Before reading note: I was thinking during the chapter if I should concentrate on their domestic lives or on the action, and I'll try to mend the two together. I post it because I want to go further and I don't want you guys to wait so much. Long chapter ahead!
...
Funny as it is, Arthur almost misses the street when he walks home the first time. Listening to music and trying to get rid of the burdening thoughts and concentrating on how to discard the scolding of his boss, he almost walks back to his previous flat. Maybe it's natural, he thinks, and even though he tries to keep his emotions in a cool and dignified bay, his heart leaps and thumps in his chest in giddy happiness. Come to think of it the giddiness and the almost childish boost of energy in his veins do have a noticeable effect on him. Restlessly he forces himself to read for a while on the sofa, accepts Cookie's figure in his lap but after half an hour of silent craving for his partner's arrival, Arthur stands and begins to pace. To the kitchen (three steps) aimlessly, to the bedroom (ten steps) to check if everything was clean and his clothes were neatly folded, to the bathroom and then back in the kitchen.
To pass the time he decides to prepare muffins for his hero since anyways he has to practice baking. The scones he made a month ago were terribly hard to chew two hours later. He uses one of Alfred's books (the American actually has cookbooks in which there are handwritten recipes) as inspiration since as everyone already knows, Arthur can cook and bake perfectly and there is always an entirely logical reason why something has gone wrong.
Half an hour later he's watching over the tiny cups in the forms, squatting in front of the oven and hugging his knees when finally he hears the sound of keys and the noise of the door. Immediately he paces to the entrance to greet the other in his enthusiasm forgetting to discard his apron and the huge gloves still upon merely seeing the other Arthur's lips curl into an honest, relieved smile that he attempts to hide in an instant. Alfred is tired, careworn and slow that evening; he hangs his coat on the wall and just pushes his shoes off with his toes before turning to face the living room and actually looking up.
His eyes follow the form of the other. His feet in green socks, wearing simple sweatpants and his apron, huge gloves on his hands and a simple dark-green shirt and his cheeks... Alfred is lost. He just shakes his head in disbelief and uplifting relief merely from the sight of Arthur who is beginning to sulk since Alfred didn't greet him back. He sighs and clears his throat but instead of putting all these emotions into words, words that in his opinion are simply too tiny to reflect all he has to express, walks up to the other and embraces him into a gentle hug. He already knows from experience that this silences the blonde every single time and Arthur frowns, nevertheless puts his arms around the man's shoulders and pulls him close as well. Sentiments. Both of them.
The weight of the dark-blonde's body being lifted on Arthur to hold speaks of absolute exhaustion. Alfred has his arm around Arthur's middle but his hands merely fell on the man's hips and sides to feel his close presence but he's unable to hug him properly.
It is the first time that Arthur greets him in the door and Alfred lets himself sink into the contentment that embraces his being; after long minutes of standing he takes a deep breath from Arthur's neck and pulls himself together to push away and discard his dirty clothes. The jeans, the jumper and the shirt fly to the laundry basket and there he is in his usual clothes that Arthur has already got used to already. Briefs, socks and now just because of the cold weather, a tank top.
The oven beeps and Arthur snaps at the machine. He's immediately there to take the tiny cakes out and places them on a plate. Alfred appreciates his kindness with a tight hug and a kiss on his cheek, informing him that even though he has already gotten muffins from people, these are the ones he'll never forget. Lobsters would envy the redness of Arthur's cheeks.
He can barely handle the sudden rush of affection. Quickly he re-collects the remaining dignity he has and makes a face, stating that Alfred stinks from the smell of his workplace. The taller man merely chuckles and leaves him there but from the dancing light in his eyes Arthur knows he's pleased by the whole situation.
...
Their life together has officially started that day, followed by several others in the row. Jogging, weight-lifting, training together has become a natural activity, especially since Alfred is glad Arthur is catching up fast. On Saturday he announces that he'd like to start with the technical part... and surprisingly, Arthur is sure he'll do well. He remembers a few moves after all.
The start is not smooth. They hardly get over the fact that they are about to hit each other, in his embarrassment Arthur misses a few times but then all of a sudden delivers a punch into Alfred's shoulder right into the spot which makes the other's arm go limp. As it falls down and the young hero is perplexed for the second, Arthur smirks and tosses Alfred's other arm aside to hit him in the guts with a strong, punctual shot. The well-built American licks his lower lip, smiles and stretches his shoulder before being able to stand again; Arthur's hit was more like a sting, fast but powerful bite into the flesh that ache after the impact.
"You know where to hit, and how," he states the obvious and in an instant, grows to like the glad, victorious and so cocksure smirk on the other's face: something that he's never seen before. Arthur's whole aura has changed in the last minute; from being awkward and hesitant just by being around Alfred during their training, now he has an absolutely different posture and the shine in his eyes is vibrating with excitement. He likes this... "but let's see how you dodge?"
He's fast but not fast enough. Though Arthur hasn't been training with anyone for several years, his reflexes are back after a few failed attempts to protect himself; the pain triggers his mind. Something in his mind clicks; it can be seen in his eyes as he looked at the dark-blonde after one hit that targeted his side. After that particular shot, not only diverting the direction of Alfred's hand or foot, he attacks back in that instant with a precisely delivered hit right under his partner's collarbone, that make Alfred gasp and ask for a short break. The technique, the postures and the flashes of memories draw the hero's attention and naturally he begins to wonder about them. He keeps on pulling Arthur's skills out of the well hidden box deep down in the blonde's unconscious and by the end of the afternoon he is able to make stabile conclusions.
First, he is glad his bones are still not broken. Arthur's precise hits are not taught, he dodges and attacks by improvisation, quickly analysing the situation and biting back like with the agility of a feline creature and the impressively fast motions of a snake. Arthur's lithe figure is not powerless as it would seem at first sight: the man who is often doubting himself and who is an actual reserved intellectual... in real fight, after practicing a few weeks, Arthur could beat Alfred with this technique. The more amazing yet frightening fact is that the style is coded in Arthur's unconscious which is being fed from experience, memories and visions of his own mind. He doesn't know about positions or sets of movements, he shrugs and admits that in his time, to know simple defence was luxury.
Alfred wonders, what kind of time Arthur is talking about.
In the end of the day he admits that in two weeks time, Arthur might come with him on the patrols.
. . .
No matter how long ago it happened, with his twenty-three years Arthur remembers everything that happened to him in his childhood and in his teenage years. Images, voices, looks and glares come up and though he fled thousands of miles to escape, with the training the memories gradually return. His silent retreatment in the beginning doesn't affect the American; in his free time Alfred plays video games and reads comic books, surfs on the internet for hours and doesn't notice Arthur's position, for which the Englishman is grateful.
He doesn't have the mood to talk, even though he is well convinced that he should have. It would help but for the time being, hiding behind the impression of being lost in his book is enough. Eventually he turns a page but makes mental notes to remember exactly when he did he stop paying attention to the story. Driving his own focus away is such a skill he hasn't mastered yet on the level he should already be. He doesn't want to go through the times he's been in danger but to protect himself out in the night by Alfred's sight, he has to: the process requires his full self-control and his ability of keeping a blank facial expression at its best.
Alfred grunts as he lost against a huge dragon-like creature in the video game. He restarts the battle and quickly thinks about a new strategy but when he fails again he shakes his head in disbelief and looks back at Arthur, who's sitting behind him on the sofa. In his frustration that he isn't able to defeat that dragon (he has axes and a long-bow in his hands and since the lizard is flying he either has to wait until it burns the forest around him and lands or has to throw his axes away and shoot arrows, both ways are quite useless so he decides to take a break from the game) he looks up at Arthur and immediately the annoyance evaporates from his heart. He frowns and deducts that something is up.
Still, he doesn't know if he should interrupt the obvious concentration and deep thinking of the other: Arthur is staring in the empty space, barely blinks and his breathing is withheld in his chest not in his stomach as it should be. His posture is slightly bent forward, hands grasping on the book but his stare is not pointed at the words; it's stuck somewhere above the book. The bespectacled tilts his head on the right in consideration and from a sudden idea that just formed in his mind, stands to push the other a little by the shoulder.
Arthur releases a quiet, almost inaudible gasp upon the impact: his gaze focuses on Alfred as he turns his head and looks up, lost in perplexity and surprise which flawlessly display that the entire being of him is thunderstruck. Alfred can see the hair standing on his arms and on the nape of his neck.
"If..." he clears his voice and since his entire soul craves to hold Arthur in a comforting embrace, takes a step closer to continue, "if we take that pillow away, you can lie down and me too."
It takes a few seconds for Arthur to understand him: he looks aside, behind himself, and reaches to take the huge cushion from behind his back. After removing the pillows, Alfred motions for his partner to lie at the wall of the couch so he can find a comfortable position too. In the first moments it's too tight for the both of them: two grown up men beside each other on such a narrow place is almost ridiculous, but Alfred has yet another invention. He practically pulls Arthur half on top of him so the Englishman can find a position to read in and he is also able to look at the screen. Surprisingly and yet naturally the blonde doesn't show any form of resistance, in fact he gladly places his head on the other's chest and behind closed eye-lids, listens to the thumping heartbeat from below.
The realization that they are cuddling yet again, paints Arthur's cheeks and ears crimson. He hides his expression from the dark-blonde and shifts a little when he feels warmth pool in his loins, a natural reaction that he tries to get used to in the close presence of Alfred, who just clears his throat again.
"Now, it's good," he declares, smiles and takes a sniff from Arthur's hair. "You know, if you want to tell me something, I'm here."
And it's all because he's messed up inside... Arthur grits his teeth and hopes the other doesn't notice.
"I know."
An hour later, when Alfred is snoring beneath him like a content child, Arthur shifts to check the other and is stunned by his gorgeous, young and pure looks. He doesn't know why and how he deserves such a person but when Alfred groans beneath him and his hand moves to caress his shoulder, the blonde sighs in resignation. It can't be helped. This young man who is indeed the hero of the small town, will do his best to comfort and support him... in his own, awkward way.
. . .
January in Maine is cold and wet. The temperature is below zero Celsius degree, in Fahrenheit it's around twenty, more or less; Alfred takes cap and scarf when he goes somewhere and Arthur developed a habit of checking on the man's clothing, needless to say. He expresses his dismay at the old, smelly scarf that Alfred refuses to wash and the cap which is also reeking. Arthur shakes his head after another lost battle of 'having to wash these because it's not hygienic and also disgusting', and decides to take the matters into his own hands. Literally.
In the last years he has never had imagined that some time in the future he would ever walk into a handicraft shop. In Britain he learned these techniques from his grandmother and mother, being the youngest and most delicate brother of the three, he was the favourite of the women in the household. It was easy, reading and knitting together, and his grandmother told him she would be the proudest grandmother if Arthur would knit something for his beloved wife one day.
Poor grandmother would be perplexed if she would hear about this.
Arthur chooses woollen thread, white, blue and red. Even though spring is coming in the middle of February and it takes a few weeks to get done with these pieces of clothing, he is not stepping back from his plan. He begins right away and quickly proceeds: he doesn't want to see Alfred in those old accessories.
However... his plans of sitting at home, knitting and enjoying his partner's company are ruined by said partner on the very next Wednesday when Alfred announces to take Arthur along for the night.
He picked a habit of greeting Arthur with a hug and a kiss on the cheek upon his arrival but that day he is nervous. He gives only a short embrace and informs the other about the great news which light the anticipation in the blonde as well: there's no time for sentiments right now. They're going on an adventure.
His reasoning is that in the middle of the week there are less people on the streets, less trouble to find and it would be easier to show Arthur around the most dangerous places. For the first time this would be a good time to go and probably they won't meet anyone, but if they do, Alfred is sure they will be able to handle everything together. In return, the anticipation of the blonde is endearing; he accepts the hiking gloves along with the bands to protect his wrists and grants a tiny smile to the other in return. Of course he assures the young hero that the next time he's in town he'll buy his own accessory. Right... he hasn't been paying attention too much up until now.
In the doorway, Alfred takes his own pair of bands to his wrists, another pair for his ankles, takes an old phone that is for contacting the police in case of emergency, his cowhide jacket and the leather gloves. He explains that this kind of leather is squishy when it's raining so if he gets in trouble, people cannot grab him by his jacket or his hands, he also suggests that Arthur should get a similar type as well. It keeps the person warm and even though it's heavy, he knows the jacket is safer to wear than a normal jacket from fabric or linen.
So, they depart. The door is closed behind them, Alfred checks if he has everything and glances at Arthur as if he was checking his friend's presence as well. The blonde feels disbelief and withheld anticipation glowing in the blue. Their first night out on the street starts and none of them know exactly what is waiting for them out there.
. . .
The wind is harsh and frozen, the lamps barely give enough light to see among the houses and since Arthur left his gloves at home, his fingers are nearly frozen in the pocket of his jacket. He begins to be grumpy in the disappointment that they really don't meet anyone although when he looks aside and glances up on Alfred's face he is a bit taken aback. The young hero's expression is far distant from the usual. The absence of warmth, kindness and tenderness is striking through the icy-blue eyes, it startles the Englishman and he quickens his steps to catch up properly in the speed. He is looking around in slight perplexity then recognises the place. They are heading towards the harbour.
"Is this where you go every night?" he tries to initiate a conversation and Alfred clears his throat, usually he does that before talking and hearing him doing it calms the blonde a little.
"Not exactly. Since it's Wednesday I figured the centre will probably be more tempting but I never know. We have a small town, but for example in Portland we could actually find a pattern. At the police they made charts and statistics and according to them it is the centre which is always a good spot to find criminals. Just listen to the noises and keep your eyes open."
"That's what you..."
"Apparently yes, basically not."
The brief answer causes a natural confusion in the Englishman; he frowns but eventually hums and starts wondering about the activity of his partner. Now, being out on the patrol it doesn't seem so pleasant or adventurous but rather disturbing in itself. He tries to listen but after a few minutes gives up since when Alfred turns his head at a noise he just sighs and admits that he missed it. Maybe he is an amateur but after several other missed noises Arthur frowns and begins to think if he is a proper person for this whole idea. Yes, he might help Alfred if they are being attacked but normally...?
His reluctant silence is something that Alfred gradually got used to and he's focusing on his surroundings on a level Arthur is incapable of doing. He wants to be useful, to be equal to the other but from various reasons he's unable to rise to that level. In his mind asking for help sounds like surrender and obvious defeat but eventually a stubborn and grumpy man like Arthur has to face the time when his determination to be good enough for someone grows larger than his pride.
"Can you teach me more?"
His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he grits his teeth. There, he said it. It's an eternity until Alfred turns and there Arthur sees the usual kindness again: it fills his heart with a sudden flood of warmth and in the wave of embarrassment he glares at the pavement again.
"Of course!" His cheerful voice is the reminder Arthur needed: it's energizing, sends vibrations through the blonde's entire body and assures him of the American's support. "You just have to tell if you have a question. Just for tonight my only job is to watch and listen but there are times when I look out for certain signs. I'll tell you about these later."
Pushing Alfred on talking has never been a successful idea, in other words it's useless: the man will talk when the time has come. The awkward silence between them is usual, Arthur tries to pay attention on their environment but his mind is occupied with his burdening thoughts. Being a freeloader on a patrol makes him feel guilty.
In the end their walk included the park and the city centre. Altogether they spent three hours out in the cold night and never met a soul that would disturb the peace of the town; just like once Alfred did, now Arthur wonders if it worth the long hours of walking and observation. The atmosphere at home is vibrating from the unspoken frustration, the air is filled with the aroma of hot chocolate mixing with forest-fruit tea.
They're frozen to the bones. No matter how carefully they dressed to keep the warmth of their body under the layers of clothing, during the three hours the frost crept its way into their skin and flesh.
With a blanket on his back, Alfred accepts the cup of hot chocolate and lifts the duvet to invite Arthur right beside him. The blonde is perplexed for a moment then complies; placing the cups aside the man lowers himself to sit and pulls his legs up so the blanket can cover his whole body. Alfred's arm embraces his shoulder as the Englishman gives the cup back to him. Under the comforting cover of the duvet he lifts his palm to entwine their fingers and pull the arm tighter around him. Within a minute he already wormed his way to cling to the taller man's side, depending and craving the warmth of him and his entire being. If he could, he'd just crawl into his lap.
The world would be so easy, in that instant.
When Alfred takes a deep breath from his hair and shifts his legs to be in a slightly wider position, Arthur feels his own cheeks redden. The reactions of their bodies are also in harmony.
There's nothing to be ashamed of in front of him. They're merely sitting on the sofa having a blanket around themselves and simply enjoying the late hour. The hot cups in their hands burn and caress their frozen flesh, transmitting comfort and the delight of their arrival. They're home. This time, both of them. Cookie is dozing in Alfred's lap and Arthur wishes he would be in the cat's place. No matter how strong Alfred's scent is in the air, from the blanket, the sofa, his arm and his clothes around him, the entire space, it's not enough.
"So..." Alfred begins to caress the blonde's shoulders in attempt to gain his attention. The manner means that he's about to tell something significant. "I have connections with the police and FBI. Though they don't pay much attention to me, I have some of their statistics and charts. I follow their work in the area, that's why I occasionally go on smaller trips to villages and other towns. I have a plan and if you still want to stay, you could have a great part in that plan."
Now, this sounds interesting, though being an immigrant and still in need of a few years to gain the Green Card, Arthur doubts he could accompany the man. On the second thought, he'd be ready to pack.
"I'm in this business for three years already."
Arthur frowns upon hearing the word and turns his head to look on the other but the bespectacled has his eyes closed in a relaxed, loose way.
"I have people to race with but when I win I get a good amount of bucks so it worth the time and energy. Also, most of them are older than me and already specialized so I'm just a free-lance someone in this profession. I'd like to be more though."
Cautiously, the blonde blinks and tries to put the pieces together in a failed attempt, "you're gambling?"
"Yea, with my life sometimes. I told you, it's not just a hobby though it started as one."
He sighs and clears his throat, and upon his words Arthur feels his soul and body freeze onto his spot.
"I'm hunting criminals, and bring them to the FBI or to the police. When I know they are in town, I'm after them during the night. Last time when I caught that rapist, I earned thirty-thousand dollars. That was the reward for the one who'd bring him to face justice."
Indeed, this is more than Arthur has ever dreamt of. Not only the sum of money... the entire idea. Suddenly, the little flat has an entirely different shade in his eyes. It's foreign, strangely accepting and warm... he doesn't know if he can sink into it any more. This man beside him, hugging him now and holding him every night...
"You're a head-hunter?" He utters, words melting in the silence between them.
"No. I don't hurt people, just bring them where they belong. FBI or police. I hurt them if they hurt me."
It's stunning. He's only twenty. Probably hasn't attended university... he has a good position at a huge company, he has a safe financial background, he is intelligent, smart and still vulnerable on the inside, and he's... Arthur has to squeeze his eyes shut and clear his thoughts. This is the same man beside him, but the arms hugging him firmly yet gently are suggesting their own dangerous properties in an instand. With those arms, Alfred lifts cars if needed, he can fight, hit and wound other people yet he's tender and loyal to Arthur as if there wasn't anyone else existing in the world. To him, at least.
"If..." and he reads his mind without realizing. He sees through him, there's nothing hidden in front of him. "If you feel, you can just stay at home. I can do it."
He has the confidence of a real hero out on the streets... his focus cannot be shaken, he's strong and knows his way through everything but back at home... even though he strives to be seen determined, he's not. His voice rises around the end of the sentence while nodding and gritting his teeth; to reassure Arthur as much as he can, he strokes the man's shoulder a bit. He doubts if he will be able to go alone and the blonde senses it.
The Englishman's heart and mind fight and struggle for solution. This man saved his life. Once directly, in several ways indirectly. He's proven nothing but loyalty and reliability. If he'd risk Arthur's life, by all means he'd put his own in the front lines and Arthur frowns at the thought which tells nothing but his own uselessness again and immediately his heart protests against the whole idea. He's not a weakling who sends his own partner in the mouth of danger. He's just as capable of everything as Alfred is and on the top the thought of leaving Alfred out there on his own stiffens a string in Arthur's heart.
"I'm going with you. Wherever you go."
It's easier to say than expected and it's even easier to accept the bear hug he receives. Alfred's lips press a grateful kiss into his neck, he places the mugs aside and decides to cover Arthur with his own self. He's unable to hold these feelings inside and Arthur is aware of that: with gentle caresses on the young man's sides he soothes both of them and decides that it'll be the new day's pleasure to see what exactly Alfred meant by all this. For the time being, for the minute and hour he closes his eyes and lingers on their union; having Alfred's head on his chest, his ear above his heartbeat, his arms around his form.
"I knew you would. Dear God, I can't believe I was in doubt," the muffled voice of the other sends electrifying shots of heat into his veins, especially when Alfred tightens his hold around him.
Smiling, Arthur presses a reassuring kiss in the other's hair although the thought still hasn't released him. Digesting the fact that Alfred, with his twenty years, has been putting himself into danger and chased criminals with all he had and every time arrived home into an empty flat, crawls invisible bruises in the blonde's heart. This bright young man has never deserved this life... and he, with his messed up personality and messed up past behind his back, will do his best to make him happy. No matter what, beyond reason.
With the American's weight on top of him, Arthur hugs the man's head close as if it was just a ball, not caring about Alfred's hair or ears which results in the dark-blonde's perplexity. He's blinking and swallowing but decides to get along with the whole situation, in the end he just sighs and lets Arthur do whatever he feels like; even though this means having his hair petted.
"Arthur?"
"Mh?"
"If you keep this up, I'll have a boner."
Never faster in his life has Alfred Jones found himself on the floor, falling from the couch and with a crimson-cheeked Brit fleeing from the entire situation. With eyes wide open in startle, the only hope he has on his mind of blurts out sooner than he could think it over.
"But... we still sleep together, right?"
...
Author's Notes:
Cliffhanger! Sorry! I'll continue as fast as I can!
I'm still wondering if I should add more of their domestic lives or concentrate on adventures, so if you have suggestions or opinion about the matter, please tell me!
See you next time!
