12 February 2012 - 3:43 PM
Well, I'm tired. Went somewhere with my youth group (Rainbow) and I'm so tired.
AND SOME OLD LADY TOOK MY PRETTY DRESSES THAT I HAD TO WEAR FOR CEREMONIES! WHY?
Anyway...
Prompt:
12th: Music of My Heart
Because what's finer than music? Music or dance of any sort is the tentpole of this theme. Whether someone is in a band, they're singing or dancing together, or they're just listening to music, anything is fine! Just as long as music or dance is somehow involved.
Rating: M
Warnings: Blind Alfred :(, Delinquent/Former Prostitute Arthur, Human! AU, Translation of a Spanish song to English, Love-making :)
Song: Tu me salvaste (You saved me) by Mana
I See You
Arthur Kirkland stood against the doorway of the kitchen, staring at one figure in the living room.
His husband, Alfred F. Jones, sat at the piano. He seemed to just be pressing random keys on the piano, the ivory keys making solitary sounds in the air. His eyes stared ahead, not seeing anything...
Because he couldn't.
When Alfred was about ten years old, four years before he met Arthur as a high-school freshman and the other was working as a waiter, and singer, in a new European restaurant in town, he had been playing tackle football.
He'd suffered an internal decapitation.
Miraculously, he survived the surgery with no physical trauma.
For some reason, though, when he opened his eyes after surgery, he couldn't see. The doctors say it was because of psychological trauma
At this time, Arthur had the idea of selling his body for money to get money for his mother's drug addiction. He loved to write music so he would perform in bars and restaurants as well.
It happened that his mother left while he was working one night and he hadn't seen her since. His father had gained custody of his brothers three years before.
He was all alone. And he was only eighteen and a high-school drop-out.
Until he met a blind kid who spoke a bit too loudly and loved to eat burgers...
And loved to listen to music.
Arthur had sung that very night, with Alfred sitting quietly and clapping when it was over.
As Arthur approached the table, he could see that the blind customer, Alfred, seemed happy once he came near.
"Are you all done?" he asked. The boy's older brother of sixteen-years-old, Mathieu, spoke for the both of them.
"Yes, thank you," he said quietly. Alfred did not move until Arthur had picked up the plates, saying that he would be back with dessert, and Mathieu excused himself to make a call for their parents to pick them up in about half an hour.
"You have a beautiful voice, Arthur. You're English, right?" Arthur paused, looking up and catching the glossed over gaze of the fourteen-year-old.
"Thank you, sir. I was born in England."
"I bet you're handsome, too." Alfred smiled a shy grin and Arthur wondered what was going on behind those sapphire eyes.
"Um...?" Arthur was not used to this at all. Did someone, one of his customers of his other job, tell this kid that he was a whore?
"I'm sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?" Alfred lowered his head, bashful. Arthur blinked confused.
"No, sir." Alfred lifted his head.
"Okay, because you seem really nice." His smile seemed so bright that Arthur could vaguely feel some kind of affection begin to bloom in his chest.
"You are kind as well, sir."
"Call me Alfred, please." The blind child left a large tip and held his cane tightly as Mathieu led him away half an hour later.
The following week, Arthur came to work and found himself receiving flowers in a beautiful vase, arranged as a Victorian Posy. There was twelves flowers and in the middle, a red rose.
"Some kid came with his brother and left these for you. His name was Alfred F. Jones."
The two became closer, as Alfred would come more often to the restaurant, ordering a cup of hot chocolate and sometimes a Scotch pie and fruit tart, to listen to Arthur's voice.
One evening, after Alfred got out of school and Arthur finished his work for the day, they went to Alfred's house as his parents were gone. Alfred's seeing eye dog, affectionately named Holmes in honor of Alfred's first braille novel Sherlock Holmes, stayed downstairs as the two teenagers went up to Alfred's room to listen to Alfred's IPod together, sharing a pair of headphones.
A kiss from the blind one had been unexpected and he almost missed. He would've if he hadn't been holding Arthur's head still.
"I really like you, Arthur. I do."
"But... you don't even know what I look like." Alfred frowned.
"You're always in my head though. I listen to your voice in my thoughts, hear your ideas when I'm thinking about random stuff." The fourteen-year-old lowered his head, rubbing circles on Arthur's cheeks with his thumbs. The eighteen-year-old held still, seeing the vague shaking of the other's shoulders.
"I love you, Arthur."
Arthur stayed silent. He thought about how nice Alfred was and how, despite the boy's sometimes annoying demeanor, he wanted to watch him smile and see how his body would writhe underneath him.
"I... I think I love you too, Alfred."
His arms were full of Alfred as the other attacked his lips again. He smiled against his lips and he could taste the sweetness of Cola and chocolate.
"Love," Arthur said, interrupting the steady stream of notes that filled the atmosphere. Alfred turned his head towards him.
"Yeah?" Arthur walked over and knelt down at the piano bench, laying his head against the American's leg. He'd given up so much to be with him.
The Jones-Williams family was strictly Catholic and, despite the pleas of the blind teenager, Alfred's parents had disowned him, written him off of the will, when he announced his engagement to Arthur when he was eighteen. They still sent him money and allowed him to keep the college fund that they had set up.
Alfred still received his pension and their new church, one that welcomed him and Arthur with open arms, had raised money and enabled him to go to college even after his college fund was out.
Arthur helped Alfred study, and vice versa, as Arthur had to study for his associate's at the nearby community college. Even though Alfred protested about injustice, Arthur convinced him to go to the private college in their new town to give him a chance that he didn't have.
All of the credits transferred and now, six years after that incident, Alfred worked as a counselor in a place which doubled as an adoption agency. He worked a lot with kids and, if he felt a child was in too bad of a situation, would help him/her through the adoption process should he report the situation to the head office. Whenever a same-sex couple came to care for a kid, or some kids, Alfred would come home and ask Arthur if they could have a kid, a baby, someone to take care of.
Arthur would smile and remind him of their financial situation. They relied mostly on Alfred's income and grants that could be used for things besides school; they didn't really make enough to be able to take care of a kid.
Of course, Alfred would bring up how the state would provide money and things for the child.
Arthur would change the subject and cry on the inside that if Alfred had married a woman, he could have had a baby.
And how now Alfred was helping him go to more music lessons and could possibly help him get a record deal.
"Arthur?" The Englishman looked up at cloudy blues.
"I wrote you a song, Alfred." The younger male smiled at that.
"Really?" Arthur stood and, grabbing Alfred's hand, led him across the room, upstairs, and into their bedroom. A guitar was on the bed, a present from their friend Antonio, ready to be played.
They made themselves comfortable on the mattress, Alfred lying down and holding a pillow to his tummy, Arthur situating his guitar.
"Ready?"
"Yep." Arthur could hear childish excitement and anticipation in the twenty-seven-year-old's voice and he chuckled.
"I've been working on this." Alfred tilted his head.
"For how long?"
"Since you proposed to me." Alfred blinked confusedly, not really understanding.
Arthur reached over and lifted up one of Alfred's hands. He kissed it gingerly. He dropped the hand and picked up his guitar pick.
And he began to sing.
SOS, I've touched too deeply,
Don't know how to leave this abyss
My soul has been destroyed
I feel like I can't go on,
I've been lost
You've saved me from Hell
I was reborn when I believed in nothing
I believe again, you heal my thinking
Your love will overcome it,
You saved me from Hell
Arthur thought of the times his mother hit him when she was high and how he had whored himself out for her. Alfred had helped him stop all of it.
Changed are my feelings,
I don't remember how to laugh
I'm no longer the same,
Depressed and confused,
I can't find the will to live,
Oh, why, my God
You've saved me from Hell
I was reborn when I believed in nothing
I believe again, you heal my thinking
Your love will overcome it,
You saved me from Hell
He looked at Alfred, who was now sitting up, an unreadable expression on his face.
Thank you for coming to me
Thank you for being here with me
I swear it was the end for me
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for being here with me
I don't what I'd do without you, just me
You've saved me from Hell
I was reborn when I believed in nothing
I believe again, you heal my thinking
Your love will overcome it,
You saved me from Hell
You've saved me from Hell
I was reborn when I believed in nothing
I believe again, you heal my thinking
Your love will overcome it,
You saved me from Hell
Arthur stopped strumming and looked over at Alfred, shocked by his expression.
Tears were pouring out of bright blue. He was shaking and squeezing the pillow so tightly that Arthur could see that his knuckles were white from lack of blood flow and the intensity of his grip.
"Freddie?" He whispered softly, wondering if he should have sung at all. He set his guitar on the floor. Once the soft thump of the wood to the carpeted floor resounded in the room, Alfred launched himself towards the other, hitting his chest harshly and making Arthur hiss in pain.
"Alfred!"
"I saved you, Arthur? I did?" Arthur looked down at the blond hair, not seeing his husband's face as he could feel his shirt getting soaked with tears.
"Yes," he said softly, lifting Alfred up and holding his face, brushing away tears with his thumbs.
"Alfred, you know how I was when I met you. I was so lost," he explained, coming close and kissing the other's forehead.
"I'm not anymore. I'm not some stupid prostitute that dropped out of school. Or that abused little kid whose mother was always wasted and who was finally left alone by that pathetic bitch-excuse of a mother." He kissed Alfred's lips softly. Pulling away, he whispered...
"I'm Arthur Kirkland-Jones, your husband."
Alfred came forward now pressed his lips against Arthur's, bringing up a hand to tangle it in the golden tresses. He pressed his tongue against the rose red flesh of his lips and Arthur obliged, shivering slightly as the slippery muscle began to ravage his mouth.
But this was for Alfred, not him.
Alfred whimpered as hands began to climb up underneath his shirt, pressing his back down to the mattress. He could hear Arthur above him when they parted, soft pants accompanied by the sound of the bedside drawer opening. The other was getting lube and a condom.
"Arthur..."
"Yes, love?" Alfred bit his lip.
"Can we not use a condom?" He heard the springs of the mattress squeak and he wondered if Arthur-
"Of course."
Why would he think that his love would tell him 'no'?
The two undressed and Alfred lay with his legs open in anticipation, the cold air on his cock making shiver.
He heard the swishy, squishy sound of lubrication.
"Any reason why, Freddie?" Alfred opened his mouth, but hissed as the cold lube touched his entrance.
"I... I want to feel you, Arthur," he whispered shyly, before saying, "So much that I cleaned myself earlier when you were at work today."
His cheeks burned.
"You were going to ask me?"
"Yes..." Arthur kissed his husband again. He was still so clueless and he wondered why Alfred could still be so innocent in the sense that he felt nervous to talk about how he felt.
Just like high school.
"Ah!" Alfred threw his head back as Arthur pushed a finger through and managed to hit his spouse's prostate. The Brit pushed and pulled, gradually adding more fingers and adding more lube by pouring some on his fingers when he pulled them out part of the way.
Arthur waited until the other's muscles felt completely lax and there was enough lube. He poured some on his erection, shuddering at the coldness of it. He looked down at Alfred, seeing his tousled hair, bruised lips, flushed body, and beautiful eyes that saw nothing, but held lust all the same.
Grabbing his husband's hips, and feeling Alfred wrap his legs around Arthur's waist, he kissed the other again.
"Are you ready?" Alfred nodded.
"Love me, Mr. Musician." Arthur chuckled.
"Yes, my Hero."
12 February 2012 – 11:49 PM
Tired, but I got it done. :)
There will be a second chapter to this eventually.