HEY HEY EHY GUYS. WHAZZUP? Anyhow…this chapter is kinda longish and a bit coarse.
Language and sexual themes, you've been warned :D
"What do you want for dinner, Peter?" Arthur was at a loss for what to feed him…again.
"Uh, isn't that your job?" He asked, staring at the TV absently. He had begun another one of his 'channel flipping sessions' where he would rapidly flip through every channel he could until he found something suitable to watch. Unfortunately, when these sessions took place, it was usually predetermined that there was nothing to watch on the telly. It was Wednesday night- one of those nights where absolutely nothing came on TV. Arthur sighed in annoyance. He would say that.
"Peter."
"Alright, Alright." He set down the remote, turning to face Arthur. "I don't know, how about Pizza?" Arthur frowned.
"You had pizza last night." Peter crinkled up his face.
"But you asked me what I wanted!" Arthur shook his head. The kid couldn't live off Chinese and pizza for the rest of his life. "Peter, we have to start eating better, we can't eat the same things over and over." Peter sighed in irritation, and shook his head.
"I don't care what we eat." He said flatly. Arthur's eyes narrowed in frustration. Honestly, couldn't he be the least bit cooperative?
"Peter, come on?" Peter promptly ignored him, taking his eyes directly to the telly and staring at it as if there was actually something holding his eyeballs there – like some sort of magnetic force. Arthur huffed. He didn't have to go out of his way to feed Peter, really. All he really wanted to do right now was sleep. His finals were coming up and they were cracking down with fork lifts of homework(literally, he saw one out in the main library filled to the top with boxes of papers and books.), between studying and taking care of Peter there wasn't much time left for sleep. And the little time allotted for sleep was being consumed one hundred percent wholly by one pair of mystical blue eyes.
He refused to even think the name. He refused to even acknowledge it.
Oh, but how could he not? He was everywhere Arthur looked. The words in his text books somehow merged together to make Alfred's laughing fucking beautiful face, the sky, no matter how blue or grey, always seemed to resemble the beautiful color that Arthur just didn't believe possible; and when he closed his eyes, Alfred crept in beneath his eyelids.
Bullocks.
How could he not acknowledge that? Just how? It was driving him insane. Not to mention he was getting behind on sleep. He was pretty sure he'd had a hallucination in the shower the other day when Alfred was knocking on the door. Yeah, there was no way that was real. His fixation was getting- no it was already so, so, so, so, SO FAR out of hand. There had to be a way to fix this. There just had to. He was not going to be stuck in this rut for the rest of his life- what was he thinking? He couldn't do this for the next week! His body couldn't take it. There had to be a way out.
Arthur closed his eyes. He couldn't just go to bed now though. He had to feed Peter. He took a deep breath. He could already feel the small tendrils of sleep pulling him down –
"Peter, would you like to go out to dinner?" The magnetic felid holding his eyes to the television must've broken because Peter's eyes snapped to his in a time lapse of zero seconds.
"YOU BET I DO!" Arthur let out his breath slowly. It was fine. He just had to make it through a couple hours. Peter would eat, they would come home, and Arthur could maybe sleep a little…
"Alright, where would you like to go?" Peter stopped to think about it.
"Well I heard that there's this new French restaurant that opened up at school the other day," Arthur stiffened. French food? Was this child trying to maim his pride? "Apparently it's really good. And I figured…" Peter trailed off a bit nervously. He knew Arthur's problems with French food. "'know?" He gushed everything out in one huge breath, impressing his elder brother only for a few seconds. The awe faded very quickly as his brain pieced together most of the words. His little brother had a good point, but he knew it was just an excuse to go to the restaurant. See, as Peter knew his older brother's disdain for French cuisine (because it was so good that is,) Arthur also knew his younger brother's love for it. He lived, ate (obviously), and breathed French food. He would kill for it.
Arthur couldn't say no to that sort of indulgence. Not to Peter. He sighed in defeat. Well apparently they would be having French food this evening.
"Alright, as long as you know where it is I don't mind." Peter nearly jumped off the couch as he ran to the door.
Unfortunately, the French restaurant was not all that far from their apartment, unlike the now forbidden diner, it was only a few blocks down the road.
How depressing.
But, it was quite warm inside. That was a plus. To Arthur's relief, there was no sign of his lovely French acquaintance anywhere. The girl at the front of the desk didn't even have 'ze accent.' She seated them quickly, seeing as they were quite busy. Peter awkwardly pulled off his heavy coat, pushing the fluffy thing to the wall of the booth. Arthur did the same, seeing as it was quite warm in the restaurant.
Like most restaurants in this town, the lighting was quite dim. But, for this restaurant it was not all that strange, setting an almost 'romantic' mood with the smoldering red furnishings and black tones in the walls and dishes. That's French for you.
He didn't like it.
"Bonjour, My name is- Ah! Arthur! How nice it is to see you~" Arthur cringed. He refused, momentarily of course, to look up. "And who is this?" He flinched as Francis' voice rose an octave on the word 'this'.
"My name's Peter! I'm Artie's little brother."
"Peter!" He chided. Artie? Did he have to say that in front of Francis? Not Francis would think it was okay to call him Artie. It was most definitely not okay.
"OH~" Arthur finally forced his eyes forward. "It's very nice to meet you, Peter." He smiled, that devilish lady-killing smile that always made Arthur cringe (even more so that he was doing that to his little brother) . "I thought I'd have met you before now! I'm your brother's friend from college." Peter smiled, making Arthur's inside writhe in agony. Oh fuck. Fucking bloody bullocks! The waiter was the bloody frog Francis! And Peter was smiling politely at him!
This could not be happening.
Arthur silently apologized to Peter's innocence. He'd tried to keep him away as long as possible, that counted for something right?
Arthur cleared his throat, attracting the Frenchman's attention away from his impressionable little brother. Francis frowned.
"Really, eyebrows, there's no reason to be in a hurry." Arthur pursed his lips at that eyebrows comment. Was that necessary? Honestly? He closed his eyes, feeling the fringe of a migraine coming on.
"Francis if you would be so kind to just give us the menu," He could feel Francis' frown as he plopped the menus down on the table.
"Fine, Arthur." He snapped. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to get off your man period by then." Arthur gasped. Had he really just said that?
"Artie?" Arthur re-composed himself, looking back to Peter. "What's a man-period?" He stiffened. Oh god. Ohgod. Sweet Queen Elizabeth it was starting!
"I-I-it's nothing Peter!" He didn't really think that it was actually a real thing, so I guess he wasn't a total liar.
"But-"
"I. said. It's. Nothing." He insisted through clenched teeth. Peter shut his mouth with wide eyes.
"Kay." He picked up his menu and set it upright on the table so there was a wall between the two of them. Arthur usually would have felt a little twinge of guilt for snapping at him like that, but this time he didn't even flinch. He was just so exhausted. The urge to just lay his head down on the table was overwhelming, and the hysteria was making his eyes droop. He had to tap his foot to keep his eyes open, and there was a thick haze settling over everything. The background chatter was fading into a dull murmur. Arthur sighed, feeling his lids slowly dip –
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey dude!" He gasped, snapping his eyes open. His heart was beating so fast he would've sworn that someone had shot him up with something. He looked around frantically, desperately trying to pinpoint the familiar voice. But where ever he looked there was no sign of the beautiful wheat-colored locks, or the breathtaking azure eyes. Had he imagined it?
"Hey, Artie? Are you okay?" His question was timid, as if he were afraid that Arthur would snap and start screaming at him. He'd be lying to say that he wasn't tempted. Peter hadn't done a thing, but he was just so irritated. He rubbed his eyes, getting them to focus was the tricky part. Everything had faded into just blotches of tones and his eyes started prickling from the dry-ness.
"Uhm, yes. I'm quite fine. Just got something in my eye is all." Peter took the comment with a pinch of salt, looking back to his menu. He didn't believe his older brother for one second. There was something wrong, he was absolutely sure of it. Ever since he'd become conscious of Arthur's misbehavior, he'd mentally slapped himself for not noticing it sooner. There were so many signs. He wasn't even sleeping anymore. He would go to bed at ridiculous hours and wake up earlier than Peter. And he was almost always exhausted, and he looked as if he had to drag himself everywhere. There was no energy in his step anymore.
Of course he wasn't fine. But Peter didn't know what to do, so he wasn't going to say anything.
"Ah~ I'm back boys!" Francis nearly skipped up to the table, with a clean pad and pen in his hands. "And what would you like to drink?"
"HOT CHOCOLATE!" Peter exclaimed, shooting a fist up in the air excitedly.
"Ohh, the chef's hot cocoa is excellante!" Francis fawned, scribbling it down on the pad. He leaned forward, smirking at Arthur, who shot him a menacing glare. "And what would you like, mon cher?" Arthur didn't know what mon cher meant, and he didn't care to ever find out. He furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate long enough to order just water.
"Just give me a bloody water." He muttered, rubbing the heel of his hands over his temples. This migraine was going to be a bad one. Hopefully Peter would eat fast so they could just go home.
"You got it," Francis replied in uncertainty. Arthur was acting strange. Was it the boy? He didn't know who it was that his Arthur was crushing on so badly, but apparently his infatuation was taking a turn for the worse. He looked positively trashed. There were visible bags beneath his dulled eyes, and his skin looked a bit pale, not to mention the look of discomfort in his eyes that had replaced his usual scowl.
Francis would have to fix that. There was no way his Artie was going to get sick over this boy. No way would he allow it.
Peter had eaten relatively quickly, probably due to the tense atmosphere. Francis could tell Arthur was relieved to be able to get out of there sooner. So, as Arthur hurried to the door, Francis caught Peter's arm. The boy looked back at him with huge eyes.
"What is it?" He asked brightly, an unplaceable look on his face. Francis smiled, shoving a small piece of paper into his hand.
"Slip this into your brother's pocket, okay?" Peter looked down at the slip of paper, before closing his small little fist over the paper. He nodded with a serious look on his face. Francis smiled, nodding to the boy. He'd do the job, Francis knew it. "Now hurry up before he starts screaming." He chuckled. Peter joined in his laughter.
"No kidding!" He started running toward the door, briefly stopping to wave goodbye to Francis. Francis smiled at him, wiggling his fingers in goodbye. Peter smiled, and caught up to his brother, slipping his hand into his elder's. Francis chuckled to himself, watching the two. What a cute kid.
They had finally arrived back at the apartment, and Arthur stumbled through the door, muttering a sort of goodnight to Peter before slinking off to bed. He was so dead, he didn't even bother changing, or brushing his teeth for that matter. His teeth would survive one night without brushing.
He just took off his shirt, and his pants, and crawled into bed. Sure, he'd be cold…but who cares?
He huddled up beneath the comforter, laying his head down upon complete bliss. His pillow must've magically turned into a cloud, because he didn't ever remember it being so soft… and light. His dreary eyes slipped closed, and as the air rushed from his lungs his aching body went completely limp.
How long had it been since he'd had sleep? Three days? Four? God it had been far too long. Nothing seemed to be so distant except his sleep…
He sighed.
Except him. The angel.
There wasn't anything that seemed farther away than that.
Arthur felt defeated as that perfect face drifted into his mind. He was so tired that he really couldn't care less if he dreamed of Alfred. At least he'd get some sleep…and maybe it would be a good dream, who knows…
His eyes stung from the dry-ness, and his mind was already drifting off before he noticed that Alfred was already budding up inside his mind in his last waking moments of consciousness.
It was warm, like a sauna. The heat was as intoxicating as any brandy or scotch he'd ever drank, getting his pulse up and his brain function sluggish. His eyesight was hazy, but the light surrounding him seemed to be simmering, a warm yellow color.
His breath was short, and nearly gasping. He couldn't catch it, as if it were literally running from him. His labored breath was having terrifying side-effects, and the tingling light-headed feeling was sinking in his head – taking root at his core.
He blinked a couple times; his body seemed to be moving slow, like time was getting lethargic. The blur only cleared slightly, showing him the slightest hint of golden brown skin. His eyes fluttered as his lungs forced in a huge breath of hot air, sticking all the way down his throat. Tingling erupted across his chest, as if his whole body had fallen asleep and was coming back from its daze. He found himself panting, overtaken by the prickling over his chest and neck. He tried to push himself upright, but found that he couldn't. He was too weak to even do that. His body was trembling, bare against the soft surface below his back.
He felt the warm blood in his cheeks and he let his head roll to the side. There was a hand there, mere centimeters from his nose. He could honestly feel his harbored breath as the hand was so close. The hand lifted up, running a warm finger over his hot, sticky cheek. It was gentle, and loving, making him shiver. His eyes nearly rolled back at the touch that felt so cool against his hot skin. He looked back up, feeling the other hand slide across his shoulder and chest, continuing farther down to his stomach. His breath hitched. What was happening?
He tilted his head back to see the man over him; being greeted with a flash of a loving smile and golden blonde hair. His heart lurched. He lugged his arm forward, feeling so weak. Gravity seemed to be so much heavier than usual, but he pushed through it slowly, reaching for that beautiful face above him. He had to touch him, had to feel that smooth skin with his fingertips. He needed it. He took in another gasping breath, running his hand across his neck. It was slightly slick with a thin sheen of sweat – from what he didn't know. His breath caught in his chest, keeping his muscles tense. He ran his fingers across the sharp jaw line, straining to reach those dazzling lips.
His breath was forced out of his lungs as the hand slipped even lower. He gasped in shock wishing that it would continue- with those dreamy cerulean blues gazing down at him. The chilled fingers traced over his hip bone carefully and smoothly slipped down his thigh. He wished he could groan, but the only thing he could arise from his tight throat was a feeble whimper. The trembling intensified, making his body shake with hunger. He needed more, but couldn't voice it so. He was trapped, hung from a thin thread to reach satisfaction.
The boy above him dipped his head lower, sending Arthur's hand into his silky locks. He forced the breath through his lungs, blinking faster to clear the foggy gaze. He craned his head to try and see- he needed those eyes to reassure him, but he could quite see them, hidden by the bleary miasma clouding his vision. He dug his shoulder blades into the sheet, pushing himself upward to push the hair from the angel's face –
Gasping and sputtering he shot up, his arm groping into the empty darkness. He face was wet, and his bangs stuck to his head from the sweat. His chest was heaving, leaving the rest of his body shivering and shuddering with the clammy sweat. His boxers were stuck to his thighs, and he was slightly afraid to remove the comforter from his bare legs. As his racing hearts slowly calmed down, he ran his chilled hand over his burning face.
What the fuck?
Wh…what kind of dream was that…?
He wiped the sweat from his face, finally able to calm his breath. He pushed the initial shock from his mind, warily dragging his eyes to the clock.
4:26. My god it was 4:26 in the morning and he was having bloody—
He couldn't even think it. What was wrong with him? This kind of thing had never happened before…
He pushed his wet bangs from his forehead and shoved the heavy blankets from his legs. The chilling bumps immediately rose on his skin. He stumbled from the bed, absently shuffling to his drawers. He didn't really want to go back to sleep now – especially in fear of having another one of those dreams…
He'd just go take a shower and watch TV. He was going to have to get up in a couple hours anyway. His first class started at eight… only three and a half hours away. That wasn't too much sleep loss.
He grabbed a baggy shirt and some pajama pants from the drawers and shuffled off to the bathroom.
He waited for the water to get scalding hot before he got in the shower. Maybe the intense heat would wash away the odd feeling in his stomach and the perturbing thoughts he'd woken up with. It didn't take long for the room to fill up with steam and the mirror fogged. He let the water run over his body, warming his shivering skin. His breathing finally seemed to calm down and his trembling stopped all together after a few minutes. Once the water seemed to start to burn, he decided it was probably time to get out before it got any worse.
He toweled off quickly, doing his best to think about absolutely nothing at all. He shrugged on his clothes, heading off to the couch.
The TV was still on; he'd apparently missed that when he'd walked to the bathroom. Peter was completely passed out on the couch. Arthur sighed. Really Peter knew better. Arthur carefully lifted him off the couch, being extra gentle so he didn't wake him up. He laid him on his bed, covering him up like he used to when he was young.
Then Arthur set down on the couch, watching nothing really in particular. He did his best to keep himself awake with a blank mind. That was all he needed.
Really, what was wrong with him?
Poor Iggy! Hes so lonely and deprived! Anyway...that was chapter seven~ Did you like lol?
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