Warning: This will eventually be slash, but it will take a while, this is mostly a friendship fic. By the time it will be slash, everyone will be legal. There is some cursing ahead so beware.
Disclaimer: I own the plot and that is all.
-This Way Comes-
Gilbert sneered at the obnoxious sign proclaiming the name of the stripper club. It was bright, colourful, tacky and all-around headache inducing. He was already annoyed at the fact he had to come here in the first place and this definitely not helping. He hated this type of place, but it was the only location where he could find Lars who rarely left the building. He closed his eyes, inhaled a slow deep breath and walked in.
Immediately he was blinded by the neon lights. He rubbed his eyes, which had always been sensitive and were hurting like hell before starting to search around for his acquaintance. The sooner he found the man, the sooner he could leave. He spotted him sitting at a table at the back of the restaurant, surveying the room and making sure no one was harassing his employees. That was one of the few things Gilbert respected the man for. He was a dick and had an annoying superior attitude, but he was decent to his workers. He understood that while some people enjoyed pole-dancing and stripping, they didn't necessarily enjoy being groped by fat, disgusting, leering men.
He walked quickly and purposely towards Lars, enjoying the widening of his eyes as he spotted the quickly approaching figure. Realizing there was nowhere to go to escape the him, the dutch chose to glare at him and demand icily,
"What do you want?"
"No 'hello, nice to see you, how are you?' I'm hurt." Gilbert answered, starting to enjoy himself.
"You never come to my club unless it's to bring bad news."
Ouch. Well, it was true, he admitted himself. The reminder of just what news he was bringing this time destroyed any parcel of good mood he had felt at annoying the other man. Gilbert's expression sobered as he stated the reason for his visit.
"Braginsky's back in town."
He watched as Lars' face decomposed, reading the shock, worry and fear in his eyes before his expression smoothed over and became blank, as his mind regained control of itself.
"Thanks for the warning." Lars' tone was hollow as he covered his face with his hands. His body slumped, expressing nothing but extreme fatigue. Gilbert looked around the room, giving the other some time to himself to consider all the implications and try to find any possible solutions.
He noticed that while the lights in the front of the room were glaring, the ones in the back were darker, creating an illusion of privacy. He wondered why they bothered for a moment, until he noticed all the hungry looks the clients were casting at the girl as they panted. He had a feeling it was so the workers wouldn't have to notice the looks, or the people jerking off. He turned his head away in disgust and his face came across a surprising sight.
At a table close to the one were he was sitting, was a boy who was reading a book rather intently and paying absolutely no intention to dancing the girl in front. A profound searching glance left him with the certitude that the kid was definitely not legal. He turned back towards his companion to question him about the kid.
"Who is he?" Gilbert demanded, sending a vague nod in the boy's direction.
"Who's who?" The club owner answered peering around with alarm trying to spot anyone suspicious who could be in league with the Russian psychopath.
"The blond kid who's clearly not legal." Lars' face relaxed and took on a fond look. He glanced at the boy who's brow was furrowed in concentration.
"Oh, Matthew. He's a friend. He helped me once when I was in a pinch. He comes here to study and read. He says he enjoys the atmosphere, though he's never seemed interested in the girls. He occasionally helps out at the bar on Saturday nights."
"You haven't answered my question whether he's legal or not." Pressed Gilbert noticing the others avoidance of the subject.
"You didn't phrase it like a question, but you're right, he's underage. Shut up about it already."
Clearly Lars liked the kid if he was allowing him to stay, even though his presence could land the other man in trouble. What kind of person came to strip club to do homework and read anyways? He glanced at the title of the kid's book. Le Parfum, obviously a french book but he had a feeling that-another glance this time at the author confirmed it. The boy was reading The Perfume, from Patrick Suskind. He himself had read it in German about a year ago. He had to admit that he was intrigued. He stood up, ignoring Lars' protests and strode quickly to the blond's table.
"Enjoying the book?" He asked the kid.
"This concerns you, how?" The blond-Matthew he remembered Lars calling him, asked in return in a dry tone. He sent a surprised smile back. The subdued appearance of the boy had lead him to believe he wouldn't have much of a spine.
"Pure curiosity, after all, it's not everyday you see a kid reading a book about a murderer in 18th century France."
"It's more than a story about a murderer in 18th century France. It's an incredibly well written piece of literature, described mostly through smell, with a unique plot. Perhaps it's a little unconventional, but at least there is no incest like in Hamlet-" Gilbert lifted his hands up in a way to stop the rant which had started off calmly but was getting more and more spirited as he went on. He was incredibly defensive, and his speech had an 'I have said this before, and many times, can't you just listen for once?' tone to it that made him suspect he wasn't the first to question the boy's taste in literature.
"Whoa there, calm down little bird. No need to get on your high horses." Despite the glare aimed at him, he smiled happily, if a bit dangerously. He had been rather bored lately and this could be a chance for entertainment.
"What do you like about the plot?" He asked, trying to appease the boy.
"I love how he survives against all the odds. I mean, he should have died from the beginning, you know? On the day he was born, then at the orphanage, when he gets sick all those times, in the cave. All along the book, all these situations happen where he should die but he manages to survive. Yes he's a murderer, but he only kills them to make himself a smell, you know? His goal was to make a perfume that would make people love him. In the end, he succeeds, because when he gets eaten by the cannibals, at the end, they did it out of love. It's also really well written, I mean to describe a book with almost nothing but smell, it's genius you know?" His expression was earnest and his face flush with excitement.
Whoa. That was definitely one messed up kid. But he found himself grinning at the others enthusiasm. As soon as the kid noticed his smile he closed up and started to glare again. He hunched over, trying to hide in his red sweatshirt.
"Stop judging me, it's annoying." Matthew mumbled.
"I'm not judging you little bird. I happen to enjoy the book myself, though it's more for his badassness than because of the way it's written. I'm Gilbert." He offered his hand to the kid who shook it while staring at him suspiciously.
"Don't call me little bird. My name is Matthew." His expression was still a little sullen but he had straightened up and was staring at the older man curiously.
"Not anymore, I have just re-baptized you little bird." He poked his fingers in a nearby bear glass, the owner too enraptured by the stripper on stage to notice. He then proceeded to flick the drops on the kid's head. The other just lifted an eyebrow giving him a 'Really? Was that really necessary?' look as the liquid rolled down to his chin then fell to the floor.
"There, now it's official." He smirked at the boy, who sighed, shook his head then shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatever."
"So," he started, deciding to approach the subject he was truly interested in hearing, "why are you sitting here, in a stripper bar, reading a book? Shouldn't you be home, I don't know sleeping or something? It's probably past your bedtime you know." He decided to add in the others speech habit at the end.
Immediately, the kid's face darkened again for a few seconds before lightening. The kid rolled his eyes, before making his statement.
"It's quieter here, and I like the atmosphere." He looked at his watch, his eyebrows rising until they were hidden by his hair and his eyes wide. His expression read a guilty mixture of 'Oh shit' and 'Well aren't I screwed'.
"You seem to be right about it being past my bedtime, unfortunately." He continued with a sardonic smile. He grabbed his book, covered his head with his hood, waved goodbye to Gilbert, then snuck out the back door.
The whole process took about two seconds. The kid was there, then he was gone. He stood in shock for a while at the abruptness of the departure before a slow, dangerous smile grew on his face. That had been fairly interesting. Also, the boy had never truly answered his question, giving him the same bullshit that Lars had sprouted. He was curious about the whole situation.
He decided to head back to Lars, planning on asking him a few questions. If the club owner answered them himself, he wouldn't have to come back to the stripper club to meet the kid again. He tried to avoid the club as much as possible and while he had liked the kid, he didn't want to have to come back to assuage his curiosity.
Unfortunately, it seemed that Lars had bolted during his talk with the blond. He scowled at the empty table for a few moments, as if it were the reason for all his problems before he turned on his heel and walked out of the club.
The lights were giving him a headache. He rubbed his temples for a few seconds, relaxing in the cool air as the darkness soothed his eyes like a balm. He closed them, leaning back against the brick wall. He shivered, his body covered in goosebumps. The air which just a second ago had been a cool blessing was now all out cold and he was freezing. He exhaled, watching the cloud of steam coming out of his mouth and floating around, this way and that. He straightened, then walked home to his ickle baby brother. Who would punch him if he ever heard Gilbert calling him that.
-This Way Comes-
Matthew ran home as quickly as he could, his breath short and quick as his feet pounded on the sidewalk. There was no one else around so he didn't have to push past people, apologizing the whole time. Small mercy. He glanced at his watch while under a streetlight and bit back a curse. He would arrive on time, that's it continue to think positively, he would arrive on time...
The minute he arrived in front of the house, he heard the fairly loud argument between Alfred and Arthur. Hopefully this would buy him a few seconds. He climbed up the tree conveniently placed next to his conveniently opened window. He managed to climb in just as pounding footsteps indicating someone was coming up to the second floor.
He turned on his light, kicked off his shoes and opened his book just in time to hear the door open.
"See, Mattie isn't even home yet so-" he stopped dead when he saw Matthew sitting on his bed calmly reading a book. "Oh. Hi Mattie." Alfred smiled sheepishly at the boy who could easily have been his twin.
"What were you saying you twat? Matthew is right here, reading his book. You have no right to accuse him of being late. I have been by the door for the past half hour and he hasn't come in, so obviously he arrived early. You, on the other hand, are late and as such grounded. No outings and no video-games this weekend." Arthur finished his speech then crossed his arms over his chest. He gave the room a glare, daring anything or anyone in it to defy him, before leaving and closing the door behind him.
Alfred turned around preparing himself to apologize for the accusation when he saw the open window. He froze, a suspicion coming to life in the back of his mind. The cat who got the cream smile on Matthew's face confirmed it.
"Why you little shit. You just got home didn't you?" Matthew smile turned into in all out smirk.
"Yep." He separated the word into two syllables, popping the p to rub in it his almost twin's face.
"How is it that you never get caught or even suspected?" Alfred demanded, pouting for all his worth.
"Three things. I'm cute, I'm agile and I'm smart. Unfortunately, you have neither of these three things at your disposal and as such, are pretty much screwed."
Alfred narrowed his eyes at him, taking slow steps towards Matthew who started to inch back slowly.
"Are you saying I'm ugly, clumsy and stupid?" The taller boy whispered in the others' ear. Matthew glanced around then pressed his body closer to the one in front of him, whispered "yep!" Loudly into his ear who poking him hard in the stomach. Alfred flinched back, rubbing his tummy where the other had poked him and whined a long painful "Mattie!" Who simply laughed at him.
With a growl, threw himself at the laughing boy and started tickling him. They rolled around, both trying to out-tickle the other as they both giggled and mock fought each other. A cough interrupted them.
"Am I interrupting something?" The tall, elegant shape of Francis Bonnefoy stood in the door, his curly blond hair in a messy ponytail, wearing red velvet pyjamas. Matthew smiled at his elder brother and tapped Alfred on the shoulder so the other would let go of him. He then stood up and walked over to the Frenchman.
"Bonjour, grand frère." He said as he hugged the elder man around the waist. He felt the other man lower his head and whisper in his ear "its rather odd, but I have been home the whole night and didn't notice your entry. It wouldn't have anything to do with that open window would it, mon cher?"
Matthew opened his eyes wide, his face taking on its innocent look, his eyes filled with sadness at the thought of his dear elder brother suspecting him of such a horrible deed.
"How could you accuse me of such a thing? You wound me, you truly do. These accusations burn a whole through my poor heart, leaving a scar that will never heal. It will always mark me, the proof of you accusing me of a thing so horrible, so monstrous-" Francis covered his mouth with a long delicate hand to stop the speech spilling out of his mouth.
"Of course. I apologize for accusing you of such a horrible thing. Truly it is a sin that I should doubt you." The amusement in his eyes made it clear that he didn't believe a word either were saying but he wouldn't mention the truth to his lover, Arthur.
They shared a conspiring smile that confused Alfred before Francis walked out, waving goodnight. Matthew shooed out his brother, then curled into his bed, a pile of blankets covering him and protecting him from the cold. A small smile light his face as he fell asleep, the wind whooshing outside whispering, 'Soon, soon,' as it caressed his face.
-This Way Comes-
Hum, well let's see were this is going...
Patrick Suskind owns The Perfume translated form German where it came out under the name Das Parfum.
Bonjour grand frère- Hello big brother
Mon cher- My dear