May 14, 2012
Super late update, but I'm pretty happy with this chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think!
Back Then
Alfred contemplated what to do. He hesitated to show up at Arthur's house again, and despite all the confidence he exuded each time he went to the Brit, inwardly, he was shaking from head to toe, having to resort to biting the inside of his cheek from time to time.
Gosh, he was terrified. Ashamed. Everything that was synonymous to "God-damn-stupid-overly-arrogant-bastard-who-can't-do-one-thing-right." The most important thing.
But he wanted it.
And yes, he was also selfish. Though no one mentioned it, he knew they leaned towards the view that he was hurting Arthur more than he had. Why couldn't he leave the poor man alone? Why couldn't he let him pick his life back together and go on?
Alfred didn't know. He just knew he couldn't let Arthur go another time-not that he even had another try, yet.
He reached for the glass of alcohol in front of him, relishing the way it scorched his throat as it slid down. The bar was loud, the dance floor jam-packed with bodies, mostly scantily clad, all rubbing against each other, skin to skin, inappropriate areas even more inappropriately pressed together.
The music was loud, drowning out everything around Alfred. He had wished it would silence his thoughts, too, but guess it wasn't working.
He had forgotten how long he sat there for, how long he'd been there, how long since he had last seen Arthur.
Oh. Arthur.
Alfred brought the glass to his moist lips again, his cheeks having turned red a while ago. Tasting the alcohol, Alfred didn't really care how much he'd drunk. He had good alcohol tolerance...
Arthur finally fell asleep. He finally seemed to have a good night's sleep, as he didn't wake up fitfully or intermittently the last few hours. It hadn't been like that for a while. So when his phone rang in the middle of the night, waking him from his otherwise undisturbed sleep, Arthur was in an extremely irritable mood.
"Hello?" he answered, rather snappishly in his groggy state. Loud, staticky music blasted from the receiver, effectively causing a minor headache for Arthur. He groaned and rubbed his temple, about to snap the phone closed before a rather annoying voice cackled and practically shouted, "Hey, Arthur, man! It's the awesome me calling!"
"Gilbert, it's bloody one in the morning-"
"Yeah, yeah, old man!" Arthur's brow twitched. "Just ringing you up to let you know that your beau is passed out at the bar here! Don't want anyone touching him-"
"My beau?" Arthur repeated, enunciating both words.
"Fuck yeah, your beau! What else should I call him? Your boy? Your man? Hm? Nevermind that, dude! He's quite the hotshot, if I don't mind banging him myself." Arthur opened his mouth to give Gilbert a piece of his mind, but-"Don't worry, geez. Just fucking get here before someone else drags him into their bed! A few guys've already ran their hands down for a touch of his ass-"
"I don't want to know," Arthur interrupted, exasperated.
"-and some fucking hot chicks have practically smashed their racks into him."
Arthur really didn't want to know. It shouldn't be any of his business if the insufferable American wanted to get wasted. He cursed his heart for thumping so loudly against his chest, constricting each time Gilbert went on to describe the people trying to get Alfred's attention.
"Bastard didn't even notice," Gilbert finished bitterly. Arthur couldn't help feeling a smile twitch at the side of his mouth.
"I'll be there soon," Arthur said, throwing his covers off.
"You fucking better," was the reply he got, before the line went dead.
"Alfred," Arthur repeated, smacking the man's face. "Alfred, you hopeless fool, listen to me."
He had dragged the American out of the bar, after surveying the crowded place-despite the late hour-and it didn't take long to find Alfred, bent over the bar on his stool, hand still on his glass. Some girl was at his side, trying to get his attention, probably trying to get him to bring her home, when Arthur stepped up and not-so-discreetly pushed her aside. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen, most likely lost in the hoard of people meaninglessly ruining their minds and bodies.
"Alfred," he had said, his tone stern, "Get up." He gave the man a shove, causing a groan. Arthur repeated his actions, until he finally gave up and decided to loop an arm around the larger man's waist and throw Alfred's arm over his shoulders.
"Bloody hell, you're heavy," Arthur grunted as he slapped money down to pay for the drinks. "You owe me that," he told Alfred, even though he couldn't hear nor remember it.
So now he was outside, waiting for the cab he'd called with a built, drunk man over his shoulders. "Alfred," Arthur repeated another time.
"Arthur..." Alfred mumbled, and the Brit thought he'd finally gotten a reply, only to see Alfred's eyes still mainly closed and hazy.
The cab arrived, and Arthur struggled to push Alfred in, but managed. The whole ride, they were quiet, and Arthur let Alfred lean his head on his shoulder. He didn't realize that he had started smoothing Alfred's hair until the driver turned the corner and slowed to Arthur's flat.
"Thanks," he said, and after paying, he dragged Alfred out and into his place.
He slung him down onto the couch, having no idea what else to do with him. He straightened, pulling his arm out from under Alfred, only to be grabbed by the wrist as he turned to leave.
"Alfred?" he asked.
"—thur," he heard mumbled into the armrest.
"Let go, twit. I need sleep."
Clouded eyes peeked out at him, and Alfred attempted to stand up, only to fumble with his legs and roll onto the floor, his hand slipping off Arthur's wrist, almost smacking onto the coffee table.
Arthur's reaction was delayed, as he rushed down beside Alfred after the fall.
"Alfred, are you okay?" he asked, concern seeping into his voice. "Gosh, I don't even know how you can be so clumsy," he half-heartedly scolded as he tried to help Alfred from his position.
The firm grip on his forearm was unexpected, before he was pushed against his couch with Alfred's face inches from his. They were still on the floor, and he smelt the strong alcohol in Alfred's heavy breath.
"Get off of me," Arthur said, almost in a whisper.
Alfred didn't reply; he only bent his head down towards Arthur's neck and kissed, sending shivers down the Brit's body. Arthur pushed against Alfred's chest.
"Get...off me," he said, with less conviction this time.
Alfred lifted his head and met Arthur's eyes, and the latter was silenced, all thoughts shoved out of his mind. There was something about Alfred's eyes that made his stomach flip unpleasantly, forcing him to stop saying anything he didn't truly protest.
"Arthur," Alfred half-sighed as he leaned down dangerously close to Arthur's lips. "Arthur," he repeated, hot breath on the Brit's mouth. He slipped his arms around the man's waist and pulled him closer, chest flush against each other.
"Arthur..."
It was like a mantra, slowly sucking Arthur in, relenting. The small, sensible part of his mind told him to stop, to get up and leave, as his arms entwined themselves around Alfred's waist, too. They leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed, breathing in the scent between them.
"Arthur..." The name rolled off his tongue so easily, so beautifully.
Alfred tilted his mouth in, brushing lightly against Arthur's, getting used to the feeling. His tongue swiped briefly along those lips, and the sensation tingled on Arthur's mouth. Before he knew it, he'd already parted his lips marginally for Alfred, and they were kissing. Hesitantly at first, tasting each other, a mix of alcohol and mouthwash, before Arthur started kissing back as well, feeling Alfred's tongue with his, sharing the warmth of their mouths. Arthur felt Alfred's hands find their way into his messy hair—having not brushed it as he left the flat—and he was reminded of how much he missed Alfred's kisses. They were tender, delicate, yet so full. Their breaths grew heavy, as they continued their kiss, which was becoming slow, languid, savoring. Alfred's fingers threaded themselves into Arthur's hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp as Arthur held them close, his arms still around his waist.
Their heavy breathing resonated, was the only sound around them. It was beautiful, comforting, natural, as their tongues went deeper, as they took a chance both knew they wouldn't have the courage to if Alfred was sober. Arthur ran his tongue along Alfred's teeth, wanting to remind himself of what he once knew so well, and Alfred nipped at Arthur's lower lip.
Neither of them wanted to stop, to let go. After so long, after everything, their first kiss after all that was a random midnight on Arthur's carpeted floor, against his couch, with a drunken Alfred, slow, and feeling so right.
Alfred broke their kiss, leaned his forehead against Arthur's. He panted hot breaths onto Arthur's face, who in turn also breathed heavily, their chests heaving up and down. Arthur swore his cheeks were bright red, and he knew the sudden heat contributed little to the color. Alfred's were a red hue, as well, but that may just be the alcohol's doing.
When he leaned in for another taste of Arthur's lips, he was refused. Arthur turned his head to the side, pushing the American away from him, muttering, "You won't even remember this come morning...or maybe that's for the better." Alfred only tried to close their distance again, when Arthur stood.
"No, we're not doing this. Not when you're drunk out of your mind." His fists were clenched, and he avoided Alfred's pleading eyes.
He was shocked when Alfred was able to lift himself up, with the help of the couch, to face him.
"Does that mean that when I'm sober, I can kiss you again?"
Arthur bit the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to look at Alfred. How the hell was he able to think of that when he couldn't even walk right? He heard Alfred murmur, "I'd like that."
He still didn't reply, was about to turn and leave for his room, when—
"Arthur," Alfred murmured, lightly cupping his chin and twisting his face to look at him, "I've always loved you."
And he wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist again and kissed him, making Arthur melt into his arms and kiss, his stubborn reluctance easily pushed back far into his brain.
Arthur knew he shouldn't have forgotten, in those few seconds, that Alfred was drunk. He had leaned in to Alfred for support, and before he knew it, the American toppled both of them over and onto the floor, prompting a small, indignant squeak from Arthur. He heard Alfred chuckle at that, and was about to slap his arms away, but Alfred's grip was firm and tight, nuzzling his face into the crook of Arthur's neck, as well.
"Don't go..." he sighed onto Arthur's skin. He squeezed Arthur's waist. "Stay..."
Arthur tested his chance to break free of Alfred's grip, and sighed when he confirmed that he wouldn't be going anywhere.
"Arthur..." A deep breath, a long sigh.
Arthur knew Alfred had fallen asleep, and he resigned that he'd be sleeping on the floor that night, as well.
Closing his eyes, he mumbled into Alfred's shoulder, "Bloody git... I was the one who said that..."
And Arthur pressed his face into Alfred, breathing in his scent, the one he had missed so much, the one he had tried to deny every time, the one he had such a hard time pushing away.
.
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A/N: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, actually. It's been a while since I got to write a kiss scene like this. It felt refreshing. Please leave a review if you can; it'll be greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading! ;)
