Warning: Sex.

Author's note: Sorry if the change to a M rating is disappointing to anyone, and sorry that it's a bit sudden. I wasn't sure if this story was going to end up being mature or not until I wrote this chapter.

Chapter 2

Four days later, Alfred approached Arthur on the bridge again. Arthur looked up in surprise from his notebook. This time, he didn't put it away.

"Hey," Alfred called, the slight breeze lifting his hair. "Nice day, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Arthur replied. It was warmer than it had been, but the sky threatened rain.

Alfred pulled himself up onto the stone railing and sat down, facing the opposite side of the bridge. He looked down and sideways at Arthur. "You weren't here the last three days."

"I know," Arthur said irritably. "I have work."

Alfred looked at him curiously. "You must have a strange schedule, then. Is it part time?"

Arthur scowled and looked away. He leaned on the railing next to Alfred, neglecting his notebook for the moment. "Yes, but with none of the benefits. I work two jobs. The only reason I'm here at all is that I work night shift on one of them."

Alfred made a noise of sympathy. "Do you ever get any sleep?"

"No," Arthur said sharply. He glanced at Alfred and sighed a little. "Yes, but not much."

"No wonder you always have those bags under your eyes." Alfred reached over and brushed his hair lightly off of his cheek. Arthur flinched. Alfred's mouth tightened, but he pretended not to notice. He removed his hand. "You seem to like this bridge a lot. Does it inspire you?"

Arthur looked out at the stream. "Sometimes. Mostly . . ." He hesitated. "It makes me feel very calm."

"Ah." Alfred looked out at the water as well. "I can see that." There was a moment of silence. "I see you're writing again."

Arthur glanced at his notebook. "Yes."

"What's it about?"

"Things I think are worth writing about."

Alfred laughed. When Arthur looked up at him, he saw that his eyes were very bright. "Okay, obviously you don't want to talk about it. Let's make a deal. Every day I see you that you don't let me read something, I get to ask a question. Okay?"

Arthur gave Alfred a disbelieving look. "Alright. But you've already used your question for today."

"No way! That doesn't count. You have to give me a real answer."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine, but pick a different question."

Alfred bit his lip in thought and swung his legs against the stone. "How about . . . what kind of poetry is it? Does it rhyme or is that modern stuff?"

Arthur sighed but decided he might as well go along with it. "I used to be very fond of rhyming. I went through a phase where I wrote only sonnets–"

"Italian or Shakespearean?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly and smirked. "So you do pay some attention in school. Shakespearean, of course. Now, however, I write whatever I feel like."

Alfred opened his mouth to say something else, but it must have been a question because he made a face and closed it. He was quiet for a while, just long enough for Arthur to consider his poem again. He regarded it thoughtfully, and then crossed something out and scribbled a note.

"Can I kiss you again?" Alfred said suddenly.

Arthur gave him a strange look. "You don't need to ask."

"I thought I'd be polite." Alfred looked at him. He jumped down lightly from the railing, leaned over, and kissed Arthur.

It was different than the first one. Alfred's lips were soft, and he kissed Arthur's top lip softly, as if being shy. He moved to Arthur's bottom lip, and then his tongue flickered out and tasted him. Arthur felt a little jolt run through him. He parted his lips, but Alfred didn't take the invitation. Instead, he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Arthur closed his eyes and let him lose himself in the feeling. He flicked his own tongue out and Alfred let him in. Arthur put a hand on the back of Alfred's head and pulled him closer.

They parted, their lips flushed and their breath coming slightly too fast. Alfred licked his lips as if it were a habit. Arthur smiled a little. Alfred, however, continued to stare at him as if he couldn't look away. "You have very pretty eyes," Alfred said after a moment. "You should write a poem about them." Arthur blinked, but before he could think of a single thing to say, Alfred had moved away from him. They stood for a moment in silence, Arthur looking at Alfred and Alfred looking at the sky. "I should be going. I just wanted to stop by. I have class soon."

"Alright." Arthur looked back at his notebook and busily turned the page as if he hadn't been affected by what had just happened at all. He could still feel his pulse beating heavily in his neck, and the heat in his chest wouldn't seem to go away. His skin felt too tight. It was an effort to keep his eyes from Alfred.

"Bye, then." Alfred touched his shoulder and walked away. "Will you be here tomorrow?" he called from the edge of the bridge.

Arthur looked up. "Wednesday, Thursdays, and Saturdays," he called back.

Alfred grinned. "Great. See you then."

The next day, it was raining lightly. The rain made a soft, steady noise on the stone. On the bridge without an umbrella, Arthur was waiting for him.

Alfred opened his mouth to greet him, but Arthur cut him off. "Don't say anything. I want to show you something."

Alfred closed his mouth and then opened it again. Arthur was glaring at him determinedly in his grey trench coat. "Why can't I talk?" Alfred finally asked. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"Because then I might lose my nerve." Arthur turned and walked purposefully off the bridge in the direction of the pub.

Alfred jogged to catch up with him. He obligingly kept his mouth shut until they reached the end of the bridge and Arthur immediately turned to the right and off the path. "Where are we going?"

"Shush," Arthur said, and kept walking. They reached the bank of the stream and Arthur made a sharp right. He went under the bridge, ducking to avoid hitting his head. After a moment, Alfred followed him.

There was a bit of sloping cement at the base of the bridge that led down to the water. It was the only modern thing about the bridge, and seemed to have been an attempt to secure the base of the bridge before the eroding bank caused it to collapse completely. It was dry. Arthur sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, and looked at the water.

Alfred sat down next to him. He looked around curiously. There were no signs of regular human activity except that the area was much cleaner and free of trash than the surrounding banks. The patter of the rain was soft on the bridge above their heads, and it made a sharper noise as it hit the water. It was relaxing. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

"Maybe," Arthur said shortly.

"Maybe?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Alfred leaned back on one hand and looked at Arthur curiously. "What's your decision resting on?"

Arthur didn't answer. With the turn of his head, his dusky green eyes caught a stray bit of light and held it there. He looked at Alfred for a moment with an unreadable expression. "I'll let you read one of my poems if you promise not to say anything about it," he finally said. His voice was harsh. "It's not completely finished, but it's the best I can do for now."

Alfred's eyes lit up. "Really? I promise."

Arthur pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. He held it out and Alfred took it eagerly. His eyes darted over the words. His face, which had been so bright, grew solemn. He went back to the beginning and read it again, slowly. He handed it back to Arthur without a word. Their fingers brushed and a little jolt went through Arthur. There was something strange and unreadable in Alfred's eyes, and somehow that terrified him. They sat there in a moment of silence. "Okay, fine," Arthur said, because not knowing what Alfred was thinking was killing him. "You can say one thing about it."

"It's about the bridge."

"Yes. I thought you would like that. It's also written in the English language and it rhymes," Arthur pointed out sarcastically.

"It was so sad." Alfred had put his hands on his knees and was sitting perfectly still. That was the thing about Alfred: he was always moving, even if it was just a little twirling of his fingers or him gnawing absently on his lip. This stillness, broken only by the occasional blink of an eye, was unsettling.

"Well, I'm sorry," Arthur snapped in frustration – and, though he could hardly admit it to himself, fear. "I just showed it to you because you said you wanted to see it." He took the notebook out of Alfred's barely resisting hands and stuffed it back in his coat pocket.

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Alfred said, and he finally seemed to come back to life. He leaned forward, bracing himself in on hand. "I just didn't know you thought about the bridge that way. I thought it was something you thought was pretty, or a place to relax, or whatever. I thought you sort of . . . didn't care about the trash in the stream and all that stuff. I thought you thought it was beautiful. If I had just been listening to how the words sounded, I would have thought you did. You put it together so carefully, but . . . it was so sad."

The pounding of Arthur's heart subsided. "You didn't hate it, then."

"No. I thought it was wonderful."

Arthur almost accused him of lying, but Alfred looked and sounded far too sincere. There was also still that strange emotion in his eyes. Suddenly, it clicked: Alfred pitied him.

"Well, thank you," Arthur said gruffly. "Now stop looking at me like it was a metaphor for my soul or something. That wasn't why I let you read it."

But Alfred's eyes lingered and they said, I think it was. Alfred leaned forward to kiss Arthur again, but strangely, despite his irritation, Arthur had no desire to lean away. He let Alfred capture his lips in that kiss and his eyes closed apparently of their own accord. He reached out a hand and pressed it against Alfred's chest. His shirt was slightly damp from the rain, but it was warm, and Arthur could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric: badump-badump-badump. Alfred deepened the kiss, and there was something hard and desperate in it. His hands grabbed firmly at Arthur's hips and Arthur felt a jolt run through him. Maybe it didn't make sense, and maybe he would regret it later, but he wanted this. Arthur kissed him back open-mouthed and Alfred gasped slightly. Arthur grabbed at whatever he could find – the collar of Alfred's coat, its hem, his belt-buckle. At the pressure of Arthur's hand on his belt, Alfred immediately unbuttoned Arthur's jeans. His hand slipped inside and Arthur accidentally bit Alfred's lip. Arthur pushed him away. "Not here."

"Where, then?" Alfred's eyes were locked on Arthur's.

The passion came in waves. Just when Arthur thought he had it safely under control, he would look too deeply into Alfred's eyes and it would rise up again. Arthur breathed through his mouth, not caring that it looked like he was panting. "My flat's not far."

Alfred kissed him again and then quickly did up his belt buckle. He looked at Arthur with pleading, questioning eyes. "Would you–?"

"Yes."

They walked too quickly over the bridge and down the narrow streets. Arthur's flat was in a rundown neighborhood in a building with a sketchy look to it, but neither of them were complaining. The moment they were through the door, Alfred set his hands on Arthur's hips and kissed him hard. Arthur didn't mind that they were kissing in the landing until Alfred pushed him against the side of the stairs and began kissing the hollow of his throat. "Upstairs," Arthur gasped out. Alfred was only too obliging to take his hand and run up them.

It was a matter of seconds for Arthur to jiggle his key in the lock and push the door open. Alfred was on him again almost immediately. He easily obeyed Arthur's tugs and followed him to the bed, still kissing his jaw. They lost pieces of their clothing haphazardly. Arthur was the first to lose all of it. Alfred immediately began kissing and sucking his way down Arthur's torso, savoring each spot he chose as though worshiping it.

The funny thing about thinking about things in terms of poetry, Arthur had discovered, was that once he had started, he could never really stop. He was always thinking in words and phrases that seemed strangely disconnected, and they flowed into his head without his bidding. As Alfred's lips caressed his skin, he could only think of how Alfred's hands felt firm on his hips, and fingers that float across the hip bone jutting harshly and how the small of his hips feels empty when his breath leaves it. Then Alfred moved his hands and leaned back. He paused, and Arthur could hear his own heart beating too fast. Alfred leaned forward, kissed the inside of Arthur's thigh, and took Arthur in.

All controlled thought fled from Arthur's mind. Half of his mind was filled with the sensation, hot and wet, and the other half with words – though Arthur had always half wondered if they were the same thing. Heat like your blood has come alive and left your control– Arthur couldn't hold back a gasp, and he bucked his hips without meaning to. Alfred took it in stride and began quickly pumping him with one hand, his mouth never leaving the head. When the skin was loose enough, he pulled it down and licked the head in one swift movement. Arthur moaned and immediately bit the inside of his cheek. Like ocean waves it never ceases His body was burning and he was tense and very hard. Some part of him briefly surfaced to consciousness and he hated that it was so obvious that it had been so long.

Alfred slowed down, and Arthur wanted to hate him for it. Alfred ran his tongue along the sensitive edge of the head, just before it met the shaft, with an agonizing slowness that made Arthur fist his hands in the sheets. Alfred flicked his tongue across the slit and then became still for a moment, as if considering something. Finally he leaned forward and took Arthur in deeper. Arthur groaned. All too soon, Alfred had released him and had pulled himself back up to Arthur's level.

Arthur breathed out sharply and almost moaned in disappointment. He attempted to glare at Alfred, but he knew it was a very weak attempt. Alfred licked his lips and grinned. He looked very proud of himself. Arthur's head felt light and he was surprised that when he spoke it was nearly coherent. "You haven't done anything impressive yet," Arthur growled at him.

"Yeah, we're getting there," Alfred said cheerfully. He pulled a condom out of his back pocket (somehow, he had not yet lost his jeans) and laid it on the pillow. "Got any lube?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he gestured at the drawer of his bedside table. "You just carry condoms around all the time?"

Alfred laughed. "Hey, a guy can hope. I wasn't counting on anything, don't worry. They give 'em out like candy at school." He pulled out the lube and dropped it on the pillow too. He shucked off his jeans and boxer briefs and crawled back onto the bed. He grabbed the lube and began to spread some on two of his fingers. Alfred looked up at Arthur and grinned cheekily. "Old-fashioned way?"

Arthur prodded him with one foot, maybe a little harder than necessary, and tried not think of his hair as it brushes his cheek like a lover's fingers and the way Alfred's eyes were too blue for the dullness of Arthur's flat. "Oh, get on with it."

Alfred spread Arthur's legs and teased at the edge of the hole. Arthur hissed in pleasure and looked away. His face was flaming and the rest of him felt tingly and very hot. Alfred slipped one finger inside and Arthur let out a poorly-stifled moan. He was far too tight, but Alfred teased and stretched until he fit a second finger in. He pushed in as deep as he could and scissored his fingers. He hit something and Arthur bucked his hips. He gasped and saw stars. A third finger quickly followed, though it did not fit as easily as the others. When Alfred finally pulled out and Arthur looked at him, he could see that Alfred was panting and flushed as well. He positioned himself above Arthur with shaking arms. Arthur rolled back a little and raised his hips to help him. Alfred very carefully began to ease forward. He pushed part-way inside and gasped.

Arthur nearly did the same. He had tensed, half in anticipation of pleasure and half in pain, but he forced himself to relax. It hurt, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Alfred was nice about it and stopped for a second every time Arthur's breath came in a little too sharply – too nice, and too slow, and Arthur gritted his teeth to keep from complaining (or moaning, he didn't know). Alfred kept pushing until he was up to his hilt, and then he simply stopped and lay down flush with Arthur.

Alfred's breath was hot and fast in his ear. Gradually, Arthur felt himself relaxing and the burning sensation subsiding. Alfred began to rock slowly, back and forth. When he was ready, Arthur pressed his fingers into Alfred's back and pulled his hips down and away from him, ever so slightly. He suddenly canted them upwards in a quick thrust. Alfred moaned, his breath stuttered, and he and began to thrust into Arthur in earnest.

Arthur quickly found that he had little to be embarrassed about, for Alfred neared the edge even faster than he did. Alfred buried his face in Arthur's shoulder, moaning, his back frozen in a rigid arch, and thrusted erratically and too quickly. Arthur winced and gripped Alfred more tightly. He forced Alfred to slow down into something more regular, and soon he was gasping for air as well. Alfred still came first, hot and hard inside of him. Arthur growled disappointedly into his hair and Alfred gave a last few, desperate thrusts. He gripped Arthur and tugged on him too hard and too quickly, but it was enough. Arthur's back arched and he came, biting back moans, into Alfred's hand.

Alfred collapsed on top of him with a heavy sigh, caring little for the mess between them. Arthur still tingled all over. He wanted Alfred to move because he could hardly breath, but he also dreaded the idea of Alfred moving away. It had been so long since he had felt this close to someone. The tiny spaces where even we cannot press our skin together, the ones that evade us. It is the spaces that tell us how close we are, not the pressure of

skin on skin

Eventually, Alfred pulled out of him and flopped to the side. He was breathing strangely, and when Arthur glanced at him, he saw that Alfred was laughing. Alfred threw an arm across Arthur's waist, nuzzled his neck, and laughed breathlessly into his skin. It was surreal. Arthur couldn't help smiling a little. "Why are you laughing?" Alfred just shook his head, and Arthur knew it was for pure joy.

After a while, Arthur pushed off Alfred's arm and sat up. Alfred made a disappointed noise. "I'm going to go wash off."

Alfred raised his head. "Okay. I'll come with."

Arthur mopped off his chest as best he could with the already soiled sheets. He walked tensely to the small, dingy bathroom, trying not to limp. Alfred followed him closely, and Arthur imagined that he could feel his heat at his back. He turned the water on so hot it left his skin pink and stinging where it hit, but he didn't care. Alfred hugged him from behind. A hand snaked down around his waist and cupped Arthur loosely, protecting him from the spray. Arthur went half-hard despite how sensitive he still was. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. The heat from the water and the heat that gathered under his skin at Alfred's touch – it was almost too much. He felt as though he were going to faint, or melt, or both. Alfred kissed the spot behind his ear. "All clean?" he murmured.

Arthur forced his eyes open. "I suppose." Alfred reached around him and turned the water off. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat as Alfred pressed even closer to him. Then he moved away to dry off.

They got dressed slowly, handing each other pieces of their clothing when they asked for it. "I suppose you have to get back to class," Arthur said as he pulled on his shirt.

"I can stay for a few more minutes." Suddenly Alfred was in front of him. He took Arthur's unresisting hands between his own and kissed Arthur softly. Arthur felt himself leaning into even the quick kiss. "Thanks for letting me read that poem," Alfred said. He was smiling. "I know how personal that stuff can be."

Arthur huffed a little and looked away. "Nonsense."

Alfred grinned. "The lady doth protest too much." He pecked Arthur quickly on the cheek and let go of his hands. "Which is from Hamlet, lest you think I'm uncultured. I'll see you around."

"Yes," Arthur said, and he tried to deny how longingly he looked at Alfred as he pulled on his coat and walked out the door. When all that needs to be said can be spoken in the space between empty footsteps

Arthur knew in some part of his mind that this was quickly becoming too personal, but somehow he didn't care.

A week later, they were at the bridge again. Alfred was leaning on the railing, looking out at the water, while Arthur tapped his pencil idly against the stone in thought. "Alfred," he said suddenly, "Would you like to go to a wedding with me? My friends are getting married, and they've been nagging me to bring someone. Not as a date," he added quickly, "Just so they don't try to set me up with someone."

Alfred grinned at him. "I'd be glad to. When is it?"

"Next Saturday."

"Hmm." Alfred pretended to think about it. "Well, I've got an essay due that Monday, and I should probably do that Bio homework that was due last week, but . . . what the hell, I've still got Sunday, right?" He grinned.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You have the entire week before then. You have plenty of opportunities to not procrastinate."

"Oh Arthur, what would I do without you?" Alfred teased. He pecked Arthur on the cheek.

Arthur blushed and looked down at his notebook. "They live in Birmingham so they're having the wedding near there. It should take us about an hour an half to get there, so I'll pick you up at about 10. You had better get your hands on a suit before then, because there is no way I'm letting you show up in that nonsense you wear."

Alfred laughed. "I have been to weddings before, you know. I'll give you my address." Before Arthur was aware of what was happening, Alfred had plucked the notebook and pencil out of Arthur's hands and was scribbling something in the margin. He handed the notebook back. "Anything else I should get? Wedding present?"

"No, you're my guest," Arthur said absently. He was memorizing the address. It was a bit of a walk from his place, but not too much of one.

"Well, I look forward to it. I've got–"

"Class, I know, I know. Get along, then." Arthur shooed him away with one hand. "Don't fail any of your classes."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Alfred kissed him quickly and scampered off. Arthur smiled slightly and skimmed the poem Alfred had scribbled next to. It was nearly done. It had taken much longer than he would have liked, but there was no helping that.

He only briefly wondered if perhaps exposing Alfred to his friends was the best idea. He brushed the thought easily away. He was going to find out.