Just One More Time

Chapter Two: Delving

The next day Alfred found himself sitting cross-legged in the bed of his Bronco, a cheap croissant sandwich with an overly juicy tomato running down the sides of one hand and his cell phone held tightly in the other. It was ten forty-five and he was anxious and worried all at once for Arthur's phone call – hoping against all odds that what the Englishman had promised him yesterday hadn't just been a delightful delusion on his part.

He had got the sandwich at a café for a dollar. It was old and shouldn't have been sold, but Alfred didn't think anything was wrong with it aside from a bit of browning lettuce. His phone rang just as he took a large bite from the sandwich. With a groan he chewed and swallowed as quickly as he could without choking and answered the call breathlessly. "He-hello?"

"I hope I'm not ringing you at a bad time," Arthur's voice crooned into his ear.

"Oh! No, no not at all!" He shifted awkwardly on his cot, scratching nervously at his elbow as he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "Uhm… did you want to talk to me about something?" he dared to ask when Arthur was silent for a few moments.

Arthur chuckled softly, "Why yes. I have every intention of inviting you to my house – I hope that's still alright with you."

He tried not to sound too eager, when he replied with a yes, telling Arthur which street to find him at before hanging up and clambering out of the Bronco to try and fix his appearance as best he could. The keys to the truck were poking his thigh through his pocket as he hurried down the street to the intersection that he promised to meet Arthur at, half eaten sandwich in hand.

Alfred stood at the corner of the street, pressing his hat down onto his head and eating his sandwich as he watched the stop and go traffic ahead of him. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably, and he jittered in his spot, ignoring the strange and yet blasé looks he knew he was receiving from passersby. When he had finished his sandwich, his hands shook. He was excited and scared – maybe he was dreaming, he had to have been because this had to be too good to be true; he dreamed Arthur up and now he would wake up in the back of his Bronco any second.

And Arthur… just the thought of the man made him both happy and nervous. Jeanne had a good taste in men, and Alfred was sure that she had to be proud of her choice in a husband. Arthur was kind and compassionate and handsome – he hoped that he wasn't offending anyone for thinking that. It was just an observation.

A compact, blue convertible pulled up next to him, completely ignoring traffic. Arthur smiled up at him from the driver's seat with green eyes hidden behind a pair of rectangular sunglasses. "Hello Alfred," he greeted casually over the noise of foot traffic, purring engines, and chatter. "Come on now, hop inside love." He smiled and tapped the leather upholstered seat next to him.

Alfred fidgeted for a moment before quickly doing as he was told, gingerly opening the convertible door and slipping inside. He gave Arthur a nervous smile as he buckled his belt, unsure of what to say. Thank you didn't seem adequate enough, and yet the action was so simple and effortless on Arthur's part that Alfred was embarrassed to feel so thoroughly grateful.

Arthur clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder just before he wove easily back into traffic. "Loosen up, chap," he said with another assuring smile. "No need to be nervous. There's no reason for it."

"I know," was Alfred's quiet reply, turning his head to watch the traffic for a few long minutes. "I just… thank you so much, Arthur. It might not seem like a lot, but… thank you."

"You can thank me after your shower and lunch." The hand on his shoulder slowly moved down his arm, fingers lingering until they reached his elbow and then returned to the steering wheel. Alfred bit his lip, but said nothing.

Arthur's house was enormous. The garage itself an impressive show of money and prestige, and Alfred felt like a dirty mouse amongst primped peacocks as Arthur led him inside, pressing a warm hand to the small of Alfred's back. He took everything in with a tiny look of awe. He was in a celebrity's house – he was in Jeanne Bonnefoy's house and from the looks of it, she had very, very expensive tastes.

"I would give you a tour right now," Arthur started as he led Alfred through a lavishly decorated reception room and into a more subdued hallway, "but I'm assuming that the promised shower would be much more appreciated."

"I don't wanna seem ungrateful," Alfred said nervously, wringing his hands together as Arthur pushed open a door, revealing a large, white tiled bathroom with a beach mosaic on the far wall. "Oh wow."

"Everything you need should be in here," Arthur said as he pushed Alfred inside the room and then turning to open the shower stall and peer inside. "Shampoo, soap, conditioner – there is no need to worry about using anything. This one is my personal shower, so feel free to use anything as you please. Also, take as long as you wish. I'll toss your clothes in the wash."

In that moment, Alfred wanted nothing more than to hug Arthur and tell him exactly how grateful he was and how much this meant to him, but he was filthy and nervous, so he settled on a wavering smile. Arthur clapped him on the shoulder once again and stepped out, saying that he was going to start making lunch.

For a minute Alfred admired the bathroom around him, the bath mat beneath his feet, and the heavy smell of deodorizer and soaps. Carefully he shed his clothes, piling them up by the door, and tiptoed into the shower stall. It felt so nostalgic to be in a shower, his hands tracing over the silver knobs of the hot and cold taps before twisting them on. He squirmed under the sudden burst of water that came from different angles from several installed showerheads.

"This must be what heaven feels like," he said to himself as he adjusted the water, making it hotter and hotter, until he could almost feel his skin beginning to pink beneath the slowly ebbing dirt and grease. Arthur's shampoo smelled like cool mint and he relished the clean feeling and the tingle of his scalp. A year ago he wouldn't have ever thought he'd miss something as commonplace as a shower, or laundry, or even a bed.

By the time he was finished scrubbing every inch of himself at least twice the water began to run colder and his fingertips and toes were pale and pruned. He stepped out of the shower to see that his clothes were gone and a fluffy white towel had been neatly placed on the edge of the sink, his glasses sitting inconspicuously on top. Alfred shrugged. He'd never heard Arthur come in, but he had been too busy enjoying his shower so it wasn't too surprising.

Alfred toweled himself off quickly, taking a moment to examine himself in the mirror. He grimaced, touching his shoulders where he was beginning to break out. Biting his lip, Alfred wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door, leaning out and peering into the hallway. "Uhm, Arthur?"

"I'm in the kitchen, love. Take a right down the hallway." Unsure, Alfred followed Arthur's voice back out towards the reception room he had seen earlier, spotting Arthur in the kitchen that was just around the corner. "My, my," Arthur said with an open expression, "aren't you a handsome devil under all that dirt?"

Alfred crossed his arms, making sure to cover his nipples as he shivered in the open air. "I… well… ah, thanks. For letting me use your shower. I tried not to leave a mess."

"No need to worry over that," Arthur replied with a wave of his hand. His green eyes raked across Alfred's bare torso for a long, strange moment. "Are you cold? Unfortunately your clothes are still being cleaned, but… ah, I might have something that will fit you – if not a bit snugly."

He didn't know what to say – how to respond to the kindness, or at least not properly. His fingers tapped along his biceps before he nodded, carefully following Arthur through the tangles of muted hallways and into an open room decorated with soft pastels and bold furnishings. "Is this your room?" he asked as Arthur closed the door softly behind them. "It's nice."

"I'm glad you think so. Jeanne put a lot of effort into decorating it. Her room is much more elaborate, however." Arthur ignored Alfred's confused expression. Instead he only drew closer to the American and reached out, the knuckles of his hand brushing against the lower expanse of Alfred's stomach. "Hm… yes, my clothes might be snug indeed."

Alfred grasped the knot of his towel fiercely. "Wh-what are you doing?" he whispered with fervor, an uncomfortable shiver falling down his spine as Arthur slowly spread his fingers against his stomach. "Arthur…?"

"I had hope that you wouldn't be so dense," Arthur said, his hand beginning to crawl over Alfred's skin to cover the jut of his hip, fingers starting to dip seductively below the cover of the towel. "You are such a pretty thing. Can you really blame me for wanting this? Carnal desires, Alfred, are not something to shy away from."

"What about Jeanne? I mean – why? You're married and –"

"Jeanne doesn't care. We haven't touched each other in years." Arthur cocked his head to the side, bringing his face closer and closer to Alfred's. "I'm a lonely man, Alfred. You wouldn't deny me of this, would you?"

Alfred bit his lower lip, his hands and knees beginning to tremble. Arthur's green eyes were imploring and stared at him, expectant. He brought a hand to rest on Arthur's roaming one. "Okay," he whispered. Who was he to deny Arthur Kirkland? He was kind and generous, and Alfred had to admit, with the way the man was gently palming at his skin, green eyes searching his face with a tilted smile, it was hard to find the man unattractive. After all it was Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur pressed his lips to Alfred's collarbone, slowly pushing the American towards his downy bed. "How experienced are you?" he asked as Alfred sat on the mauve duvet.

"Not… very." He shuddered as Arthur loosened the tie around his neck. "I've given blowjobs for a couple bucks but… shit, I can't… couldn't…"

He was silenced from his nervous ramblings by a finger being pressed to his lips. "You've thought of prostituting yourself?"

"Once. I thought… I really wanted to go home – but… I couldn't – couldn't do it." He found that his hands had made their way to the bottom button of Arthur's shirt. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you mean. But the last time… was years ago."

Arthur pulled the glasses from Alfred's face, folding them neatly and putting them on top of his dresser. "Well, that's a relief to hear. I'm quite glad you didn't run out of here screaming." Arthur's smile was less amused than it was annoyed, and Alfred wondered if something like that was a common occurrence. "Either way, you're here, I'm here, and I'd desperately love some company."

Alfred popped open the first button of Arthur's shirt. He didn't know what else to say, didn't want to convey his nervousness – fuck, he was going to sleep with a celebrity. A celebrity. "Well, I do kinda owe you," he mumbled as Arthur's hands began to roam across his shoulders before they fell down to his towel and pulled it away.

"Your reasons are your own," was Arthur's only reply. He lost his shirt and trousers quickly, urging Alfred further and further onto the bed, until they were both in the middle. Alfred sat with his legs crossed, Arthur looming over him in just a pair of boxer briefs. The Englishman smiled devilishly down at him and leaned across the bed, pulling at a small knob amongst a few in the headboard of his bed. "A perk about having some money," he said offhandedly, "is nifty things such as the drawers here. Very handy for condoms and lube." He pursed his lips. "Jeanne used to agree."

He didn't want to question Arthur, didn't feel that it was his place. Instead he looked at the small, built in drawers with a smile. "Yeah, my sister had a bed like that when we were kids."

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look, closing the drawer with a tube of lube and a condom package in his hand. He pointed to the mattress. "Hands and knees, if you'd please."

The Englishman's tone was businesslike and huffed, but Alfred only shrugged and did as he was told, exposing himself to the celebrity before him. Arthur's hands were on him, feeling along the swells and curves of Alfred's ass and legs. He didn't feel particularly handsome; not since he'd found himself homeless. His muscles were less defined, his skin pallid and unhealthy – what he wouldn't give to brush his teeth.

"Honestly, at least pretend you enjoy it," Arthur said into the dip of his back.

Alfred gave a shuddering sigh. "I do… I do… I just – I don't feel too sexy or whatever. I mean you shouldn't have to stoop to someone like me and – mmph!"

"Shh, now pet," Arthur purred into Alfred's ear, licking the shell with a quick flick of his warm tongue, a hand covering Alfred's mouth. "You look fine. Yes, I'm sure you've looked better and… if you let me, I can help you get there again. Just let me…" A cold, lube slicked finger was pressed into his entrance and Alfred gasped at the lack of warning. "Mm, you really are tight."

Arthur's breath was hot against his shoulder, two of the fingers that covered his mouth slipped past his lips and he tentatively licked at them, sucking them further into his mouth when he felt Arthur begin to grow hard, his stiffening cock pressing against the back of his thigh. Arthur worked him open diligently, his fingers eventually leaving his mouth and trailing down his chin and neck, leaving a trail of his own saliva in their wake.

"Ah… shit, hmm… I forgot what it's like – like to have someone's fingers up your ass," Alfred groaned out as Arthur's fingers prodded carefully inside of him, brushing over his prostate lightly enough to send sporadic shivers up his spine and make his abs tighten.

Arthur tapped his wet fingers back against Alfred's lips. "Let's refrain from talking; moan, scream, sigh – no talking."

Alfred nodded, taking a moment to lick the fingers at his lips. He breathed heavily through his nose, occasionally stroking himself as Arthur finished, pausing to roll a condom on his cock and slather extra lube inside of Alfred's entrance. Arthur's knees moved next to Alfred's, pressing against the outsides. With a sigh he pulled Alfred into a sitting position by his shoulders, touching his mouth to the shell of Alfred's ear. "Have you ever done it like this?" he whispered.

"I thought you said no talking?"

"You; no talking." Arthur gave a breathless chuckle. "Now, lean back into me." Alfred did as he was told, pressing his back against Arthur's chest as one of the Englishman's hands settled onto his hip, the other holding his own erection, guiding it as Alfred slowly sunk down into his lap.

A throaty moan made its way out of Alfred's mouth as the head of Arthur's cock penetrated him, pushing in ever so slowly. It burned, and Alfred bit his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth as Arthur sunk into him as deeply as he could, pulling Alfred down by his hips. "Oh, now this won't do," Arthur mumbled hoarsely, palming a hand over Alfred's softening cock. "Show me how much you want this."

Alfred shuddered underneath Arthur's touch. He slowly lifted himself up, careful to make sure Arthur wouldn't slip out by sitting up too far, and slid back down, letting the feel of Arthur's hot sigh against the back of his neck wash over him. His hands fell onto Arthur's thighs behind him, using them as purchase as he attempted to make some kind of rhythm, Arthur's hand fondling him as he went.

"Do you think you can come like this?" Arthur asked, pressing chapped lips to Alfred's sweaty shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Alfred and thrust up into him sharply, without warning. "Oh god just like that – just like that and I'll come – shit."

Alfred mewled, hoping that it sounded even vaguely like a yes. He tried bouncing himself onto Arthur, but the Englishman held him still, rocking up into a few times before making another sharp thrust. Arthur continued this slow and fast pattern until Alfred was whining in the back of his throat, trying to push himself down and make the curve of Arthur's cock rub against his prostate over and over.

"Hungh, you like this don't you? You like my cock up your arse, don't you, pet?" Arthur's hands were all over him, grabbing and pinching at every inch of his skin, finally coming up to rest lightly around the base of Alfred's neck as his rhythm broke and he thrust haphazardly into the American, biting at the nape of Alfred's neck as his pace became fast and hard.

With a keening groan, Alfred came, pressing his cock to his stomach to try and avoid ruining Arthur's obviously expensive blankets. Arthur's fingers dug painfully into Alfred's hips and he finished with a few more final thrusts. He gasped into Alfred's back, his fingers starting to spasm in post climax before he slumped against the exhausted American and slid his limp cock out.

"Can I talk now?" Alfred asked cheekily, shifting up and spreading his legs out in front of him, trying to ease the ache in his knees.

"Yes, yes." Arthur caught Alfred's wrist and stared at him. Alfred's heart leapt up into his throat and he waited for Arthur say something, something that told him what that smoldering stare could possibly be for. "You're a good shag."

Alfred grunted. "Thanks. I guess… you are too." He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wiggle feeling back into his toes. "Is it alright if I take another shower?"

Arthur chuckled, lying back with a contented expression on his face, the used condom tied off and tossed to the side. "Sure. Take your time. Lunch is ready for you in the kitchen."

"Okay, I'm sure I can find it." He grabbed his discarded towel, leaning over Arthur for a moment. Arthur's smiled was a sated, accomplished one, and Alfred contemplated maybe trying to kiss it. He shook his head to himself, moving away and heading for where he remembered the bathroom to be. A kiss… he wanted to, but he had a feeling that he wasn't allowed. It was too intimate an action, especially for someone he'd only met a handful of times. That and he was sure his breath smelled absolutely rank.

His second shower was much shorter than his first, and he was glad to find that Arthur left him a fresh towel and his now clean clothes. Alfred pressed his nose into the deodorized collar of his shirt, smelling the lavender scented laundry soap.

Maybe Arthur wanted some unsavory things from him, but with a set of clean clothes on his recently scrubbed skin, Alfred found that he didn't care. This right here was the greatest opportunity he'd had since he found himself in L.A. He'd made little friends, only the sweet woman who worked at the soup kitchen he'd been lucky enough to find room in every once and awhile, and a librarian that kindly turned his eyes whenever Alfred slipped into the public restrooms to try and use the sink to clean off as well as he could.

Arthur was a well-connected man – or at least more so than anyone he'd ever had the chance to meet, and even more, his wife was Jeanne Bonnefoy. Alfred glanced in the mirror, absently rubbing at a small, pinking hicky on his neck. "I really did owe him," he mumbled to himself. "I still do…" Hopefully today wouldn't be the last time he saw Arthur Kirkland.

With the end of that train of thought, he left the bathroom and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Arthur stood at a rounded table with decorative edges, a bag of Ruffled Lays crinkling in his hands as he pulled it open. "Hello there, Alfred," he greeted casually, placing the bag on the table beside a platter stacked with sandwich halves. He wore his slacks looser than usual, his button-up shirt was untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the first three buttons undone. He looked casual, or as casual as Alfred figured he would ever get to see Arthur, and Arthur looked good. "I had intended on making something more substantial than this, but I didn't realize how little we actually keep at hand." Arthur's nose scrunched up for a moment. "We eat out too often."

"No, no, this is great!" Alfred said quickly, waving around his hands. "It really is. Thank you."

Arthur's smile was smug and he quickly coughed into his hand before Alfred could question it. "If you insist. Go on, have a seat. Do you like lemonade?"

Alfred nodded as he plucked a couple of the sandwich halves from the platter, setting them neatly on his plate. "Hey Arthur?" he asked softly once they were both seated and their plates filled. Alfred added the chips to his sandwich, despite Arthur's incredulous looks. "About earlier…"

"Yes?" the Englishman prompted when Alfred only trailed off, thumbing at the building condensation on his glass of lemonade.

"Is… is that… I well." Alfred sighed. "I guess you're never gunna want to see me again, right?"

Arthur frowned before taking a sip of his lemonade. "Let's think reasonably for a moment, shall we?" He waited for Alfred to look less confused, anticipating his response with curious blue eyes – Lord was the boy a handsome thing when he cleaned up. "If I had simply wanted a one night stand – or day, in this case – do you really believe that I would have went through such an effort?"

"I… well, no…"

"Did it occur to you that I might have good intentions?" And yet Arthur didn't look hurt or accused at his words. It was only as if he were attempting to drive his statement, expectant and curious for Alfred's meek answer of well yeah maybe. "Now, thinking reasonably, do you believe I want nothing more to do with you? Simply because I saw your willie?"

Alfred flushed a rosy pink. "That's not -! I just -! I wanted to know if I'd see you again, is all. I didn't mean to make you mad or nothing."

Arthur grinned slowly, leaning forward over the table. He caught Alfred's eyes in a half lidded gaze, his smile almost curling at the edges with a secret pleasure. "Oh, if I have my way, Alfred Jones, we'll be seeing much, much more of one another."

-End Chapter Two-

Unimportant Notes: Hiii! I hope the absurd UKUS in this chapter makes up for the surprise RusEng last chapter. :U Remember this is Jordan's socialite AU! :3

Also thank you to Razzledazzy for betaing this chapter! :D