A Chance Encounter 1/probably 5
This was not Arthur's first rodeo.
He'd been to a frat party before- he had his fair share of ins considering his hefty "first gay experience" record and his tendency to always bring more than enough of his own beer.
Tonight was a tenuous experience for other reasons than there being too much beer and too many cute boys.
Firstly, Arthur had an English paper due in seven hours. Honestly, whoever invented the internet sure fucked over a lot of otherwise good college students: at the press of a button now, a teacher could make things due on Saturday during rush.
To be fair, it was right after rush when the frats and sororities had tons of new pledges and they were getting acquainted with their new peers. It was also no coincidence that Arthur decided to show up right after rush- it's not as if he had a taste for fresh meat (he was only a junior in college) or anything. It was just that he liked new experiences and never knew what to expect from new pledges.
And secondly, he never thought to expect Alfred F. Jones.
Well, to be fair again, he should have expected Alfred F. Jones to be in a fraternity. Look at him!
Alfred was gorgeous. He was muscular and tan and tall and blond with blue eyes. He could probably bench press Arthur.
Arthur tried not to think about that too hard, or he would get too hard.
He was also at this university on scholarship, Arthur had overheard in the kitchen. Shockingly, it wasn't an athletic scholarship, Arthur had overheard in the living room. It was a national merit academic scholarship, Arthur had overheard on the porch.
He fit in very well. Girls were all over him. He had a winning smile and was decent at small talk. He knew just when to be funny and when to be direct. His hair was just unkempt enough.
All unlike Arthur, whose red hair dye was fading into his blonde roots by this point, not to mention that it was thoroughly impossible to tame. Not that Arthur tried that hard to tame it, but if he knew that someone like Alfred was going to go and try to talk to him today, he would have put more effort into his appearance. Maybe he would have worn jeans that accentuated his assets a little better than these lame black shorts. He would have written some witty one-liners to say in response to obvious questions boys that are used to hitting on girls say like, "Come here often?" To which Arthur could reply, "Well, I would like to but I haven't seen your bedroom yet."
Scratch that. Arthur didn't want to seem too easy to someone like Alfred on the first impression.
But it turned out that he had already managed to seem clingy.
"Hey."
Bent over the cooler and reaching for a beer, Arthur turned around.
Alfred raised his eyebrow and quickly went to shut the cooler lid.
"What was that for?" Arthur frowned slightly, but it was the first time he was looking into Alfred's clear blue eyes and his anger all but dissipated.
"Don't drink that stuff, it's for the plebs," Alfred laughed, and started walking out of the kitchen.
A confused Arthur stood up to follow him, but thought twice.
'Come on, Arthur, you've had your share of cute boys but someone like that?' Arthur scoffed at himself. 'He's only interested in girls.'
Alfred rounded the corner, out of Arthur's sight.
Arthur returned to the cooler.
Opening the lid, he scanned the bottle caps until he found what he wanted.
Sam Adams, only American beer worth drinking. His arm reached for it. His hand grasped the bottleneck.
The cooler shut on his arm.
"Ah! Bloody hell!"
A hand was pressed on the lid of the cooler.
Arthur looked up.
"Look, dude," Alfred was pursing his lips. "I thought you'd follow me since you've already been doing that all night."
Arthur felt his face grow hot. "Wh-what?" He quickly dismissed the allegation in his typical fashion, "As if I would be so blatantly stalkerish! Now if you might excuse me, I'm trying to get shit-faced."
Alfred chuckled. "You're stubborn, aren't you?"
He took the beer bottle from Arthur's hands.
"Trust me, you'll like what I have back in my room way better." Alfred hummed that invitation in a way Arthur was not prepared to hear. He salivated at the thought.
"F-fine," Arthur managed to keep himself from swooning and jeopardising his own dignity.
He followed Alfred out of the kitchen and into his room against his own will. Frat houses were so delicious and so disgusting at the same time, Arthur found himself recalling. The carpets were dirty, but they smelled like men's cologne. There were stupid quotes on the doors. An American flag hung on the wall.
Also usually you could find female paraphernalia in the boys' rooms. Sometimes it was subtle- a ring on the dresser, some lipstick on the sink. Sometimes it was more brazen- panties hanging on the doorknob, a bra on the bedspread or in the window.
Alfred didn't have any such things.
He must be good at keeping secrets.
Arthur appreciated that.
Alfred closed the door, naturally, and opened the mini-fridge. He also had a TV, Arthur noticed, as he was handed a whiskey glass. What a rich boy.
His video game collection was extensive, too. Alfred poured Bailey's into Arthur's glass.
Arthur really shouldn't have been shocked- what gave away that he was British? His bloody accent or the fact that he'd said bloody at all? And what better way to pander to his pride than offer him a staple of any Brit's liquor cabinet? How like an American.
"You do know that Bailey's is Irish liquor, right?" Arthur laughed, and Alfred chuckled back.
"You seemed like a dude that preferred liqueur to me," Alfred raised his eyebrows, "Unless you want a beer- I have Worthington's White Shield."
"You know your British brands, Yankee," Arthur smirked sipping his drink. He wasn't positive, but it seemed like Alfred had licked his lips as he swallowed.
He should have predicted that this was all a formal precursor to sex. Arthur enjoyed one-night stands frequently, and any pledge who'd entered this house with the thought of sleeping with another man would receive his recommendation before any other.
Still. Alfred smelled nice, looked nice, had a nice laugh, and was generous with his booze. Arthur was going to milk this chance encounter for all it was worth.
"Yeah, actually," Alfred smiled, sitting on the bed next to Arthur, "I lived in England before coming to school here."
Now that caught Arthur off guard.
"Really?" He quizzed, "When? What county?"
"Well, my family moved there when I was sixteen and the county was Merseyside,"
Alfred said, crossing his legs.
Arthur turned up his nose.
"Disgusting," Arthur chided, and Alfred laughed.
"It's a nice province!"
"But that means your parents and siblings are Liverpool fans and that is shameful," Arthur continued ranting, much to Alfred's bemusement, "You're already bloody yanks, you could at least have decent taste in the parts of our culture you mean to take part in."
"Nah, dude, you don't understand," Alfred said, "My dad hates soccer with a passion. He only cares about football and hockey." He raised a hand and corrected himself. "American football."
"Typical. What is the appeal of American football anyhow? All they do is smash into each other and the whistle blows every five seconds," Arthur complained and Alfred's generic smile turned wicked.
"For some reason, I pegged you as someone who liked seeing guys smash into each other," he challenged, voice low and seductive.
Arthur gulped.
Alfred leaned back, seemingly satisfied with Arthur's response.
"It's the chase dude. It's when someone throws that perfect pass and their teammate can make a touchdown against all the odds of like 5 or 6 giant dudes chasing him," He answered earnestly, "That is the beauty of football."
"If that was supposed to be a metaphor, I think it was lost on me," Arthur grumbled, mad at himself for blushing at Alfred's smugness.
"Funny, Mr. English major."
"Now I don't recall telling you that," Arthur volleyed.
"You didn't have to," Alfred bit his lip. "Just 'cause I noticed you were following me didn't mean that I wasn't following you, too."
Arthur's face completely flushed. He looked down at his hands shyly. This tameness was not his normal reaction to advances like this! Normally, he would have already climbed onto Alfred's lap and they would have been making out like Alfred wanted. That was all Alfred wanted, right?
Then, why was Arthur hesitating?
"It's pretty obvious you're attracted to me," Alfred whispered as he neared Arthur's face, dipping his hand to graze Arthur's neck.
"Yeah, I usually get pretty attached to wankers," Arthur recoiled harshly. Why did he say that? Blushing even harder, he mentally scolded himself for not jumping at the contact Alfred was initiating.
"Say what you want, but I can tell you think I'm sexy," Alfred muttered, "You're clearly brutally hot yourself." His lips were positioned over Arthur's. The slightest movement and they would join.
One touch and Alfred would have Arthur.
"It's whatever you want to do from here on out," Alfred grinned, but Arthur wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. He was positive Alfred had gotten his way with that sort of line before, any boy or girl bending over easily when it seemed the power balance had shifted to them.
Not Arthur.
Well, not today, anyway.
Not with Alfred.
"What is this?" Arthur said, turning his head completely away. He was pointing to a videogame sitting on Alfred's shelf. Alfred gaped at him like he was staring at a ghost.
"That?" Alfred picked it up from its perch incredulously.
"This?!" He pointed at it emphatically.
Arthur nodded.
"This is Destined!" He near-shouted, almost offended that Arthur clearly didn't know anything about video games. "Dude, what the fuck? We are playing this right now."
The screen flashed on and the game system whirred with the weight of the disc. Alfred handed Arthur a controller. It fell awkwardly in his lithe hands, common sense the only dictator of how he was to hold it.
"Arthur," Alfred sighed, "Have you ever played a video game before?"
Arthur scoffed. "Of course I have, just never on this kind of system!"
"Here."
A spaceship floated on a beautiful star-filled background. Its movements were airy and weightless.
Alfred's hands glided Arthur's over the controller buttons.
He was explaining the game, but the game music was loud and the party music was loud and the words blurred into the background. Alfred was looking at the game.
Arthur was looking at Alfred.
"See?" Alfred asked, turning his attention to Arthur with a smile.
'Why, Arthur,' Arthur thought as he mumbled a yes into Alfred's sky blue eyes, 'Why are you swooning so much?' He couldn't get the thought of kissing Alfred out of his mind, and normally this wouldn't be such a big issue but the kiss just got deeper and deeper and more and more passionate and less about sex and more about being close to Alfred.
Arthur shook his head. He was going completely wild with fantasy.
Normally, just sex was fine. But, strangely, it didn't seem that he wanted that with Alfred.
He entertained Alfred with the two player of this video game for a while, gradually becoming fairly decent at it and earning a little chuckle of respect from Alfred.
"Hey, you got pretty good," he said, squeezing Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur couldn't help but swell a little with pride.
"Well, nothing less could be expected from me," he boasted, "I have always had pretty good hand-eye coordination! I was once president of the archery club at my high school."
"Archery, huh?" Alfred popped open a Bud Light. "That's some boy scout shit I haven't done in years."
"I didn't do it for boy scouts," Arthur corrected, finishing off his second beer. "I did it because my aim was the only thing I had on my brothers. They were all older and stronger and used to pick on me, but I was smarter."
"How would shooting a bow and arrow help you there?"
Arthur smiled devilishly. "Good aim is more helpful than you think."
Alfred returned his smile. Arthur had a fair point.
"Hey," Alfred started, "Don't be mad at me for asking this, but, why did you dye your hair red?"
Puzzled, Arthur furrowed his brow.. "Why would I be offended by that?"
Alfred turned to him seriously, shutting the television off.
"Because it might have something to do with your past."
Arthur paused.
Arthur paused because Alfred wasn't actually asking something as simple as why he dyed his hair.
Alfred was asking why he rebelled in the first place.
How he started drinking, how he started partying, how he started having raucous sex with any guy that asked. How he got his tattoo. How he dyed his hair.
"I…" He clutched his shorts.
A firm hand rolled down his arm comfortingly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to right now," Alfred reassured Arthur, and Arthur felt himself melting into his words, his touch. "We could talk about it later."
"L-later?" Arthur stammered, feeling his face catch fire.
"Yeah," Alfred smiled. "On our second date."
And with that Alfred sealed what Arthur just learned was their "first date" with a tender kiss on Arthur's frazzled, flustered lips.
So much for a chance encounter.