Title: Candy from a Stranger

Author: AishiteSubete

Rating: T+

Summary: Alfred and Arthur's first encounter was when they were 8 and 16. What happens when they find themselves students of the same college? USUK.

WARNING: This story deals with yaoi, which is boy-on-boy romance. It contains mild to coarse language as well, plus a decent age gap between the two characters involved-so if you don't like this stuff, don't read it! Flames will be used to heat my bedroom, since it's colder than every other room in my house.

A/N: This is not shota. Please do not think it's shota, because it is not. This story, however, was inspired by "Candy from a Stranger" by Myah Marie. :D

CANDY FROM A STRANGER

I first met him-Alfred Jones-when I was sixteen and sitting at a bus stop. Apparently he lived in one of the apartments nearby, therefore this stretch of concrete sidewalk was, in his mind, his own personal playground. I couldn't blame him for feeling that way. When a kid gets raised in the heart of a big city, they don't really have anywhere to play, especially if their parents weren't available to take them to a park. I should know, having been raised in London, England, until I moved to the States for high school.

To be honest, I still hadn't gotten used to living in the United States in the least. At least every other day somebody made a comment on my prominent British accent or my thick eyebrows, and I sometimes had the tendency to feel out-of-place amongst the pedestrians and the metro commuters. If you've ever heard somebody say that exchange students from England don't have a difficult time getting acclimated to United States life, they would be speaking complete bullshit. As a born-and-bred Englishman, I knew. It was difficult to get used to the arrogance and sense of entitlement some Americans had, and the fast food? Well, it was better than my cooking, but I couldn't say I was used to going out every night for dinner (I was becoming rather fond of McDonalds, though).

So while I sat on the bench, waiting for the bus for my station to arrive, that little blond bundle of energy came plopping down beside me on the bench. "Hello!" he said loudly and cheerily. I couldn't believe that this kid was so open to talk; hadn't his parents ever told him not to talk to strangers before?

"Um, hullo," I said a little awkwardly; I wasn't very good with kids anyway, and being approached by this random child so suddenly didn't make the situation any more comfortable.

"I like your eyebrows." I mentally sighed; another comment on my eyebrows.

"Well, at least you like them, unlike some others," I mused quietly, hoping that he didn't hear anything I said.

"I like your accent, too," he continued, staring at me with his sky-blue eyes. Well, there goes him not hearing what I said. "Are you British? Are you from London? Have you seen Big Ben? Have you rode the London Eye? Do you have bad teeth? Do you get drunk easily? My papa says that British people can't hold their alcohol..."

The little bugger kept shooting off questions, and I really didn't know what to do to make him shut his mouth. I never liked kids, and I especially didn't like this conversation. I had a Hershey's bar in the large pocket on the inside of my coat; maybe if I gave it to him, it would cause him to leave, or at least shut him up. So I reached into my jacket and took the candy out, handing it to him. "Here, little tyke. Run along now." Much to my surprise, the kid's eyes changed to the shape of saucers, and he looked at me as if I had just offered him poison or something. "What? Do you not want it?"

"My papa told me to never take candy from strangers!" he said loudly, probably loud enough to where anybody walking by would think I was trying to drag him into a windowless van or some shit like that; it'd probably make a lot of people think I was a pedophile. His papa told him to not take candy from strangers, but never mentioned the key point of not talking to them? I sighed; Americans were so contradictory.

"Fine then," I said, putting the chocolate bar back in my coat. I guess I'd be able to eat it later while I pulled an all-nighter for my midterms. Maybe the chocolate could keep me away a few minutes longer than I would be able to go without it. "I'll keep it."

The little American child frowned, apparently not understanding that his earlier statement was a refusal of the treat. He pouted, and I sighed; I wasn't going to try to give him any, so I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a dollar. "If you won't take it," I said, "then go buy yourself one." His face lit up at the sight of the green paper, and he took it from my hand gleefully.

"Thank you mister!" he said as I began to stand up; I could see my bus right down the street, headed to this stop. "I'm Alfred, by the way-Alfred Jones."

Foolish American kid-even telling his surname to complete strangers, I thought with an air of amazement; the sheer contradiction of his statements throughout the course of the last five minutes was mind-boggling. "Arthur Kirkland," I responded shortly as I stepped onto the bus. I didn't look out the window to watch the kid wave at me as I left.

I never saw him at that stop ever again.

It wasn't until I was in graduate school-eleven years later-that I saw this Alfred Jones once more. I was a student at the University of Chicago's graduate program, and Alfred was, apparently an undergrad; young, spry, and fresh out of high school. At my own age of twenty-six, I cringed when I thought about how long ago it was when I first saw him. It made me feel much older than I really was.

My first run-in with the boy was when I was on campus to visit my advisor. As a full-time novelist, I wasn't really in the Chicago metropolitan area that much, so I took online classes instead. My advisor was a smart man, Dr. Yao Wang, who was much older than I (though he never really showed any signs of age). I had been walking towards the building where my advisor's office was located when I felt something collide with the back of my head. Wincing in pain, I grabbed the hurt area only to drop my briefcase on the sidewalk.

"Whoa, sorry dude!" a boy said apologetically, running over to me. "Ivan, you've got to be careful about where you throw that thing!" I heard a vague "kolkolkol" from off in the distance, then saw a young lad bent over beside me to pick up my briefcase. "Man, I really am sorry," the boy continued his animated apology as he straightened up. He wore low-riding, darkwash denim jeans with plenty of holes, and a brown bomber jacket over a plain, white tee shirt. His hair was blonde, but not nearly as light as mine, and a large cowlick stood out amonst his well-groomed locks. But the one thing that took me as a surprise was the bright hue of his eyes that peered out at me from under thin-rimmed glasses.

"Like hey, don't I know you?" he asked inquisitively, looking at me with curiosity shining on his features. "Yeah yeah! I've seen you somewhere before. Not anytime recent, but in the past, I believe. Did you grow up in Chicago?"

"I didn't," I said curtly; I knew very well who he was. He was that small boy I met at a bus stop when I was sixteen and new to the States. "In fact, I didn't even grow up in America."

"I can tell that," Alfred said smartly, studying my features. "You have a slight British accent, though it's been tamed by your amount of time here. How long have you been in the States?"

"High school," I responded. "I have a meeting with my advisor; can I leave now?"

The boy pouted cutely. "No way! No no! You're staying until I remember where I've seen you before." He folded his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate on who I was. "The big eyebrows are very familiar," he mused. Suddenly, his face broke into a big smile, and he snapped his fingers. "Ah! Yeah! Weren't you that British dude I met when I was really little? You gave me a Hershey's bar?"

"Tried to give you a Hershey's bar," I corrected with a dry smile. "Keyword being try. You mentioned something about your father not letting you take candy from strangers."

The blond boy laughed aloud, his hand clapping me on the back (a little too harshly for my personal preferences, but I kept it inside). "And yet he allowed me to talk to strangers? Damn, my papa was epic."

I grinned facetiously, straightening my tie with my free hand. "Well, on that note, I'd best be off. I'm going to be late for my meeting if I don't find my way to my advisor's office soon enough."

Alfred blinked at me. "Is this your first time on campus?" I nodded slowly, my green eyes probably saying something akin to "no shit, Einstein." I was rather talented at conveying words with my eyes. This Alfred boy, however, seemed to be completely oblivious. "Then let me take you there!" he exlaimed, and I could tell he was adamant about it just by the tone of his voice. "I'm the hero of this school, you know!" I looked at him once more, just blinking. I had never heard anything so absurd in all of my days. But I spouted off the name of the office building to him, and walked wordlessly beside him as he prattled on about, in essence, how incredible he was.

The second time I ran into Alfred was at the drugstore. Yes, I never would have imagined meeting him at Walgreens of all places-especially since he didn't look like the type to get his own groceries or essentials for himself (I personally thought he would shove it off on his roommates). But no, there he was, reading the backs of two different shampoo bottles with a shopping basket hanging from his arm. I felt a small smile grace my lips at the surprise; maybe the child really was capable of taking care of himself.

Alfred didn't notice me as I walked to stand beside him, checking out shampoo bottles for myself. I hadn't the slightest intetnion to buy, but I did want to get the boy's attention. So I picked up a bottle nearest the one he just sat down, causing him to look up at me. "Oh, 'sup British dude!" He grinned, laughing lightheartedly.

"It's Arthur," I said stuffily. "Arthur Kirkland; please remember it next time."

Alfred made a face at me as he threw the shampoo bottle still in his hand in the basket on his arm. "Yeah, yeah, Arthur it is. What brings you to this place?"

I shrugged, setting the bottle I had been looking at previously back on the shelf. "Just to get a few necessities," I said vaguely, walking towards the back of the store. Alfred followed on my heels, and I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I had his attention. "A man needs bread to eat, you know." The blond nodded in response. "And why are you here, my friend?"

"I needed to get my own 'necessities,' as you put it." He motioned to his basket, which contained shampoo, razorblades, a few bags of potato chips, and a two-liter soda. "I don't need much, since I typically eat out."

I made a sound with my tongue. "Yes, I did a lot of that when I was younger. I must say that, because of it, I've become quite fond of McDonald's."

The American's face positively lit up at the mention of the fast-food chain. "OH. MY. GOD." He put deliberate pauses between each of the word as a way to hold my attention. "I fucking love McDonald's!" I shot him a disdainful look-such language!-that made him immediately lose his smile and apologize about his word choice. "But anyway," he picked up where he left off after his apology. "Would you like to run by there after we get our stuff? I mean, like, I haven't seen you since I was eight; we need to catch up!"

He spoke about our first encounter like we were old friends meeting once more after eleven years of separation. The sad thing was, he was eight and I was sixteen when we had that meeting-the fact that he even remembered my face was surprising. The way Alfred looked at me with those wide, innocent eyes and adorable pout was enticing-and persuasive-and I tried to shake any vaguely inappropriate thoughts away by saying "Right-o, sure," to his dinner invitation. I watched his mouth split into a grin, and he dragged me towards the checkout line, even when I hadn't grabbed any of my groceries.

I would get them after I met him for dinner; it may be worth the delay.

When the two of us sat down for dinner, he had already begun to divulge many facts to me about the way his life had progressed since I had gotten on the bus eleven years ago. Apparently he lived with his adoptive father, a man named Francis, and his stepbrother, a small, shy boy named Matthew who was his own age. When Alfred turned sixteen, though, Francis got a new boyfriend and Matthew moved out (was it due to jealousy? Alfred hinted at something along those lines). The last two-and-a-half years of Alfred's high school career were muddled with fights, tears, and many nights wondering why this was happening to his family.

"I mean, I lost my mother and father when I was really, really little," Alfred said sadly, staring at his large Coke with a near-vacant expression. I had never seen his blue eyes carry such sadness and mourning before; I wanted to reach out and touch him, but kept my hands to myself out of fear. "I finally found a family with Francis and Matthew; Francis was a good friend of my mother's, you know. They always told me that my mother was beautiful and wild and exquisite...but all I ever remember seeing of her are pictures. But anyway, Francis and Matthew were the only family I knew. Then Francis brought in Gilbert and Matthew left, and I just...I didn't know what to do with myself."

I offered him a consoling smile, patting his hand with mine. I wanted to tell him that I had a sad story of my teenage years, or something cataclysmically sad that happened in my life, but I came up with nothing to say. Instead, I told him he was a strong guy, and he made it to a great place in life. He thanked me, and we finished our meal in silence.

My third run in with him was almost a solid two weeks later, when he had me pushed against the wall of his apartment, his tongue memorizing every inch of my mouth. Between that, the knee between my legs, and the hands pulling at my hair and clothes, I was moaning like a slut, wanting more of his touch.

I didn't even know how we got there.

I stopped really caring about why I was there or how I got to Alfred's apartment in the first place. With the way his lips were worshipping my neck, any attempt at coherent thought would be absolutely preposterous. Instead, I raked my nails down his clothed back, letting a hand move up to the back of his head, forcing his lips onto my skin.

He chuckled. "Eager, are we?" was his only response as his fingers teasingly ran down the buttons of my shirt and danced around my belt buckle. I moaned as an answer-an answer he took as a yes.

Dragging me off the wall, he picked me up bridal-style to carry me to his bedroom. I was thrown irreverently on the bed, watching with lust-glazed eyes as Alfred shut and locked the door, sliding his bomber jacket from his shoulders afterwards. "Ludwig sometimes crashes on my couch," he said airily, sauntering over to me like a lion to its prey. "He's a closet pervert, I know, so whatever we do won't bother him. Don't forget to scream."

His own chuckles masked my moan as he crawled on the bed to straddle me.

We laid together between silk sheets, tired and exhausted, but not sleepy. No, we didn't feel like going to sleep. Though our bodies ached from exertion, our minds were still moving and whirring, processing thoughts and data even without our knowing.

"You know," Alfred began, turning to me to bury his lips on my neck. "I'm glad Francis told me to never take candy from strangers."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because if I had taken that candy bar from you...life might not have brought us back together like this." His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me, not wanting to let me go. "And being with you is much sweeter than any candy I could want."

I smiled-a genuine smile-and leaned down to kiss him for the hundredth time that night.

FIN

A/N: THAT WAS SO MUCH FUN X.X

So yeah. I made Alfred's biological parents in this a European man and a Native American woman. Just to clear things up.

Yes, Matthew did leave because he was jealous of Francis & Gilbert's relationship. I needed to put a small bit of Franada in there, even if it was onesided ;D

I have this epic-sweet headcanon that Ludwig is just as much of a perv as Gilbert, but is way too uptight to ever admit it. :D

This is all, my loves! R&R, if that's what your heart desires!