ivan decided that these two things justified him paying Alfred a visit after his work was finished for the day.
000
From:
Matthew Williams-Jones
To:
Alfred Williams-Jones
Hey Al? Are you okay? It’s been a long time since you’ve contacted me at all. It’s kind of worrying. Please get back to me soon, okay?
You’re totally worrying me bro so answer quickly would you?
Matt
000
“So, what’s in the bag tonight?” Alfred asked from his side of the room as he undressed.
“Rope and a new post-apocalyptic zombie invasion game my company will be releasing in a week.”
“Just bondage? That’s sort of tame for you. Yay for the zombies, though.”
“It’s for kinbaku, Alfred-san, it’s different from just bondage.”
Alfred had long since learned how to compartmentalize his feelings toward his johns. That they were with him for sex was in one part of his mind, their actions and personalities outside of sex in another. This technique applied doubly to Kiku Honda, who was arguably the kinkiest person he’d ever slept with, but was otherwise very kind and reserved. He also happened to be the one who supplied Alfred with his video games, which made him a very likable fellow when they weren’t having strange sex.
Sighing, Alfred stepped out of his pants and moved over to the bed. “Well, do your worst,” he said as he sat down and made himself comfortable. As Kiku started binding him at the chest, moving on to tie in his legs and arms as well, Alfred’s mind went on a little trip (because with his johns it could, they didn’t want his mind at all, thankfully). He visualized stretches of highways, leading through big cities, going and going until the buildings slowly made way for a more rural setting. The old ranch house, the oak tree in the front yard with the tire swing, the acres of wild grasses in the backyard, and an old man on a rickety old chair, smiling at him from the porch-
000
Fortunately, Alfred’s wallet had one of those little cards with his name and address on it, to be used in the event that it was ever lost. Unfortunately, Ivan had never actually been to Alfred’s boarding house, and in fact rarely ever even went to that particular section of town. The area was wrought with crime and filth, and while Ivan was far too confident in his ability to protect himself to feel afraid, a pit of unease opened up in his stomach at the thought of Alfred living there. Still, this perhaps explained why he had not been told any details about the man’s housing arrangement to begin with.
After what seemed like an eternity of walking around, looking for the appropriate street address, Ivan found the house he was looking for. He looked at the front door, then down to his wristwatch, then up to the light-polluted sky and sighed. Work had kept him late that day and his searching had taken him longer than he expected. It was now ten minutes after eleven, when the doors to the building were supposedly locked and the people were undoubtedly settling in to sleep. He had come all this way and had succeeded in doing nothing more than fraying his own nerves.
There was a sudden movement to his left, and tense as a cornered animal, Ivan turned to meet the threat. He felt a little better when he realized the newcomer was just as tense as he was and a good deal smaller.
“Oi, what’re you doing skulking around my front door?” The man asked, his accent manipulated into something dark and threatening.
“I am not skulking. I am here for Alfred Jones; he left this at the restaurant,” Ivan replied, holding up the wallet. Slowly, the other man walked closer, his sharp green eyes glittering curiously in the streetlight.
“The restaurant? He works at a café though, if I’m not mistaken,” the man said, his expression a mixture of suspicion and something else that made Ivan feel distinctly uncomfortable with his existence.
“да… We went to dinner when he got out of work. I intended to give it back to him today, but he was ill and not at the café.”
There was a moment of silence where the gears in the stranger’s head seemed to twist and turn until they put the pieces together and figured out the situation. It was distinctly uncomfortable and there was just something about the glint in those bottle green eyes that Ivan didn’t care for.
Finally, after a moment of deliberation, the other replied, “Fine. Follow me, I’ll let you in.”
Ivan watched the man disappear into the side alley, presumably intending to bring him to the back entrance, and considered whether or not it was a good idea to follow a stranger down a dark alley. Quickly deciding that he could probably take the little man on easily, he said a quiet thanks and followed him.
“Alfred lives on the third floor,” the man said, walking briskly down the alley. “Tenants on that floor and their… company, use the back entrance.”
“Why is that?” Ivan couldn’t help but ask as they reached the other end of the alley.
The shorter man gave a derisive snort saying, “Because the upstanding citizens on the first floor don’t want to see that business, of course.”
“’That’ business?”
The stranger stopped at the back door, his key already half-way into the keyhole, and looked back at Ivan. “Oh, you mean you don’t know?” He asked, surprise coating his voice, as superficial as the sickly sweet caramel covering of a candy apple. Ivan, curious and uncomfortable with the dread pooling in his stomach, shook his head.
Turning, the man unlocked the door and mumbled so lowly that it almost escaped Ivan’s hearing, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out then.”
The quiet, barely audible sentence set alarm bells off in his head, but stubbornly Ivan continued with his original plan. He was just going to find Alfred, quickly hand off his wallet, bid the man a good night and wish him healthy by the next day. It would be a simple exchange, nothing could possibly go wrong.
The stranger led him up one flight of stairs before stopping at a door on the second floor. “This is my floor,” he said. “Go up one more; Alfred’s in the blue door. His lock is broken, so if he doesn’t answer, just go in yourself and leave the thing on his dresser or something.”
Raising his eyebrow at this, Ivan said, “You are telling me to break into a tenant’s room?”
“Yes, it’s quite alright.”
“Who are you to say so?”
Again the man turned from him, looking back to the door. Ivan decided he didn’t like it when he couldn’t see this person’s face.
“I’m the landlord. Now go, do what you must and leave,” the man, now identified as the landlord (‘Arthur, his name is Arthur,’ Ivan’s mind supplied) opened the door, disappearing behind it when it closed again.
Now alone and sufficiently wary, Ivan made his way up the steps, noticing any details his eyes could pick up in the dim light that filtered through the grimy windows; the boards’ every creak, the occasional deep crack in the wall and the way the shadows flickered with the unreliable old light bulb in the middle of the hallway. The top floor smelt musty and decayed and like something else that Ivan couldn’t-wouldn’t-identify.
Having walked with his eyes to the floor, only scanning the bottoms of each door as he passed it, it took him a while to actually find the blue door. Looking straight at it, he saw a sticky note taped to the door where a nameplate should’ve been, with Alfred’s name scrawled across it in his careless handwriting. For a moment, Ivan relaxed. Seeing something that was so Alfred in a place like this reassured him.
That is, he was reassured until he heard a low groan from the other side of the door. It conjured up terrible images in his mind of Alfred, fever-ridden, tossing and turning in bed to get relief from whatever was ailing him. Or worse, perhaps he was crumpled in an undignified heap in front of a toilet, utterly alone and miserable? Ivan really didn’t want to just break into Alfred’s room without knocking, but what if he was too sick to get up, or too delirious with fever to hear him? Swallowing his reservations, Ivan turned the handle and opened the door, only to have his blood freeze in his veins.
A cold, frigid as winter in Siberia, took up residence in his chest as he registered what he was seeing. Ropes twisted across Alfred’s whole body in a show of erotic artistry, keeping him splayed open for anyone to see, giving Ivan an eyeful of just where he was being penetrated. He tore his eyes away from that place, forcing them to Alfred’s face. His mouth was open slightly, letting out helpless noises of both strain and pleasure, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes, his eyes-
Were wide open but completely unseeing. His face was angled so he seemed to be looking straight at Ivan, but his eyes were flat and dull, as though there was a veil over them. It was disturbing and Ivan didn’t know what to make of it, was nearly frightened by how they looked right through him, completely dismissing his very existence.
Then, suddenly, awareness seemed to rush back into those eyes and the man’s entire body tensed. He jerked forward against his binds, as though trying to escape. Only then did the man on top of him realize that someone else had quietly slipped into the room. There was a heavy silence and complete stillness as they all just stared at one another.
Ivan was cold, colder than he had ever felt in his life. Anger welled up in him, a raging blizzard claiming him, suffocating him. He could stand to see this no longer, but he still had to do what he’d come here for. He would; call him stubborn, but he would.
“You left this,” he said flatly, without warmth or anger or hurt or anything. He just held the wallet up for a moment before walking to the nearest piece of furniture (a chair) and dropping it there. Turning on his heel, he walked out with the same sort of foreboding calm one felt in the eye of a storm. He was just going to leave, and he wasn’t going to look back, and if he never saw anyone in that building ever again, well, hell if he’d care.
000
From:
Alfred Williams-Jones
To:
Matthew Williams-Jones
Heya bro! If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a game coming up soon, right? (I am so sorry that it took me so long to reply, I’ve been way busy!) I think I wanna come down there for it. I’ve saved up enough and I just wanna see you. I miss my baby bro too much to wait! Just tell me the date of whichever one you want me to come to, and I’ll be down there in a New York minute.
So yeah, I’m really, really sorry for not replying quickly. I’ll make it up to you when I see you, somehow. I really can’t wait to see you soon. Seriously, send me the date for the closest game, I’ll be there.
Please forgive me? Please?
Al
<-Last Chapter / Next Chapter->
Author/Artist: Sayasama
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Russia/US, and an "It's complicated" UK->US. Minor pairings include: LietPol, Netherlands/Canada, and GerIta. France and Prussia also make some appearances later.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe M) for sexual themes, some swearing, and later allusions to violence.
Warnings: Prostitution and the psychology thereof, psychological abuse, Dub-con and/or non-con depending on how you define the terms, swearing, and OOC.
Summary: "'Tis the strumpet's plague/To beguile many and be beguiled by one"-Iago; Othello, Act 4, Scene 1
A/N: Due to a doctor's appointment, followed by an impromptu visit to an army surplus store, this chapter's out a bit later in the day than I would've liked but... It's still technically Monday where I am so whooo! This is the not-fluffy-at-all chapter where things just go wrong. It's also a bit short, but the next chapter is like, really long so that should make up for it? I was just stubborn about where to cut the chapter off. xD
---
“Arthur, stop it.”
This time when the bartender called a cab, Arthur had been more than willing to go into it with Alfred. He was so cooperative that Alfred would’ve wondered how anyone could have had a problem with him, only he knew from experience how stubborn Arthur could be when he wanted something a specific way. Now he was leaning against Alfred in the back seat of a dirty cab that smelled like cigars and Mexican food, slipping his hand up Alfred’s shirt, running it up and down the younger man’s lower back. The touches made his muscles twitch unpleasantly, as though a spider were crawling over him.
“Whatever d’you mean boy?” Arthur asked, moving closer to Alfred in order to curl his arm around the other man’s waist. Teasingly, he ran his hand over Alfred’s side, allowing his fingers to dip below the waist of his pants before moving back up. Alfred’s skin twitched, aware of even the lightest of touches and how they skimmed over his scars. The results of work-related incidents, all of them, their presence a specter that haunted his very skin. The memories of those incidents weren’t clear, but they didn’t need to be when the remnants of each were written across the canvass of his body.
“That. Arthur we’re in a cab for God’s sake, you can’t do that,” Alfred practically hissed at him, hoping the cabbie couldn’t hear them over the radio, quietly playing some jazz number or other. He was annoyed beyond belief with the entire situation; not a half hour before he’d been having a nice, fun dinner with someone he-he trusted, that was the word, trusted-and now he was being groped by his drunk pimp in the back of a cab and it didn’t even matter if he didn’t want it because Arthur owned him and could do whatever he wanted.
“So cold Alfred!” Arthur whispered into his neck, sounding much more sober than he should. Alfred was starting to question the necessity of his presence. Arthur was a lot better at playing drunk than he was at actually being drunk. “I remember when you were younger, you were so much warmer to me.” A nip at the skin above his collar, sucked until the mark was made red and lasting, then licked over in a mockery of apology; Alfred hoped the cabbie was keeping his eyes strictly on the road.
“So much warmer. And shy and innocent.” Arthur nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his hands roaming freely about Alfred’s person with no sense of propriety whatsoever. “Mm, you liked it when I used to call you beautiful. Would you like me to again? You were so, so good to me whenever I was kind.”
Alfred tried not to move, not to think, not to breathe. He hated Arthur when he was drunk. Hated how he said those things that made Alfred ashamed and guilty. It was true; he had grown unused to kindness from anyone but Matthew while in the system, and then suddenly Arthur was there, offering them a place to stay and financial support for Matthew and wonderful, sweet words for Alfred.
“Stop it Arthur,” Alfred said, nearly choking on the words when Arthur’s hand lingered over his crotch.
“But I can’t Alfred. Wouldn’t you just hate it if I left you alone? All alone? You wouldn’t like that at all, would you? You hate being alone.” Arthur’s hand moved over his lap, the movement a little sloppy, belying his drunken state. Alfred willed himself not to react, but he was trained well (like a dog, a goddamned dog), and despite his best efforts his nether regions began to stir ever so slightly.
“You hate being alone, and you don’t say it but you love me, because I’ll never leave you alone. I told you that the first time didn’t I? Oh and it was your first, wasn’t it? So green to it you didn’t even know how to enjoy yourself.”
“Arthur, please stop,” Alfred could feel himself shaking, coming closer to breaking down with every word. He didn’t want to remember his truth; he hated when Arthur reminded him. “Stop talking, please.”
Arthur’s hands continued to move over his lap, his chest, anywhere they felt like being. “But I taught you well, didn’t I? How to like it. Such a fast learner, you were. Are. Good boy. Smart boy.”
“Please, please stop Arthur, just-“
Suddenly the cab jerked to a stop. “That’ll be $10.80,” the cabbie said flatly, sounding thankfully unaware of what was happening behind him. Sighing in relief, Alfred dug around his pockets for his wallet. His stomach clenched when he realized it wasn’t there.
‘Shit, I must’ve left it at the restaurant. I’ll just have to call later and hope they found it,’ he thought, resigning himself to patting down Arthur until he found the drunken man’s wallet. Ignoring the pleased sounds Arthur made as he pulled the damn thing out of the man’s back pocket, he handed the money off to the cabbie before wrestling the other man out of the car and all the way up the stairs to the second floor.
“Okay, so where am I dumping you tonight?” Alfred thought aloud, considering the different places he could set the older man down to sleep. The couch was close, the floor even closer and a much more tempting option, in Alfred’s opinion.
“Oh? Shouldn’t you take me to bed?” Arthur grinned up at him, drunk and oblivious to Alfred’s desire to run. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a condemnation.
“I suppose,” Alfred conceded, and began the trek to the other’s room, dread pooling in his stomach with every step. He hated Arthur when he was drunk, more than anything else in the world.
He wasn’t surprised by it when Arthur kicked his bedroom door shut, nor when Arthur started dragging him to the bed, pulling off his jacket and the nice blazer he was still wearing under it. Arthur couldn’t summon the dexterity needed to undo the buttons of Alfred’s shirt, nor the patience to let Alfred do it himself, so he just ripped it off and let the buttons fly. Alfred was too busy ruing the destruction of yet another shirt to even realize it when the rest of his clothes were removed.
“Arthur, you’re drunk. Please let me go,” Alfred said as he was dragged down onto the mattress with Arthur, who was shimming out of his own clothes.
“You didn’t want me to before,” Arthur said, making Alfred wonder just what he was talking about. “You were afraid but so eager. You loved me. Love me. You do and you’re just being difficult. Dunno why, it’s a bit late for that.” Arthur pushed Alfred down and swung a leg over his torso, straddling him.
“No, Arthur that’s not-“ But what did Alfred know? His memory of that time had become so muddled, and Arthur was so sure of what he remembered whereas Alfred hardly knew left from right around the man, so who was he to argue? Who was he to say this wasn’t love? Arthur knew better than him and said he did, so he probably did.
“Are you still shy, after all these years? Just need a bit of encouragement, do you? Good boy, beautiful boy.” Arthur moved down his body, squirmed until he was no longer on top of Alfred’s legs but between them, spreading them, drinking in the view.
“So pretty here,” Arthur kissed Alfred’s cheeks, burning red with shame. “And here.” He flicked a nipple with his tongue. “And here.” Bit the skin just above his belly button. “Certainly here.” Another kiss, to the top of his half-hard member. “But you’re the prettiest here,” Arthur finished, pressing a dry finger to Alfred’s entrance. Alfred tensed, hoped to God Arthur didn’t intend to have him dry. He hated it dry. He hated it either way. He hated Arthur drunk.
“Don’t worry darling, I won’t hurt you,” Arthur soothed, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand. Alfred relaxed, but only marginally. He took deep breaths and tried to think of something, anything that wasn’t in this house, wasn’t Arthur, wasn’t probing at his ass, stretching him open and making him shamefully hard when he didn’t want to be.
But Arthur grabbed him by his chin, not having any of that. “Don’t you do that to me. Don’t you dare go escaping into your mind like that.”
Alfred was stricken by the command. He couldn’t be here, couldn’t stay here like this. Arthur already had him, wasn’t that enough? Why did he need Alfred to be so terribly aware of it? Why did he even know what Alfred was doing in the first place?
His expression must have belied his inner panic, for Arthur released his hold on Alfred’s chin, instead moving to stroke his cheek. “Dear Alfred, it’s not that I want to frighten you, it’s simply that you are mine and I want all of you. It’s selfish of you to go hiding parts of yourself from me, you understand?”
Shamefaced by the accusation, he nodded his understanding and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Come now, don’t be embarrassed. I love you, even if you’re scarred and used and oh so selfish, you’re beautiful to me. Pretty and sweet and such a good, good boy,” Arthur soothed as he once again tried to separate Alfred’s closed legs. In the end Arthur leaned over him and kissed him until he was too dizzy to stop the man from opening him up and quickly entering him in one push. His mind became scrambled in the frenzy of motion and pleasure and disgust.
He hated Arthur drunk. But good boy, dear, sweet, beautiful boy rang in his ears and something dark in him loved those words, needed them. But he hated sex and he hated Arthur drunk and he didn’t know what he needed anymore.
000
The sound that woke him was the hurried, clumsy shuffle of someone rushing to the bathroom and puking. Not the most pleasant way to start the day, but Alfred supposed he’d had worse. After taking a few deep, calming breaths, Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur’s room, all tasteful and elegant and completely at odds with the trashy area of town it existed in. Realizing that he couldn’t stay there all day and didn’t really want to besides, Alfred got up and went to go check on his ailing landlord.
“You ever consider not drinking so much?” Alfred asked as he sat beside Arthur, who was kneeling before the porcelain altar, offering up yesterday’s drinks to it. So he had been somewhat drunk, after all.
“Prat,” Arthur spat out at him before spitting out something much less pleasant into the toilet. Alfred ignored the comment and with a mix of sympathy and disgust, rubbed circles into Arthur’s back in an attempt to comfort him. It was sights like these, of Arthur so much less than the domineering man Alfred knew he could be, that made it so hard to forget that he was human and just hate him.
‘Yup, it’s hard to hate a man who’s puking out his guts.’
Before long Arthur had run out of things to throw up. Alfred washed his face, carried his drained landlord to bed, and helped him get dressed in some cleaner clothes. Though it was mean to think it, Alfred had to admit that he much preferred this subdued Arthur to the one he’d spent the night with.
“Tea,” Arthur croaked out once he was situated in bed, clearly intending to milk his hangover for all it was worth.
“Coffee would sober you up better.”
“Tea.”
Alfred sighed and left the room to get some of the requested beverage. It was as he waited for the water to boil that he discovered it was nearly one o’clock, and in less than an hour he had to be at work. He’d have to hurry if he was going to get ready for the day (and after such a night he certainly had a lot to fix up) and still make it to work on time.
Finishing up Arthur’s tea, he resolved himself to leave it on the nightstand and make a quick retreat. It was difficult to be resolved though when he came back and saw Arthur looking so terribly miserable. One part of his mind was screaming about how unfair that was; he was the one who should be miserable, not Arthur! Why did he have to play nanny for the man anyway?
Arthur took the tea from him, sipping it gratefully. He looked up at Alfred, mumbling a quick “Thank you.”
“It’s ah… no problem. Um, I have to go and get ready for work now, so…” Alfred tried to move away from the bed and beat a hasty retreat before he felt too guilty about leaving someone who looked so pitiful alone.
“Don’t!” Arthur shot forward to grab Alfred’s arm before he could leave, disrupting his cup and getting scalding tea on his hand in the process. “Ah, ouch…”
“Oh, geez, hold on a sec,” Alfred said hurriedly, taking the cup from Arthur and putting it on the nightstand. He then disappeared into the bathroom to get the burn cream and a wet towel for Arthur. They were quiet as Alfred tended to the light burn on Arthur’s hand, Alfred’s resolve to leave breaking down even further with every pained noise the older man tried to stifle.
“Please don’t go,” Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. Alfred breathed in sharply through his teeth.
“I have work.”
“I want you here. Please.”
‘You never listen when I say please. Why should I?’
“I need to be at work.”
“I need you here. Please, Alfred.”
For a moment he considered what to do, but in the end knew that there was no real choice. Sighing, he stood up. “I’ll go call in sick, then,” he said. Arthur responded with a grateful smile that held a barely-concealed glimmer of something like victory. Alfred decided not to dwell on it; if he was being played for a fool, he didn’t want to know. Still, sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t these little concessions that would lead to him being trapped for good.
000
“Good morning Sir, what can I get for you?”
Ivan looked away from the window to the brunette standing at his table. He was familiar, one of Alfred’s co-workers. For a moment Ivan wondered if he’d sat in the wrong section by accident. A look around the café confirmed that he had not.
The confusion must’ve shown on his face, for before he could ask the waiter said, “I’m sorry, Alfred’s not here today. He called in sick.”
Ivan’s eyebrows raised, alarm rising in him for some reason. He’d been restless all night, feeling troubled over something he couldn’t place. “Oh.”
“I…Um, sorry if this is too forward, but you were with him last night, right? I thought you would’ve known.”
“No, I did not.”
A moment of awkward silence, then, “I will have the house blend, black.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“No.” Ivan wasn’t sure if he could stomach much more than that with the way his insides were clenching in worry. Alfred’s wallet felt heavy in his pocket, and now worry weighed heavy on his heart. After deliberating over his coffee, Ivan decided that these two things justified him paying Alfred a visit after his work was finished for the day.
000
From:
Matthew Williams-Jones
To:
Alfred Williams-Jones
Hey Al? Are you okay? It’s been a long time since you’ve contacted me at all. It’s kind of worrying. Please get back to me soon, okay?
You’re totally worrying me bro so answer quickly would you?
Matt
000
“So, what’s in the bag tonight?” Alfred asked from his side of the room as he undressed.
“Rope and a new post-apocalyptic zombie invasion game my company will be releasing in a week.”
“Just bondage? That’s sort of tame for you. Yay for the zombies, though.”
“It’s for kinbaku, Alfred-san, it’s different from just bondage.”
Alfred had long since learned how to compartmentalize his feelings toward his johns. That they were with him for sex was in one part of his mind, their actions and personalities outside of sex in another. This technique applied doubly to Kiku Honda, who was arguably the kinkiest person he’d ever slept with, but was otherwise very kind and reserved. He also happened to be the one who supplied Alfred with his video games, which made him a very likable fellow when they weren’t having strange sex.
Sighing, Alfred stepped out of his pants and moved over to the bed. “Well, do your worst,” he said as he sat down and made himself comfortable. As Kiku started binding him at the chest, moving on to tie in his legs and arms as well, Alfred’s mind went on a little trip (because with his johns it could, they didn’t want his mind at all, thankfully). He visualized stretches of highways, leading through big cities, going and going until the buildings slowly made way for a more rural setting. The old ranch house, the oak tree in the front yard with the tire swing, the acres of wild grasses in the backyard, and an old man on a rickety old chair, smiling at him from the porch-
000
Fortunately, Alfred’s wallet had one of those little cards with his name and address on it, to be used in the event that it was ever lost. Unfortunately, Ivan had never actually been to Alfred’s boarding house, and in fact rarely ever even went to that particular section of town. The area was wrought with crime and filth, and while Ivan was far too confident in his ability to protect himself to feel afraid, a pit of unease opened up in his stomach at the thought of Alfred living there. Still, this perhaps explained why he had not been told any details about the man’s housing arrangement to begin with.
After what seemed like an eternity of walking around, looking for the appropriate street address, Ivan found the house he was looking for. He looked at the front door, then down to his wristwatch, then up to the light-polluted sky and sighed. Work had kept him late that day and his searching had taken him longer than he expected. It was now ten minutes after eleven, when the doors to the building were supposedly locked and the people were undoubtedly settling in to sleep. He had come all this way and had succeeded in doing nothing more than fraying his own nerves.
There was a sudden movement to his left, and tense as a cornered animal, Ivan turned to meet the threat. He felt a little better when he realized the newcomer was just as tense as he was and a good deal smaller.
“Oi, what’re you doing skulking around my front door?” The man asked, his accent manipulated into something dark and threatening.
“I am not skulking. I am here for Alfred Jones; he left this at the restaurant,” Ivan replied, holding up the wallet. Slowly, the other man walked closer, his sharp green eyes glittering curiously in the streetlight.
“The restaurant? He works at a café though, if I’m not mistaken,” the man said, his expression a mixture of suspicion and something else that made Ivan feel distinctly uncomfortable with his existence.
“да… We went to dinner when he got out of work. I intended to give it back to him today, but he was ill and not at the café.”
There was a moment of silence where the gears in the stranger’s head seemed to twist and turn until they put the pieces together and figured out the situation. It was distinctly uncomfortable and there was just something about the glint in those bottle green eyes that Ivan didn’t care for.
Finally, after a moment of deliberation, the other replied, “Fine. Follow me, I’ll let you in.”
Ivan watched the man disappear into the side alley, presumably intending to bring him to the back entrance, and considered whether or not it was a good idea to follow a stranger down a dark alley. Quickly deciding that he could probably take the little man on easily, he said a quiet thanks and followed him.
“Alfred lives on the third floor,” the man said, walking briskly down the alley. “Tenants on that floor and their… company, use the back entrance.”
“Why is that?” Ivan couldn’t help but ask as they reached the other end of the alley.
The shorter man gave a derisive snort saying, “Because the upstanding citizens on the first floor don’t want to see that business, of course.”
“’That’ business?”
The stranger stopped at the back door, his key already half-way into the keyhole, and looked back at Ivan. “Oh, you mean you don’t know?” He asked, surprise coating his voice, as superficial as the sickly sweet caramel covering of a candy apple. Ivan, curious and uncomfortable with the dread pooling in his stomach, shook his head.
Turning, the man unlocked the door and mumbled so lowly that it almost escaped Ivan’s hearing, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out then.”
The quiet, barely audible sentence set alarm bells off in his head, but stubbornly Ivan continued with his original plan. He was just going to find Alfred, quickly hand off his wallet, bid the man a good night and wish him healthy by the next day. It would be a simple exchange, nothing could possibly go wrong.
The stranger led him up one flight of stairs before stopping at a door on the second floor. “This is my floor,” he said. “Go up one more; Alfred’s in the blue door. His lock is broken, so if he doesn’t answer, just go in yourself and leave the thing on his dresser or something.”
Raising his eyebrow at this, Ivan said, “You are telling me to break into a tenant’s room?”
“Yes, it’s quite alright.”
“Who are you to say so?”
Again the man turned from him, looking back to the door. Ivan decided he didn’t like it when he couldn’t see this person’s face.
“I’m the landlord. Now go, do what you must and leave,” the man, now identified as the landlord (‘Arthur, his name is Arthur,’ Ivan’s mind supplied) opened the door, disappearing behind it when it closed again.
Now alone and sufficiently wary, Ivan made his way up the steps, noticing any details his eyes could pick up in the dim light that filtered through the grimy windows; the boards’ every creak, the occasional deep crack in the wall and the way the shadows flickered with the unreliable old light bulb in the middle of the hallway. The top floor smelt musty and decayed and like something else that Ivan couldn’t-wouldn’t-identify.
Having walked with his eyes to the floor, only scanning the bottoms of each door as he passed it, it took him a while to actually find the blue door. Looking straight at it, he saw a sticky note taped to the door where a nameplate should’ve been, with Alfred’s name scrawled across it in his careless handwriting. For a moment, Ivan relaxed. Seeing something that was so Alfred in a place like this reassured him.
That is, he was reassured until he heard a low groan from the other side of the door. It conjured up terrible images in his mind of Alfred, fever-ridden, tossing and turning in bed to get relief from whatever was ailing him. Or worse, perhaps he was crumpled in an undignified heap in front of a toilet, utterly alone and miserable? Ivan really didn’t want to just break into Alfred’s room without knocking, but what if he was too sick to get up, or too delirious with fever to hear him? Swallowing his reservations, Ivan turned the handle and opened the door, only to have his blood freeze in his veins.
A cold, frigid as winter in Siberia, took up residence in his chest as he registered what he was seeing. Ropes twisted across Alfred’s whole body in a show of erotic artistry, keeping him splayed open for anyone to see, giving Ivan an eyeful of just where he was being penetrated. He tore his eyes away from that place, forcing them to Alfred’s face. His mouth was open slightly, letting out helpless noises of both strain and pleasure, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes, his eyes-
Were wide open but completely unseeing. His face was angled so he seemed to be looking straight at Ivan, but his eyes were flat and dull, as though there was a veil over them. It was disturbing and Ivan didn’t know what to make of it, was nearly frightened by how they looked right through him, completely dismissing his very existence.
Then, suddenly, awareness seemed to rush back into those eyes and the man’s entire body tensed. He jerked forward against his binds, as though trying to escape. Only then did the man on top of him realize that someone else had quietly slipped into the room. There was a heavy silence and complete stillness as they all just stared at one another.
Ivan was cold, colder than he had ever felt in his life. Anger welled up in him, a raging blizzard claiming him, suffocating him. He could stand to see this no longer, but he still had to do what he’d come here for. He would; call him stubborn, but he would.
“You left this,” he said flatly, without warmth or anger or hurt or anything. He just held the wallet up for a moment before walking to the nearest piece of furniture (a chair) and dropping it there. Turning on his heel, he walked out with the same sort of foreboding calm one felt in the eye of a storm. He was just going to leave, and he wasn’t going to look back, and if he never saw anyone in that building ever again, well, hell if he’d care.
000
From:
Alfred Williams-Jones
To:
Matthew Williams-Jones
Heya bro! If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a game coming up soon, right? (I am so sorry that it took me so long to reply, I’ve been way busy!) I think I wanna come down there for it. I’ve saved up enough and I just wanna see you. I miss my baby bro too much to wait! Just tell me the date of whichever one you want me to come to, and I’ll be down there in a New York minute.
So yeah, I’m really, really sorry for not replying quickly. I’ll make it up to you when I see you, somehow. I really can’t wait to see you soon. Seriously, send me the date for the closest game, I’ll be there.
Please forgive me? Please?
Al
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