Summary: Alfred reveals things about himself that he'd rather have left unsaid. Ruminating on Alfred's strange behavior, Ivan consults Francis.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Ivan's heart leapt into his throat when he awoke alone in bed the next morning. The porcelain bowl, which had been filled with plums, was empty on the nightstand.
Ivan dragged a hand down his face. He was a fool; of course Jones would try to escape again, he should have known better than to leave the boy unrestrained, even after the evening before—
The bathroom door opened, and Alfred came out, draped in a silk robe and toweling his hair. He walked over to the door to the lounge without so much as a glance at Ivan.
"Alfred."
The angel paused, then inclined his head minutely in Ivan's direction. "Bastard," he greeted.
"What happened yesterday evening…" Ivan subtly put a hand to the inside of his wrist. His pulse was still racing, weak as it was.
Alfred shrugged, nonchalant. "I lost the wager." He looked disinterested.
The memories of Alfred's mouth on his body and the feel of those fingers on his skin were returning. Ivan swallowed. "Where did you learn to do things like that?"
Alfred was rapidly getting bored of the conversation. He cracked open the door. "Francis. Spent a lot of nights with him and Arthur." He didn't want to talk to Braginsky, not this early in the morning.
Or ever, really.
He turned away.
There was a platter of pears on the small dining table in the lounge. Letting the door close behind him, Alfred made his way over to his breakfast. He bit into a pear. Juice dripped down his chin. He picked up the plate and exited the suite.
Time to chat with Feliks.
Feliks was seated at a rickety table in the soldiers' barracks, looking out of place and very put out, when Alfred found him. He was putting on nail polish with his left hand.
"Heya, Feliks!"
The green-eyed angel jumped, and a streak of pink ran across his knuckles. He hissed in annoyance, then looked up.
"Oh, hey, Alfred." His smile was weak.
Alfred plopped down on the seat across from him.
"What's up, dude?"
Feliks rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to, like, paint my nails, but it's so hard. This table is super shaky."
"Here, I got you." Alfred took the other's right hand and the brush. He stuck out the tip of his tongue in concentration.
Feliks watched as Alfred carefully coated his nails.
"Hey, Al," he whispered after several minutes had passed. "I'm, like, really, really, really sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."
"Huh?" Alfred glanced up. "Oh, yeah, don't worry about it, man," he said breezily, waving the apology off with the hand not holding the brush. "I shouldn't have let myself get distracted. Especially not when fighting against Braginsky."
Feliks' lower lip wobbled. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
Alfred noticed. "None of that now, you hear me, soldier?" He commanded sharply. "We're in enemy territory. Can't show any sign of weakness here."
"Y-yes, sir," Feliks said with a watery smile.
Alfred relaxed and set down Feliks' hand. The polish was perfect. Feliks gave an appreciative whistle.
The former general screwed the top back on the small pink bottle. "What are you doing here anyway, Feliks? I thought I was the only angel in the castle."
Feliks wiped away the wetness on his cheeks and leaned forward. He'd been just dying to share all the craziness that had happened to him over the last few days.
"Oh my gods, Al, so you'll never believe it…."
Alfred had gotten progressively angrier as Feliks related the events that led to him painting his nails in the soldiers' barracks. By the end, the golden blond was barely suppressing the desire to disembowel his demonic master with a butter knife.
"That asshole," Alfred snarled. He grabbed Feliks by the shoulders. "Did Braginsky hurt you?" He demanded.
"Uh, no."
Alfred calmed down a little, though his fingers kept on drumming a steady tempo on the wood.
"What a fucked up freak," he muttered, running a hand jerkily through his hair.
Alfred turned to Feliks. "Were there any other angels from our unit at the brothel you were at?"
Feliks shook his head. "Nope. There were, like, a lot of angels, but I didn't know most of them. Well," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, "now that I think about it, I, like, caught a glimpse of Tino a few times, but I heard that he escaped and is, like, totally terrorizing a demon village in a forest somewhere now."
Alfred chuckled. "Of course he is," he said fondly. Something crossed his mind. "Oh, hey, Feliks—did that bastard give you a place to stay?"
"He, like, has not talked to me at all since I got here, but Toris said that I could sleep in the barracks."
The blue-eyed angel frowned. "Do you like sleeping in the barracks?"
"Ew, no. The guards are gross and so loud. They get totally shitfaced at night and tell raunchy stories that are, like, completely made-up. The details are all super exaggerated, it's so obvious. Like, no one has a dick that's actually five meters long, not even Ivan, even though he's, like, totally the lovechild of a horse and a Yeti."
Alfred couldn't help it; he cracked up. "Oh my gods, that's perfect. And five meters… I thought it was just Gil, but no, there are more of them."
He grinned at Feliks. "Dude, I've missed you."
"Like, same right back at you, Al."
Alfred snagged Feliks' wrist. "Let's go find Toris," he said brightly. "He's a decent guy, maybe he'll let you shack up with him."
"Okay! He's cute."
It was almost the end of his workday; dinner was in an hour. Ivan put a hand to his chest, concerned. Since the morning, his heartbeat had been more erratic than usual, although it had also been stronger. Why…?
It was probably related to the fact that he'd been thinking of little else besides the events of last night. Shoveling through piles of paperwork, examining the reports on the latest campaigns—it had been a thoroughly unproductive day. The words disappeared across his vision whenever he recalled the scent of cardamom and apricot and summer, the overwhelming warmth.
Ivan had never felt anything like it before. Would he feel anything like it again?
His heart sped up.
No use. He couldn't concentrate. Deciding to call it a day—he wasn't going to get any more work done, that was for sure—Ivan left the office for his suite.
Alfred returned to the lounge twenty minutes after Ivan had finished his dinner. The angel had War and Peace tucked under his arm, and there was a grass stain on his tunic. He ignored Ivan in favor of the bowl of sliced apples on the dining table.
"Reading in the garden? I didn't pin you as a fan of Tolstoy."
Alfred settled down on the settee, flipping through the novel as he chewed. "I'm not. His stuff about fate and determinism is bullshit, especially since I'm the hero. I just read this for the descriptions of battles."
Ivan processed that for a second. "What kind of books do you like to read, then?"
Alfred narrowed his eyes at the demon suspiciously. "Physics," he said, voice curt. "Math." He bit off another chunk of apple and crunched it loudly.
Why was Braginsky so damn talkative today? Didn't he see that Alfred wasn't interested?
Ah, but wait. If the bastard was in the mood to talk, Alfred did have something that he wanted to discuss…
The angel closed the book and set it down on a nearby side table. He arched his back. With a rustle of feathery wings, Alfred gracefully stretched up and sauntered over to Ivan, swaying his hips. He dipped at the waist and draped his arms across the demon's shoulders.
He pressed close, until Ivan's nose was against the crook of his neck.
"Master," he cooed in a voice like melted sugar. "I was talking to Feliks today."
Ivan blinked. "Who?"
Alfred willed the seductive smile to stay on his lips. Motherfucker…
"The other angel here. The one you bought at the brothel."
"Oh."
Alfred sunk into Ivan's lap and looked up with imploring liquid eyes.
"Let him go, please?" He whimpered. "Aren't I enough for you?"
He licked his lips slowly, deliberately. Ivan's lavender eyes were glued to his tongue.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Alfred batted his eyelashes a few times for good measure.
A faint blush began to creep up Ivan's cheeks. The demon opened his mouth, closed it.
Oh, for the love of—
Alfred leaned up and flicked the shell of Ivan's ear with his tongue, then yelped in surprise as Ivan none too gently shoved the angel away.
"Alfred," Ivan took a deep breath to collect himself as the former general glowered up at him from the rug. "First of all, what are you doing? Did Yao's potions have a side effect I don't know about? And secondly, no. I can't just return a prostitute I purchased from a brothel."
Alfred sprawled back on the settee with a huff. Damn, so Braginsky did have more brain cells than Alfred gave him credit for. The guards in Francis' palace had been like goldfish—dumb and gulping every time Alfred played coy.
He picked up War and Peace.
"You're a real asshole, you know that, Braginsky? You suck."
Ivan sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Alfred was so confusing. His actions made no sense whatsoever.
But last night—the sweetness of Alfred's kisses, his embraces…
"Do you have siblings?" Ivan winced at how abruptly the question came out.
Alfred stiffened.
"I have an older sister," Ivan offered. "She lives in a small village half a day's ride from here. I do not see her often, but she made me this as a gift." He motioned towards the tan scarf wrapped around his neck.
There was an awkward silence.
"No," Alfred said at length. "Closest thing I have to a brother is Arthur."
The angel straightened up. "Look, bastard, don't you have better stuff to do than bother me?"
"Nyet."
Alfred scowled at him. "You're pathetic."
"What does your middle initial stand for?"
"Fuck off."
One of the platinum blond's eyebrows twitched, but Ivan pushed on valiantly.
"What did you do for fun when you were in Heaven?"
Alfred slammed his book shut with a long suffering sigh. The asshole was obviously not going to leave him alone.
"I snuck to the human world."
"Snuck?"
"Heaven doesn't approve of angels going to the human realm."
"What did you do there?"
"…Stargaze," Alfred murmured reluctantly. Gods, he didn't want to talk about this stuff with Braginsky, of all people. He peeked at the demon; Ivan wore an intrigued expression on his face.
What in Tartarus?
"We do not have stars in the Underworld. The constant fog and mist that cloud the skies at night would obscure them, anyway. Tell me about the stars in the human world."
Alfred rested his head on the arm of the settee. He stared at the gilded scrolls on the ceiling.
"Um, I liked the constellations that would appear around the solstice," he said quietly. "Twice a year, in the summer and in the winter, I'd take a portal to a remote little town in the Midwest and find a grassy hill. Kansas. Minnesota, sometimes. A couple times, I went down south to Texas. There wasn't that much light pollution there, not if you were far enough from the cities. New Mexico was good, too.
"In late November and early December, you can see Orion the Hunter. You can tell it's Orion by the three stars in a straight row—that's Orion's Belt. And it's hard to miss Rigel and Betelgeuse, 'cause those are really bright. You can use them to find the twins, Pollux and Castor. Gemini is always nearby.
"It's also pretty easy to find Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia is there year-round. It's not too far from Polaris, the North Star. It looks like an M or W, and when it goes up, the Big Dipper goes down.
"In the summer, you've got Altair, Deneb, and Vega, which are the brightest stars in Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra—actually, they're some of the brightest stars in the night sky. They make up the Summer Triangle.
"Stargazing is really fun, because a lot of the constellations have myths and stories attached to them and stuff. If I hadn't been worried about another angel catching me, I would have gone to an observatory and looked through the telescopes, maybe watched one of the shows at a planetarium, I hear they're nice…"
Alfred's voice trailed off.
Ivan looked stunned. His eyes, as they looked at Alfred, were soft.
Alfred shivered, startled. This was getting too weird. He turned to the mantel clock above the fireplace.
It was late.
Ivan must have had the same thought, because he followed Alfred's gaze, then stood up.
"Ah, Alfred…"
Sapphire eyes dull, Alfred obediently accompanied the demon general to the bedroom.
Alfred grimaced from where he was pressed against the demon's chest. The bastard was smothering him again. One arm was wrapped tightly around him like a band of iron.
Alfred wiggled out of the hold with difficulty, pushed himself up on Ivan's chest, and propped up on an elbow to glare at the demon.
"Braginsky," he snapped.
Ivan blearily opened an eye.
"If you're angry or horny or some shit like that, you take it out on me, not on Feliks, got it?"
"...Who?"
Are you fucking serious? Alfred almost tossed his hands into the air in exasperation.
"The angel you bought from the brothel! The one I asked you to let go of today, and you said no."
"Da, da," the demon general mumbled, before he started to snore.
Alfred huffed and curled back into Ivan's side. What a complete asshole.
"Mister—uh, I mean, Alfred?"
Alfred looked up from his card game with Feliks. "What's up, Toris?"
Toris shifted nervously. "Do you think you can help me with something?"
"Sure! I owe you one for letting Feliks crash with you, so whatever you want, buddy!"
"Um, could you please deliver lunch to Master Braginsky? I'd do it myself, but one of the servants made a huge mess of the household accounts for last week and it'll take me the whole morning, maybe even the whole afternoon, to work through it."
The smile froze on Alfred's face.
"Uh, yeah, of course, Toris."
Toris sagged in relief. "Amazing. He's in his office for lunch, it's on the second floor, down the hall from his suite. I pick up the plate, too, an hour after I drop off lunch. You won't have to talk to him, he's usually focused on his work."
"Got it."
"Thank you so much, Alfred."
"Yeah, no problem, dude."
Ivan blinked in surprise when Alfred entered his office with a tray of kotlety and kompot.
"Alfred?" He asked uncertainly. "Where's Toris?"
"Busy." Alfred dropped the tray on Ivan's desk. Ivan frowned as some of the kompot splattered on the first page of a report.
"Be back in an hour. Bye."
Ivan stared as Alfred slammed the door. Alfred had lost the wager—that explained the mind-blowing sex, but not the odd way he was behaving yesterday. And now lunch service?
Worrying at his lip, Ivan reached for the phone.
"General Braginsky! Are you well? Has the issue with dear Alfred been resolved?"
Ivan was suddenly very aware of the thrumming in his veins. Alfred, clenching tight around him, licking sinful patterns into his skin, enveloping him in molten honey. "Yes, my king," he choked out. "Yes, Alfred's doing well."
"Oh, good!" The monarch sounded relieved. There was a brief pause. "Ah, General…. Are you all right?" Ivan detected a note of concern in his voice.
Not trusting himself to speak, the demon remained silent.
"Ivan?" Francis ventured cautiously. When there was still no response on the other side of the line, the king tapped his Montblanc against the edge of his writing desk, an old nervous habit.
Across from him, Arthur glanced up from his paperwork. "Something wrong?"
Francis held up a finger to request silence as he heard a murmured answer in the receiver.
"Mon cher, I am dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid that I didn't catch that. Could you please repeat what you said?"
Francis heard a throat clearing. "Erm, yes, my king. I am fine. I merely called to inquire about something in regards to Alfred. He has been acting, um, strangely. I am not quite sure what to make of his unusual behavior."
Francis' brow creased. "Unusual in what way?"
"He has been rather… enthusiastic, as of late."
Oh.
Fighting down a chuckle—he doubted that Ivan would take kindly to it—Francis leaned back in his chair. "Enthusiastic, hm?" He purred. "Well, do not be concerned, Ivan. In fact, please do lie back and enjoy the ride. I assure you that you are incapable hands—darling Alfred was the finest pupil I've ever had the pleasure of training in the art of l'amour. He took to it like a natural. His enthusiasm, of course, played no small part in his success.
"Say," Francis said, curious. "Has he shown you that thing he can do with his tongue yet?" He ducked the pen that Arthur threw at him. His consort was so defensive over the younger angel sometimes, it was truly endearing. Never mind that Arthur had been in the room, himself, for much of Alfred's pleasure training.
There was a loud clatter on the other end, as if the phone had been dropped on hardwood.
"Ivan?"
"Er, um, I'm sorry, my king, but I am not sure that I know of what you are referring to," Ivan said prudishly. Then, tone hushed—"Alfred can do a lot of things." He sounded a bit like he was in awe.
Francis couldn't resist the urge any longer; he chuckled. "Yes, yes, the boy is talented and in possession of many charms. If I may—how did you get Alfred to open up? He was incredibly shy when he first entered my palace."
"We had a wager, and he lost."
"Ah, a wager… lovely." Francis' voice sounded strained to his ears, but maybe Ivan wouldn't notice. Of course Alfred would only behave affectionately after he was forced into it by his own obstinacy.
Still…
I win the bet, Francis mouthed to Arthur. His consort made a rude gesture and left the room.
"Well, congratulations, Ivan!" Francis injected fake cheer into his speech. "I will send along a gift to celebrate the occasion." Before Ivan could reply, Francis hung up the phone.
Francis thanked the gods that Arthur couldn't see him as he ran a hand through his perfectly-styled hair, sending strands falling out of place. Gods know his consort looked worse in the mornings before his tea, but Francis had a reputation and an image to uphold.
Yes, Francis reflected, Arthur would at last don the outfit of a pirate captain as they reenacted lurid sexual scenes from history—the emerald-eyed angel hadn't thought that Alfred would willingly lie with Ivan—but it was a hollow victory.
When Alfred had first entered the palace, the boy had expected nothing but brutality and pain. Who could have faulted him? The sweetheart knew only of what he had seen on the battlefield. Yet even after his training, Alfred remained defiantly resistant to the pleasures of love.
Arthur had mentioned, once, that it had been due to the boy's upbringing. All of the Light generals had been separated from their families at an early age to be educated in their respective specialties, and, well, Alfred had been culled to be cultivated in defense. It was wholly possible—lacking the experience and maturity to distinguish between his public role and his personal life, between war and love—the former general had taken his lessons on the battleground a little too close to heart.
In the months that he had Alfred in his care, the king had tried his hardest to teach the boy that love did not necessitate the same cruelties as war.
On some level, Francis knew, he had failed: Alfred had taken entirely the wrong lessons from his training. He used the delightful techniques that Francis had shown him as a means to an end. He wielded his sexuality as a weapon, treated his body as a mere tool.
Francis had to only look to what Alfred had done to his unsuspecting guards for proof. The way that Alfred had played them like so many well-tuned fiddles would have been considered barbaric, had Alfred not been so guileless and utterly devoid of malice in his manipulations. The naïve, adorable darling had wanted things—more than things, he had wanted to feel in control, to feel like he had a little power—and he had gotten them in the only way that he knew how.
Francis sighed. Alfred was so unwilling to accept any form of love, so oblivious to his own need to be cherished, yet so, so sweet—
It was a shame, truly, that Alfred had to be forced into whatever one-sided game he was playing with his new master. Ivan probably hadn't even realized…
Well, Francis would help the poor, misguided dear however he could. Francis set down his fountain pen and departed for the maids' quarters.
Emma and Lucille would surely be able to conjure up an infinitely self-filling bottle of warming oil, especially after they heard whom it was for.