Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.
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Two Sides
Alfred swallows. The house is used, to say the least. The shingles are faded and crooked and the siding has dents in a couple spaces. A withered potted plant reminds that there were good intentions before, but no more now. Weeds litter the lawn and the young landlord spends no more than two seconds thinking about the limp, used piece of rubber standing out like a sore pointer on overgrown grass. At least there is a plastic flamingo, he thinks. Otherwise, he would feel akin to walking into a haunted house.
Alfred thinks he might be overdressed to talk to these tenants. And that's saying much in jeans and a button-up.
But it is his job, he reminds himself. He is the new landlord for this row of condominiums. Some old rush before him jumped the gun and bought a whole plot of land; some god complex possessed him to build condos on said land and since then, each landlord has been the Bible for the ones living on the space. He must be able to lay the law down for people he controls the electricity, gas, and heating for. He has spent days visiting each house, from the harmless Italian twins to the (almost fraternal) Asian House, and he has been trying to put off this day. This house. It is the eyesore of the neighborhood.
"We have had problems with this house," the previous landlord had told him on a brief tour. "Time has taught us that the less contact we have with them, the easier it will be for all of us." He had not wanted to elaborate, despite Alfred's obvious interest (although Alfred figures it might have turned him off, really). Alfred doesn't know if he wants to know now.
"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come up to the door?" The voice has a hint of accent, a mixture of British and arrogance, and Alfred looks up at the door. The inner door has opened, and the screen frames a lanky young blonde man, arms crossed as he peers through at Alfred. The landlord gulps as he notices the man's state of undress; only a thin dress shirt provides any sort of decency.
Alfred smiles anyway. "Hey there! My name's Alfred F. Jones, and I'm gonna be your new landlord!"
"It was an either or question," the man says smoothly, leaning sideways into the doorway. His voice says stay your distance but his eyes say you may advance. Alfred takes a step forward, then another when the blonde does not make a sound. It isn't until he reaches the doorstep that Alfred remembers the stack of papers he has shoved in his back pocket and fishes them out.
"It's my fifth day on the job and I've already had a couple of complaints about this household…"
"Damned if I could give a shit," the man cuts him off, giving all ideas of innocence Alfred may have conceived the boot. The green eyes staring up at him through the screen are murky and mysterious. Almost as if it can read the atmosphere (something he has never been able to accomplish), the wind whistles in the trees and the sun finds a space behind a cloud. The sharp tongued mouth twists into a smirk. "Arthur Kirkland."
"Yes, well. I'm not sure what contract you got, but it clearly states here that tenants must keep their residences in relatively livable conditions…"
"Francis takes care of the paperwork," Arthur cuts him off again. Alfred pauses, and there is a silence before Arthur says, "Oh, you wanted me to get him." He angles his head toward the inside of the house and Alfred stares at the seductive curve of his neck. "Frog. You're wanted."
Something about skin, Alfred thinks, that even when you see a lot, you can't get enough.
Another man comes up to the door; he is dressed in pants that aren't even buttoned up or zipped. Alfred flushes despite himself. What a household. The man seems to proudly show off his chest and abundant albeit manly facial and chest hair. Hair seems to be his bread and butter – he tosses his head and smirks as well. "Francis Bonnefoy at your service. How might I be of…service?" He chuckles at his joke.
Alfred holds up the complaints, filed on frowning green paper. "This house has gotten a lot of complaints."
Francis looks at Arthur, who can't be bothered. "Nothing new," he says, turning back to Alfred. Together, they fill up the doorway and although he is dressed and seems to have his pride intact, Alfred cannot help but feel outnumbered. "Oh, you don't look familiar. New landlord?"
"Third one this year," Arthur adds, giving both males a look of contempt.
Alfred shakes the papers. "If this is a concern about money, I'm sure the local banks would be happy to give you a loan…"
"The problem," Arthur interrupts yet again, "is that we don't really give a damn about this place looking livable." Francis looks at Alfred in a way that suggests he doesn't disagree. "If you came to bitch, run along, little boy. Adults have better things to do." He tears slowly from the door, sliding back into the shadows of the house and Francis shrugs, cocking his head quizzically as if I can't help it before soundlessly slamming the door in his face.
[=]
The next time Alfred sees Arthur is outside, smoking on the curb. A trail of gray smoke leaves the nonchalant mouth and softly disappears. His eyes look glazed over and Alfred pulls to a stop next to him, rolling down the window from his car. "Get high inside if you have to."
"Tobacco," Arthur scoffs, flicking some ash onto Alfred's car door. He is dressed today. Tight pants, tight skirt, uptight personality. "Don't you have anything else better to do, mum?"
"Don't you?" Alfred grins as he adjusts his glasses and combs the bangs out of his face. "I've got security and heroic awesomeness to do. You don't pay the rent just sitting around up to no good."
"Francis is a grocer," Arthur deadpans. "And I'm not getting him for you this time."
"Jobless and touchy," Alfred observes, turning off the ignition and waving his hand about. "Not very personable, are you?"
"I tried the gentleman style," Arthur muses, putting his chin on his palm thoughtfully, wistfully. "But I think I like my punk pirate one better." He looks up at Alfred and smiles teasingly. "Wouldn't you say?"
Alfred usually is pretty good at quick draw but he cannot think of a good comeback and instead finds himself back in his awkward adolescent self when he just starts the car, shifts back into ignition, and leaves Arthur sitting by himself outside his house.
[=]
Mattie needs a place to stay, and the loft next to his is free so Alfred invites his brother over to check out the place. By invite, Alfred means driving a couple hours to Mattie's previous residence and pulling him over to his neck of the woods. By check out the place, he means thrusting the paperwork in Mattie's hands and staring at him expectantly until the loopy Matthew Williams is penned in each line marked with an X.
"I can't believe you made me do this," Matthew mutters, Alfred's enthusiasm unnerving him. "I don't even know if I like the area."
"I'll give you a rundown!" So Alfred drags Mattie outside and begins on the left side of the street, pointing out the Vargas' house with the big loud Italian flag flying from the flag pole, the Beilschmidts living a couple doors down, to the Spaniard Carriedo and his sister Maria, until Mattie looks about as interested as he would be had the topic been shellfish and their impact on the passing of time. Not many wander the sidewalks during the middle of the day, so Alfred is surprised to see another pair coming their way. He blinks, and it's Arthur and Francis.
As they pass, Arthur says nothing, although his eyes lock onto Alfred's and tear slowly away like caramel. Francis is more vocal; as he winks, he says, "It appears the looks in the family do not reside in the landlord," and licks his lips suggestively. Matthew flushes dark red and Alfred hurries him along, away from the no-good duo.
"Who are they?" Matthew asks, his cheeks still colored a light pink. Alfred opens his mouth and realizes he doesn't actually know.
[=]
"I think you'll have to tell me what you know about Arthur for me to tell you what I know. I mean, I don't want to repeat myself and I don't want to tell you something you don't know!" Feliciano Vargas is hanging up the laundry outside, and Alfred wonders if the Italian knows there is a dryer in the basement of the condo. Feliciano knows everyone, so he seems to be the most promising one to ask.
"I don't really know much about him."
"Well, he's been around for a while. I don't really know what happened to him before he came but I know he's got a couple brothers that he usually doesn't talk about. He had a kid with him once…sort of looked like him, I guess…but he never came around anymore. I wonder how Peter's doing? But he came with Francis and they just sort of rooted in. That's what I heard, at least…Romano and I moved in a bit later. All I know is that he can be really mean! He was yelling at me for walking in front of his house! He likes to pick on me and my brother although we did nothing to him! But Ludwig always tells him off. He listens to Ludwig." Feliciano presses his face against a white sheet, smiling happily to himself. "Would you like to hear about Ludwig? I've got lots to say about him instead~!"
Romano isn't much better. "What do you want to know about that bastard? He's a bastard, and he's a bastard. That's it. Get out of my house."
He tries the German brothers next. Ludwig is cordial and says polite things about the two, although they are not many. Gilbert, the older moocher, has a bit more to add. "I'm not a really big fan of Arthur. Tightest ass you've ever seen and you can take that any way you want, kesese. I know more about Francis, though. We're pretty good friends. Francis came from a pretty good family but good families always have some sort of stupid arguments and they always hate each other. So he just got out of there and met the awesome me! But enough about them, I'll have you know I'm pretty awesome…"
Alfred can only catch up with one of the Asians, the quiet Kiku. "Kirkland-san? He's alright, I suppose. He doesn't have many people to talk to. We had a block party that Yong Soo and the Feliciano-san set up and he just stood by himself for the whole time. He shuts himself off for a lot of people. We talk, though." Kiku smiles. "We have a couple of mutual interests. Tea, for example. I'm thinking of setting up a tea tasting at the end of the month."
The Carriedo residence shares the same views as the German house. "Arthur~? Yeah, I knew him. We used to go to the same school. He was such a scrawny brat but he beat me up once. Even though we've passed that ages ago, he won't let me live it down. I guess being friends with Francis makes it worse, though. Francis brings out the worst in him."
"Toni and I have a pretty intense sibling rivalry as it is," Maria adds. "But I think we'd bond up any day to take him down. We had a short fling in high school but then he couldn't stop bitching about Antonio, so we had to end things. He doesn't forget things. Not charming at all. At least Francis has the wherewithal not to mention other people on dates."
The cross dressing gossiper Feliks is more than happy to entertain Alfred's questions, reclining on a pink sofa in a green skirt. "Like, I don't really know what's the deal with that guy, but all you need to know is that he and Francis are totally inseparable! I totally don't know what's up about that, because they're always arguing and fighting. In fact, everyone Arthur deals with, like, has a shouting match with him. He's totally difficult! I don't like talking to him 'cause I always get so mad and I lose my voice afterwards! Like, I'd stay away from him if I were you!"
[=]
When the situation finds Arthur straddling Alfred's hips, during a meeting to discuss possible eviction should the behavior at the house not change, not even Alfred can deduct how this has happened. His back is pressed against the springy loveseat and he can smell the scent of something burnt lingering in Arthur's hair. "I've wanted to do this for a long time," the blonde purrs, pressing his lips against Alfred's. Up close, Alfred inspects Arthur's eyebrows. They are thick and hard to distract from.
"Aren't you together with Francis?" Alfred manages when he regains control of his tongue and mouth.
"I would never sleep with that lech again," Arthur assures (though it's not a reassuring thought). "So shut your mouth and enjoy yourself."
It's fast and rough and loud.
[=]
Arthur's lips are loose after sex. He talks snatches of being a gentleman and running with the wrong crowd and something about Peter as he rolls around the sofa with Alfred's hoodie wrapped around his waist. "I don't like the thought of being with someone else," he confides, burying his head in a pile of abandoned pants as Alfred watches. "I've had my heart broken before and you seem like the type who wouldn't hesitate to point a gun in my face."
Alfred has nothing to say to that, and with unsettlement and the realization that he has not been able to successfully negotiate anything, puts on his clothes and leaves. As he makes his way to the door, Francis comes in with a bag of groceries and notices his ruffled hair and unruly clothing. "I don't suppose you have a birthmark the shape of a bear on your hip either," he says cryptically as Alfred makes a face at him but when he gets home, he lets Matthew know what he thinks.
"Why are you so upset I'm in a relationship with Francis?" Matthew cries, looking close to tears after a long time of arguing.
"He's not good for you, Mattie!"
"Like you know what's good for me!" Matthew points accusingly at the unhidden love bite on Alfred's neck. "Stay out of my business when you've got Arthur, eh?"
"I know what I'm doing."
"And I know what I'm doing," Matthew declares. "And I don't need you to tell me what to do. And I think you know what you should do."
The next day, Matthew has packed his bags and leaves the room next to Alfred's. When Arthur opens the door to get the mail, he finds an eviction notice taped to the mailbox.
[=]
The for rent sign outside Matthew's door (no longer Matthew's, actually) attracts all sorts of unsavory kinds of people. Alfred opens his door to find Arthur, shifting his weight onto his left foot as he grins maliciously at him with a pile of belongings at his feet. "I saw the room next to yours is free?"
"One occupant only," Alfred says.
"Francis abandoned me for that brother of yours. They should be halfway to the Yukon now." Alfred does not know if this is a joke. He hopes it is. He should call Mattie to make sure. "And you kicked me out of house and home. It's your responsibility to find me a new residence."
"Your track record isn't very good in his development," Alfred tries. "And if your only source of income has deserted you, I don't know how you'll pay the rent."
Arthur leans forward. "Same way I was thinking of worming myself out of the eviction." He leans forward more and kisses the fading hickey, making Alfred shudder. "The deciding factor must have been Francis. I admit I am grateful for you getting that man out of my life. I though he would never leave."
"I don't want you to be known as the tenant who sleeps with the landlord as rent," Alfred frowns.
"I don't care about what they think. You should be concerned that they'll see you as the landlord who accepts sex for rent." Arthur cocks his head. "Much more reliable and satisfying than money, I'm sure you'll agree."
Feliks, a reliable source, will claim that he saw Alfred slam the door in Arthur's face when he was taking a walk past the house, but paperwork will show that the room next to the landlord's has been given to one Arthur Kirkland and the for rent sign is somewhere buried deep in the trash bins behind the power grid.
[=]
Note: I haven't written USUK in such a long time. I'm pretty rusty, but I wanted to try my hand at delinquent!UK. This has been Alfred's side. Matthew's POV will also be written in another fic. Grr, I hope it was adequate. Thanks for reading.