A/N 1: Hey guys Sorry I've been gone for so long. But a new semester, tech failure , and a serious lack of inspiration don't got well together. Thanks for all the support and not just vanishing on me. I'll do my best to not be gone for too long next time, thought I will be off schedule until my first few papers of the semester are finished. Anyway you guys don't care about my life, you guys care about what the hell is going to happen in this story. But before we do that, who wants to know what happened with Al and Arthur after Mattie and Francis left? … Figured you might. Lime ahead. Have fun! –Sgt C.W.
Heavy breathing and the faint sound of voices roused Arthur from his unconscious state. Agh what happened? Where am I?
"Ah, Arthur, you feel so good!" A voice panted, sounding strained but containing so much pleasure.
"Alfred…ah…more! Harder!" Arthur heard his own voice, sounding more needy than he had ever heard it before. What the hell is going on? It sounds like… but it can't be. But I don't remember what happened after I started drinking. The darkness surrounding him made everything he heard more real. All of the echoes reverberated in his body, sending the blood in his body pooling into his nether regions. The volume of the voices increased as time went on. The sound of their rising pleasure beat against his ear drums until…
"Aaaaaaaaah!" He heard his own voice making the lustiest sound of climax in the history of sexual sounds, soon followed by the deep and heavy groan of Alfred tumbling after him before the world was flooded with blinding light.
The soft surface his face was planted in started smothering him as tried to breathe while simultaneously attempting not to scream. Snapping his head up so that was no longer trying to inhale his pillow, Arthur gasped and gulped down as much air as he could. He took note of his location, thankful that he appeared to be in his own bed and, by extension, his own home. The relief had barely set in before a splitting pain exploded in his temple causing him to face plant back into his pillow.
Why? Why won't the light shut up?
In the brief moments that Arthur was able to keep his eyes open, he saw that while his bed was empty, except for himself, it looked slept in. With that in mind he took inventory of his clothing. Pants are still on, No trousers…He ran his hand sown his chest. Shirt open, missing buttons. Hips aren't sore, splitting head ache. His stomach growled, informing him that food needed to be introduced into his system or his stomach was going to start eating itself. That was when he smelled something so delicious that, if he weren't faced down in a pillow, would have made him drool a river.
Aspirin then food. Aspirin then food.
Dreading the walk to his bathroom, Arthur sat up squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the window. To his surprise, two pills and a glass of water sat on the table beside his bed waiting for him.
Who?
Picking up the pills and glass, he swallowed the aspirin down with a silent thank you to the saint that left them there. Arthur dug around in his dresser in search of comfortable clothes as a speaking baritone voice drifted under the closed door.
Looks like I get to see my saint after all.
Opening the door and taking a step into the blessedly dark hallway, the voice became clearer… and so did the music.
We are the muses
Goddesses of the arts and proclaimers of heroes
Is that…It is a Disney song. Which can only mean that my saint is…
Arthur stepped into the doorway of his kitchen and was met with the delectable smell that had drawn him out of bed and a sight that had him debating locating a camera for blackmail purposes or quietly walking away to crawl back into bed and try that whole waking up thing again.
Back when the world was new
And planet Earth was down on its luck
And everywhere gigantic brutes called titans
Ran a muck
Standing in from of the stove Alfred stood in a pose reminiscent of Elvis Presley, singing into a spatula. On two burners sat skillets of eggs and potatoes and… did he smell blueberry muffins?
It was a nasty place
There was a mess where ever you stepped
Where chaos reigned and
Earthquakes and volcanoes never slept
With each changing singer Alfred changed his tone and pitch. Even though the song was meant for female voice, Alfred could carry it off better than anyone Arthur had ever heard. He stirred the eggs, adding a bit of spice as he continued singing.
And then along came Zeus
He hurled his thunderbolt
He zapped
Locked those suckers in a vault
They're trapped
And on his own stopped chaos in its tracks
And that's the gospel truth
The guy was too type A to just relax
A timer sounded in the background while Alfred danced and sang his heart out. He bent over, still swinging his hips, to open the oven and pull out a tray of freshly made muffins, forcing Arthur to hold in painful laughter while trying to make his escape.
"Arthur? That you?" The music stopped and Alfred poked his head around the corner to look at the retreating brit. "How ya feelin'? You partied pretty hard last night." Alfred's normally pleasant sounding voice sounded like nails scratching against a chalk board over a high school sound PA system to the poor hung over man.
"Ah not so loud Alfred. Feels like someone is practicing drums on my skull." Arthur sat down in his usual place and laid his head on the table. A soft clinking sound and warmth radiating against his cheek made him look up.
"Heads up dude. Hot plates. I also made some tea. I wasn't sure how you liked it though so there's sugar, lemon, and honey on the table." Alfred had lowered his voice as to not cause his poor partner any more pain.
Taking a fork full of food, Arthur started eating as Alfred sat down watching him as if awaiting critique.
"I didn't know you could cook. It's all very delicious," Arthur took a bite of the muffin and had to stop himself from purring, lest Alfred call him a kitten again "but you didn't need to make muffins. I had fresh scones sitting on the stove."
"Those were scones?" Alfred's bespectacled face was both confused and horrified as he remembered the pastry he had the displeasure of biting into earlier that morning. The thing was both burnt and raw at the same time and Alfred needed to know exactly how Arthur had managed to make that happen.
"Yes, they were scones. Do you have a pro-?" Arthur was cut off by Alfred suddenly taking hold of his hand and giving him a pleadingly desperate look.
"Arthur, promise me you'll never cook for yourself again. I will come here every day to cook for you if I have to, just never ever touch a stove again unless it's to make yourself tea."
"If I agree, will you let go of my hand and stop yelling? It's too damn early and my head aches too damn much to argue with you right now."
"Thank you." Alfred finally relaxed and took a bite of his own food. "So now that you're awake, I have a few questions about some of the things that happened last night."
"Before I answer that I need to know what happened last night. Everything after that frog and your brother left is a blur." Arthur scratched the back of his head as if his scalp held the answers to the mystery of the rest of his night and was being a wanker about sharing the information. When he pulled his hand free of his slightly tangled ash blond locks, his fingers were shimmering like that vampire, what's-his-face, from Twilight. "Why the devil am I covered in glitter?! Alfred, what the hell did I do last night?"
"Promise to answer my questions and I'll tell you everything." A sly smile crossed the American's face at the look of panicked distress on Arthur's.
"Fine, just fucking tell me before I introduce your testicles to my fork."
"Not a morning person are we Arthur? All right, first things first. Who was that guy with my brother, the one you called, and correct me if I get the phrase wrong, a 'cum guzzling twat waffle'? Follow up, what exactly did he mean when he said that you didn't complain when it was your cum he was guzzling?"
"To answer your first question, that was Francis Bonnefoy. I'm sure you've heard of him. As for your second question, in accordance with your American Constitution, I plead the Fifth." Arthur sniffed his tea and added some lemon after noting that it was Earl Grey before taking a sip and sighing in satisfaction.
"Hate to break this to you dude, but you're British and thereby unable to invoke Fifth Amendment rights. Answer the question!" Alfred adjusted his glasses and continued staring at the forest eyed man like he was a suspect avoiding questioning in interrogation.
"I answered your questions; now tell me what happened last night."
"This isn't over. I have more questions, but I guess I can fill in some gaps before you answer them." Alfred sighed closing his baby blue eyes. "So you remember everything up to me dragging you back to the bar right? Well Feliks followed us back and started serving you drinks…"
Alfred was glad that Arthur listened to him and loosened up, but loosening up and getting closer to another man was not part of the equation. Especially since those two seemed to have a history, if those insults were any indication. Alfred wasn't sure what the hell a 'cum guzzling twat waffle' was but he needed to know if it involved Arthur and some dude sucking him off. Arthur's bright laughter as he struggled slightly to get out of Alfred's grasp over his shoulder would have made Alfred happy if he knew the actual cause. He needed answers. He placed Arthur, as gently as possible, on the floor in front of the bar.
"What was that for Al? I was having fun!" Arthur was breathless and beaming as Alfred with a smile so warm that it would melt the frozen tundra.
Even though his heart was racing at the sight of the beautifully joy filled expression and the fact that Arthur had called him 'Al', which never happened, Alfred could not stop himself from thinking A little too much fun.
"Hey Arthur-"Alfred started to voice his concerns when a Polish accented voice cut him off.
"That was, like, totally insane! Al said you could dance but I didn't think it would be anything like that!" Feliks flounced over to them behind the bar, tutu bouncing and heels clicking the whole way.
"Thank you Feliks. And I don't think Alfred told you about my being able to dance like that because he didn't know." Alfred felt the icy glare he shot at Feliks for interrupting melt away at the warm tone of Arthur's voice at the good time he was having.
"I, like, think it's time for some shots! And they're, like, totally on the house for you guys." Feliks already had glasses lined up and started pouring from an unlabeled bottle that Alfred immediately recognized. It was something of a house mystery as to what it actually was but Feliks only brought it out when Alfred was there. No one really knew what it was; all they knew is that it was strong. The only people that could handle more of it than Alfred were Ivan and some guy that wouldn't give his name but had an easily recognizable laugh that was impossible to imitate.
"Fe, are you sure about this? Remember what happened last time Lars caught you serving shots on the house?" Alfred needed to keep Arthur from drinking what was in that glass, no matter how interesting the result would be. After Feliks had a couple shots of it Alfred had gotten several furious calls from both Toris and Matt about what they called 'The maple syrup fiasco!' He couldn't let something like that happen with Arthur.
"Who's Lars?" Arthur inquired, picking up the glass and smelling it.
Feliks knocked his own drink back before answering. "Lars is the Dutch Man himself. Thought we're not sure about that flying part. He owns that club and shit. And Al. last time was, like, not that bad." He started pouring himself another shot.
"Maybe not for you. You didn't have to deal with Tor, Matt, and Lars along with a hangover. Arthur you really don't want to drink that." Alfred reached for the glass, hoping to prevent another incident and 45 minute lecture from Toris sided with a substantial bill for damage to both the bar and the club image from Lars. Just as he was about to wrap his fingers around the glass, it was snatched away as Arthur danced his way out of Alfred's reach.
"Piss off!" Arthur downed his shot, much to the dismay of Alfred and the delight of Feliks, who was already refilling the empty glass. "I do whatever the fuck I want!"
"Yeah! You, like, tell him Arthur!" Feliks yelled as the volume of the music started to increase.
Shots shots shots shots
Shots shots
Shots shots shots shots
Shots shots
Shots shots shots shots
Shots shots
Everybody!
If Alfred wasn't already certain that saying so would result in a cap in his ass, he would have demanded that Vash change the song immediately. Whenever this song came on, that un-imitable, easily recognizable laugh would soon follow and all hell would break loose.
Arthur was already three shots in and didn't give any indication of stopping as his inhibitions slipped further and further away. He swayed in place, laughing along with whatever the hell Feliks was saying. Alfred knew that he couldn't understand a word being said, no one could the first time they had a couple of hits from the mystery bottle.
"Wait wait wait. You let me drink something that you're not even sure of the contents of?!" Arthur exclaimed in alarm. The meds and tea were finally kicking in so the pounding in his head receded.
"Dude, no one but Lars and possibly Ivan knows what that stuff is. Lars just showed up with it one day and told us 'Drink up'. Ivan looked thrilled after he took a hit so we thought 'Can't be terrible'. After Lars bailed us out of jail the next day me and Fe wanted to know what that shit was and Lars told us 'Do not stick your nose where it does not belong', I took that as 'this stuff is not legal here and if you rat me out , your kidneys will be on sale on the black market'. Needless to say we don't ask questions anymore."
"How's they even get that shit here?"
"Apparently Lars knows a guy in Amsterdam who knows a guy in Moscow. They don't ask questions and neither does he." Alfred pushed his glasses up on his nose to get a better look at Arthur's confused face.
"This sounds incredibly shady, but I'll drop it for now. Please continue with the story." Arthur poured himself another cup of tea in an attempt to forget about his mystery drinks.
"Rightio. Now as I was saying, you were on your fourth shot and already hazy. I'm surprised you held out that long in the first place. You've got to tell me how you built up your tolerance. Most people are passed out by the second shot. If they make it longer they usually end up in a situation they can't explain."
Resisting the urge to throw a lemon at Alfred's honey blond head, Arthur yelled "Finish the story you bloody American arsehat!"
"Right, so as I was saying…"
"Kesesesesesesesese!"
Oh no. Not now. Not with Arthur like this.
"Sup brohaus! The awesome me has come to grace you with mein awesome presence!" A scarlet eyed, white haired man with an obvious German accent, slid up next to Alfred. Without a word of request three shots of the mystery drink were placed in front of him.
"I see you managed to escape your baby sitter." Alfred quipped, hoping the man would walk the fuck away so that he could focus on keeping the damage for the night to a minimum.
"He's just in the bathroom freshening up. He says he doesn't enjoy my sweat all over him, especially after going at it in such a filthy place, which is absurd because my sweat makes it even more awesome." He knocked back two out of his three shots in under five seconds. "You know how Rodders is."
"You should probably go find him. I have my own person to baby sit. And I think I see yours headed this way with… is that a leash? No! I don't need to know any more about your kinks than I already do." As Alfred turned away from the cackling man to keep an eye on Arthur, all he saw was a line of nine glasses and a green eyed blond, but not his green eyed blond.
"Looks like you're failing at your job. He's headed for the dance floor." A commotion involving three voices sounded from the indicated location and his friend narrowed his ruby eyes. "This should be good."
Alfred took off after his clearly drunk off his ass partner, hoping that he wasn't the cause of whatever was about to happen. That's when everything being said became clear.
"Step off feta breath! It's my turn to dance with Kiku. Why don't you go bore someone to sleep with your stupid cat talk?"
"Why don't you leave Kiku alone? He dances with me more because he likes me more than you. He only danced with you out of pity!"
"Heracles-san! Sadiq-san! There is no need to fight over me!"
As Alfred made his way through the crowd, the scene unfolding before him showed signs of chaos but thankfully not caused by Arthur. The tanned, masked man held one arm of the tiny Asian man against his chest and glared over his head at the man with the cat tattooed over his heart that held the Asian man's other arm hostage. Arthur was thank fully nowhere in sight.
Where the hell did he go?
My Anaconda don't
My Anaconda don't
My Anaconda don't want none unless you got
Buns hun
The two glaring men nodded at each other and released the poor middle man's arms while taking a few steps back.
"Twerk off!" They yelled simultaneously as they dropped into twerk position, asses toward the object of their desires.
Now that's real real real
Gun in my purse, bitch I came dressed to kill
Who wanna go first? I had them pushing daffodils
I'm high as hell, I only took half a pill
I'm on some dumb shit
The way those two were moving their asses promised back pain well into their golden years, but it was impressive that they could keep it up as long as they did.
"Amateurs!" A slurred, but still very much British accented voice carried over the music. "Let me show you how it's done!" Everyone turned their attention toward the bar where, much to Alfred's chagrin, Arthur was climbing up on to the surface, somehow only stumbling once. When the fuck did he get over there?! Alfred shoved his way through the crowd praying that he got there before Arthur pulled a Miley Cyrus.
What Alfred saw once he finally reached the front had him questioning whether or not he wanted to stop him.
He keep telling me to chill
He keep telling me it's real, that he love my sex appeal
Because he don't like 'em boney, he want
Something he can grab
So I pull up in the Jag, and I hit him with the jab like…
Dun-d-d-dun-dun-d-d-dun-dun
If asked fifty years from now, how he would describe Arthur twerking, Alfred would only be able to call it hypnotic. The way Arthur threw his ass in a circle and popped it up and down left Alfred breathless and had his blood shifting southward. All of that was only intensified by a cheering Feliks throwing handful after handful of glitter over Arthur's head.
"Alfred, comrade, I am glad your friend is having good time," Ivan appeared over Alfred's shoulder, nearly causing his heart to give out "but if he does not get off the bar I will have to introduce him to the magic metal pipe of pain… if Vash does not shoot him down first."
"Got it." Alfred signaled for Vash to lower the sniper rifle that he knew was trained on Arthur before walking up to the bar and yelling "Get the fuck down dude!"
"THEY DON'T CALL ME ARTHUR 'TWERKLAND' FOR NOTHIN'! WOOOOOOO!" Arthur shouted as he fell backward into Alfred's arms. He planted several kisses and bites on Alfred's exposed neck before whispering "Take me home you sexy American beast. I want you."
"You're drunk." Alfred carried Arthur out to his car and leaned him against the rear passenger side door as he attempted to unlock the front door. A task that was becoming much more difficult because his drunk companion was trying to get his hand down the front of Alfred's pants.
"And you're bloody sexy." Arthur sat down in the passenger seat and trapped Alfred between his legs. "I want you to take me, right here. Fuck me like a bitch. Make me scream your name. I don't wanna be able to move tomorrow. Arthur tried unbuttoning Alfred's jeans, but failed miserably thanks to his uncoordinated fingers. Alfred quickly made his escape to the driver's seat for what was sure to be an eventful ride home if Arthur's wandering hands were any type of hint.
Alfred somehow managed to get them safely back to Arthur's house, even though Arthur did damn near everything in his power, short of grabbing the wheel and driving them to the side of the road, to get Alfred to pull over and fuck him senseless. Once Arthur had successfully got the door unlocked, he grabbed Alfred by the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a wet, sloppy kiss. He kicked the door closed and pulled Alfred along as he walked backward into his bedroom.
"Arthur we shouldn't do this." Alfred tried to reason but it was too late, Arthur had already dropped his pants and viciously ripped open his shirt.
"Don't say we shouldn't, love. I know you really want to." Arthur finally succeeded in undoing Alfred's pants and, pulling down his boxers, pushed him back on to the bed.
"Arthur. Stop." His efforts fell on deaf ears as Arthur's mouth descended on his cock.
Let this happen Alfred. He's offering, you may as well accept.
Arthur ran his tongue up the vein on the underside of Alfred's dick, causing him to let out a strangled moan as that devious tongue made a circuit around his tip.
"Arthur please- aah- stop." Alfred groaned as Arthur took him down to the hilt. Every fiber of his being was telling him to thrust into Arthur's mouth until he fell over the edge into bliss. Every swipe of Arthur's tongue and bob of his head inched him closer and closer to that edge until finally…
"Aaaaaah!" Alfred felt Arthur swallowing everything he had to offer and no matter how much he tried to push him away, Arthur was determined to stay put until Alfred was done. As Alfred lay trying to catch his breath, Arthur kissed and licked a trail up the abs that had been tempting him since the day he met the gorgeously, infuriatingly, beautifully bleu eyed American. He finally reached Alfred's lips, stealing away what little breath he had managed to regain, with a hard kiss. And as much as Alfred wanted to continue down the path that the forest eyed ash blond was laying out for him, he would hate himself for in the morning for taking advantage of a person while they were unable to make responsible, informed decisions. Steeling his resolve, he pushed Arthur away and refused to meet his drunkenly confused and offended eyes.
"Arthur, please don't go any further. You're not thinking clearly right now. You wouldn't act like this normally, so please stop." Alfred tried to say it as gently but clearly as humanly possible, but the way Arthur's expression twisted from confused offence to pure fury informed that he had failed.
"You stupid fucking American bag of dripping cunts! I just sucked you off and you leave me high and dry?" Arthur's voice shook a little as he berated Alfred for rejecting him and Al could tell that he had wounded him deeply. "Fuck you Alfred F. Jones! Get the fuck out of my bed! I HATE YOU!"
"Arthur, I'm sorry." Alfred reached over to touch Arthur's shoulder, but Arthur had reached over to his bedside table and threw something at Alfred that he just barely dodged so that it shattered against the wall.
"GET OUT!" Arthur screamed as he flopped down on his pillows.
Rising from the bed Alfred walked over to the door with a quiet "Good night Arthur." When Arthur did not respond Alfred closed the door with a deep sigh.
"I came back in a little while later to make sure you were still okay. You were passed out so I left you some aspirin and cleaned up the glass before tucking you in. I stayed over so I could keep an eye on you. With as much of that stuff as you drank, I'm surprised you're even up right now." Alfred finished the story while washing the dishes, listening to Arthur thump his head repeatedly against the table's surface.
"I'm so sorry you witnessed that. But I think I have some good news for you bad news for me information about the identity of you mystery friend. Thought I really wish I didn't."
"Oh? Then you've just added another question to my list. Answer that one first then I'll ask the rest." Alfred sat back down and stared at the brit with interest.
"You're somewhat aware of famous dancers, yes? Well that was Gilbert Beilschimdt, who happens to be a master of skill and a judge of the competition we're in. That baby sitter you mentioned, 'Rodders'? That happens to be Roderich Edelstein, a technique master and Gilbert's longtime boyfriend, also a judge in our competition. They are both old acquaintances."
"Really? Awesome! Now for a more pressing question. Did they really call you 'Arthur Twerkland'?" The smirk on Alfred's face turned into a shit eating grin as Arthur turned a shade of red that cardinals would envy.
"It was one time! In college! And it was a lesson in the evils of Jungle Juice and drinking with Gilbert!" Arthur's distressed voice just made the entire situation funnier.
"That's a story I've got to hear. Do you have a history of dancing on bars, or was that just a one-time thing? Dude we've got to party together more often! We'll invite everyone and you can show us why they call you Arthur Twerkland again…"
"Alfreeeeeeeeed." Was all he heard before the tea pot went airborne.
A/N 2: Well that was fun wasn't it? This chapter was brought to you by The Gospel Truth by Alan Mekhen, Shots by Lil Jon, and Anaconda by Nicki Minaj. (I want you to understand something, with the exception of The Gospel Truth, I actually despise these songs. The only reason they're here is for story movement. Please do not judge me by it.) As always credit for our musical selections goes to the "artists", writers, and producers. I own nothing here but this story and any choreography there in. Reviews are as always welcome. Now something fun for you guys to think about. There are a few side stories going on in this fic and I'm going to expand on them. So what I need from you is to tell me what you want to see first. Do you want to see the Maple Syrup Fiasco, The Origin of Arthur Twerkland, or Whatever is going on with Turkey Greece and Japan? Let me know please and thank you! See you next time!
