A/N: Due to content guidelines and such, the lyrics have been removed~ if you guys want the same 'feel' to the fic, I suggest you go on over to youtube and have beyonce's version of Fever playing in the back. Much love 3
A sultry rendition of Fever was the thing to first catch his attention.
That voice, unmistakably foreign to Alfred's ears. That voice, he had never heard it before, all the while he had been coming to and going from the very lounge he situated himself in. Immediately upon hearing that delectably honeyed voice, Alfred's eyes drifted towards the performance stage, dimly alight under the sensual and cosy roseate and cyaneous shades, casting spontaneously beautiful colours upon the singer. The singer, whom had Alfred's heart beating a mile a minute, of which he was certain was not the cause of the alcohol that he had left abandoned on the bar beside him.
The owner of that sweet, soft, undoubtedly English-accented voice tipped his head back delicately as the smooth melodies of the band gathered a while away from the stage enveloped its listeners, lowering the microphone ever so slightly, posture loose and relaxed. The hand not holding the microphone snaked up his side, skittered along his collarbone and reached up to push back his blond hair, giving him an untamed demeanour of a certain kind of allure that Alfred decided made him seem utterly gorgeous. The strands of hair he hadn't touched fell to the front of his face, framing his pale alabastrine skin, blushed lightly with the pink of the lighting effects.
The lights had little to no effect on his eyes. A unique shade of malachite, and Alfred was sure he could see flecks of a pretty verdigris shade. Those beautiful eyes were narrowed, lidded with a particular air of lust about the entirety of the man. Whenever he blinked, Alfred could easily see the pupils dilate and adjust to the lighting.
Alfred's eyes fell upon his lips, parted and the visible twitch of a smile upon them. The half-hearted smile, that seemed more of a smirk, was a provocative feature, ultimately contorting the singer's expression into that of a come-hither look. The American slid off of his bar stool and pushed through the growing audience the singer was attracting beneath the stage.
The singer easily let the lyrics roll of his tongue with one of the most attractive tones Alfred had ever heard.
Alfred managed to find a vacant space upon one of the plush leather ottomans, grateful that it was as close to the stage as possible. Once again, his eyes found the singer, who had left his position on the stage to slowly, much too slowly, make his way down the steps and lackadaisically strut around his seated onlookers, giving some of those he passed a titillating glance. Alfred quashed the rising jealousy, as he so desperately wanted the singer to look at him that way.
More often than not, Alfred had never had a thing for love at first sight, if that was what he could call the feeling he experienced when he watched the performer, but undeterred by his preferences in any love he wished to begin, Alfred was certain that he was more than just attracted to the singer's appearance, which in itself was absolutely delicious looking, but his voice was also doing things to his body that he was positive would make him a sinner in church, among other things.
Some of the lyrics mirrored his actions. Alfred watched intently, eyes stalking the amazingly beautiful performer.
The singer, whom Alfred desperately needed to know the name of, gradually neared him and despite all odds, came to a halt before the American. Alfred tilted his head and ignored his beating heart, offering a cocky smile, to which the singer raised an eyebrow at.
There was a pause in the song that allowed the music to take the spotlight, and Alfred held his breath as the singer took this time to kick the ottoman backwards towards the wall. Catcalls and hushed cries of encouragement erupted around them. Alfred smirked, letting his stubborn and unknowingly attractive side come into play as the stunning singer shamelessly straddled himself over his thighs and brought the microphone back to his lips, leaning closer to the American and letting his voice resonate throughout the two of them, closer than any other two in the room.
That enticingly smoky voice sounded that much better and lustful this close. Every aspect about this brazen, lascivious man seemed that much better and lustful this close. Alfred paid no mind to the audience around them, allowing his eyes to wonder about the devastatingly ravishing existence of the singer, who continued on with the subtly unchaste lyrics, yet at the same time managed to make a pass upon the American, searching him with lingering eyes and leaving little to Alfred's imagination with his breathy, dulcet voice.
Soon the song ended, all too quickly. The audience clapped, whistled and shouted for more, the lights changed and the announcer brought on a new exotic performance. The singer abandoned his microphone on a nearby table, but he did not attempt to remove himself from Alfred. The latter's hands subconsciously, or not so subconsciously, found their way to the singer's hips, earning him an unabashed smile. Times like these, Alfred was thankful for his charm and charisma that seemed to come about naturally, disallowing him to mess up.
"You've quite the voice there, but that won't be all I'd like to hear of it." the hands gripping the hips tightened a fraction for good measure.
"Yes, I hear that quite a lot."
Alfred refused to lose himself in that amazingly sexy accent, to instead put on a childlike pout that had the singer giving him a crooked smirk, making him look undeniably inviting, in every aspect of the word.
"Come now, don't let the jealousy win you over. I would be right in saying I've already taken care of that."
The American tapped his fingers about the singer's hips before tightly grasping and pulling him the slighter blond closer, grinning when he heard a faint moan slip from the other's lips. But the singer did not let him have the satisfaction of the moment, for he abruptly slid from his lap and pulled him by his wrist out of the room and up a darkened flight of stairs, mumbling his name up on the way.
Arthur.
Alfred liked the sound of that.
Arthur all but shoved Alfred into a dressing room, where he locked the door before dimming the lights and finding his way back to the American, resuming their seated position at the end of a satin-covered bed. Hands wasted no time in curiously roaming, stroking and roughly grabbing. Clothes littered the floor at the foot of Arthur's bed, skin came into contact with skin and names were breathlessly called out.
Alfred very much liked Arthur's voice, whether he was speaking or singing or biting his lip in fruitless attempts to put a hindrance upon his rough, lewd moans and pants, gasps and the voluptuous and salacious sounds that spilled from his inviting lips when the heat became too much.
In reflection to Arthur's sultry song, the man was entirely feverous.