Alfred sucks the piercing into his mouth, toying with Arthur's earlobe teasingly. Arthur hisses, trying to hurry this little quickie along because not only did Peter arrive home from boarding school soon, they'd then have to leave for the airport.
Alfred's got him pinned against the wall, though, already worked himself up while Arthur was out making tea in the kitchen. They really didn't have time for this. Alfred bit down on his earlobe teasingly, something Arthur distinctly notes he picked up from Arthur himself, but it works damnably well on him. Arthur claws at Alfred's hair, tilting his neck open for him as he mouths a wet track down the vein of Alfred's throat, smelling rightly delicious with him fresh out of the shower, skin still hot and moist. It's not that he can't say no, or anything, but there are certain times when Alfred gives him a specific look, one he still can't really place words to, that makes Arthur not want to say no, regardless of how much he really should. He hears Alfred's breathy, knowing chuckle as Arthur's teeth knick the juncture of his shoulder. Alfred's hands slide between Arthur and the wall to squeeze the firm globes of his ass. Arthur bites him for real. Alfred just laughs.
The distraction is enough, enough for Arthur to drop to his knees, bracing the backs of Alfred's muscular thighs beneath the towel tied round his waist. Alfred blinks at the sudden absence of Arthur in his hands, but he doesn't have time to recover as Arthur yanks his towel away, tossing it somewhere less bothersome. Alfred's stricken to the spot, and Arthur knows he's won when he looks up devilishly at his boyfriend from the floor, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.
Even from here, Arthur can see Alfred swallow.
Arthur grabs Alfred's cock firmly, feeling him tense as he knows what's to come next, but Arthur can't help but tease him, if only for a moment. Alfred's fingers brush though Arthur's hair and the need on Alfred's face is nothing short of wanton.
Yes, he might've awoken Alfred's sexual appetite a bit more than anticipated over the last couple of years. It had really only gotten worse when Alfred had moved in halfway through his first year in college. Peter had stated he was going to stay at the boarding school, and honestly Arthur hadn't minded. Not when it meant that Alfred could move in.
And move in he did, with his enticing legs and firm ass and rippling abs that had only really tightened when he lost those last dregs of baby fat. In his transition from home to college, Alfred had lost his adorable boyishness and traded up for a sculpted and handsome physique. Not that Arthur was complaining.
It's with practiced ease that he swallows Alfred, although it does cross his mind that they should likely not be doing this in the kitchen. The thought is quickly discarded.
He knows Alfred's body and needs more intimately than Alfred probably does himself, and he has the boy bucking his hips in a matter of minutes, sweating and negating that freshness from his previous shower on a silly whim that he now has no time to correct. Though Arthur enjoys the spoteniaty, he is somewhat distracted by the fact that they really don't have time for this. But he can't go back now. Alfred will get what he wants and Arthur will just have to suffer until they have more time.
Alfred owes him big for this.
Alfred loses his composure quickly, as Arthur knew he would. There are a few things that get Alfred off faster than plowing Arthur till he can't walk the next day, and this happens to be one of them. He plies Alfred with his teeth, coaxing with his tongue as Alfred fucks his mouth. Alfred's fingers grope Arthur's hair as he cries out, and Arthur goes out of his way to give Alfred's ass a firm squeeze, nails and all.
"A-Arthur-" Alfred preens, but Arthur already knows and lets out a low, affirming hum around his cock. Alfred must feel it vibrate through him because his muscles clench and his nails scrape Arthur's scalp.
It's with a final, careful graze of his teeth that Alfred's hips jerk forward, so much that Athur almost has a hard time not gagging. His mouth fills with a hot, salty liquid, Alfred mumbling praises Arthur almost doesn't catch. He slips off of Alfred as the boy above him struggles to regain his breath. They had done this so many times before, and yet Arthur still gets hard at the flushed, helpless, utterly satisfied look Alfred gives him after he gets off. Swallowing, Arthur wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and rises to his feet. Alfred slumps his back to the wall, hands still shaking when Arthur grabs the both of them and leans into his lover sweetly. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of Alfred's mouth.
"Do you want me to…" Alfred asks, the rest of the question lost. But Arthur knows what he's trying to say.
"No, love." He nips at Alfred's lip gently with his teeth. "We haven't the time. Peter will be here soon." Though Arthur will get over the strain in his pants with time, it is still somewhat cumbersome. Alfred puffs out a pouty breath, as if he'd seemingly forgotten that Peter was coming over around nine. The clock already read 8:45. "I've got to go brush my teeth, I suggest you get dressed." He slips out of Alfred's grasp, casting a sinful glance over his shoulder. "You'll have all day to think about how to repay me." Alfred's laugh is breathless as Arthur drifts over to their bathroom which is still humid from Alfred's shower.
Peter presses his face into the glass of their car window excitedly, looking eagerly among the sea of pedestrians for a familiar face.
"Peter," Arthur chides, "skin off the windows."
"Sorry Arthur!" Peter calls and frantically wipes the fog from the backseat window with his coat sleeve. Arthur sighs. He'll have to clean it later. Arthur, too, scans the crowd. There's an astonishing amount of people, but then again the holidays are the most crowded travel times. The herd pours out of the airport as Alfred manages to force his way toward the sidewalk, much to the chagrin of the car behind them, who honks long and impatiently. Alfred just snickers at the person he cut off, and the trio in the car ignore the irate driver behind them as that familiar mop of hair comes out of the doors, looking travel worn and irritated.
"Found him," Arthur says softly, brushing Alfred's hand on the gearshift. Alfred slides it into park, flicking his hazards on as Arthur ducks out of the passenger's seat.
"Oi!" He calls, cupping his mouth so as to be heard over the rancor of the crowd. Alistor's tired face scans the chaos before him until finally his eyes snap to Arthur's small figure.
Alistor starts to force his way through the crowd and Arthur smiles -
"What's the big idea!" A voice screams relatively close to Arthur's ear and he jumps, whirling around to face who must be the man in the car behind them.
"Excuse me," Arthur asks innocently. After all, he wasn't the one driving. If he really wanted to pick a fight with someone, it should've definitely been Alfred, not him. The man before him is not much taller than Arthur, but he is most certainly bigger in every respect, although Arthur doesn't really feel intimidated much by that.
"You bozos almost hit my fucking car! I got kids in there you know!" The man's hollering essentially gets lost in the crowd of people, and no one really questions the man's yelling amid the chaos. Arthur just blinks and glances behind the man to see two young children strapped into car seats. The smart remark leaves his mouth before he even really thinks about it.
"If you were so concerned, perhaps you should have waited your turn." This seems to anger the man even more, but Arthur tunes out his obscenities in favor of glancing toward the wide-eyed Peter in the backseat of their own car who had once again pressed his face to the glass. Noticing that Arthur isn't really paying attention, the man fists the collar of Arthur's leather jacket and yanks him forward. Arthur's knocked in the eye and his head snaps back. Suddenly, all the instincts from fighting his brothers kick in and without thinking Arthur lobs a fist at the taller man. From his height disadvantage he calculates the best place to punch, and his knuckles make contact dead on the man's throat. The assailant wheezes out a cough, hand momentarily loosening on Arthur's collar. Arthur's other fist hooks left which catches the man's chin when he attempts to dodge. Still coughing, the man's hand tightens on Arthur's collar as he aims another punch toward Arthur's face. He manages to wriggle away enough so it lands more toward his shoulder, which still smarts, but at least his head is clear. Faintly, in the drone of the crowd, he hears a 'holy shit,' and a loud slam, but his arms are already flying. His palm slams into the man's face, smashing his nose with a satisfying crunch Arthur doesn't think too much about, and he yanks at the man's wrist that's grabbing him.
Strong arms wrap around his waist and heave. Arthur's choking at the loss of air in his diaphragm, but he's kicking and screaming in protest soon after. He's yanked once again and the man's grip on his collar is finally wrenched free.
"Bloody twat," he screeches, trying to wriggle his hips free of the arm's at his waist. "You want to start a fucking fight!" Just before he's out of reach, he lurches forward, managing to clip the man's cheekbone this time, and whoever's at his waist nearly drops him. Arthur continues his struggle unperturbed but it is futile as the arms grapple for a hold and finally find purchase once more.
"Fucking assholes-!" The man starts to lunge, but suddenly Alistair is behind him, restraining his shoulders.
"The bloody hell -!" Arthur's trail of obscenities is cut short as he's hauled sideways, facing the car, once again catching a glimpse of Peter whose eyes are blown and his gaping mouth is covered by mittened hands.
"Arthur, Arthur!" That's Alfred's voice, and oh, of course it is, who else would haul his ass out of a brawl like that? "Arthur calm down!" Alfred's shout is right in his ear. Arthur heaves an angry breath and throws his arms down with a seething huff.
Alistair grapples with the angry father meanwhile, and Alfred does not release his waist even when he stops struggling.
"Arthur, what the hell," Alfred intones.
"That bloody git popped me in the eye-!" He whirls as he says it, but all the fight leaves him when he sees Alfred's utterly amused expression. Arthur squints knowingly at Alfred, all the annoyance in the world oozing from his gaze. Alfred looks close to laughing, though he was holding it in quite well. Of course he's enjoying this.
"Hold it!" The security, finally making it out of the crowd, races to the scene.
"That fucking kid throat punched me!" The man hurls a finger in Arthur's direction who throws his arms up with a growl, more than ready to finish their fight.
"You socked me in the bloody eye!" Arthur insists indignantly, but Alfred squeezes his hips in warning. The security guard turns to Arthur, noticing his rather young looking face, and suddenly the man's eyes seem to change.
"I saw what happened." The guard grumbles. "What're you going around hitting minors for?!" The man, definitely in his 40's or more, stills, as if the thought that Arthur might be a minor hadn't crossed his mind. While normally this insinuation would irritate him, Arthur does not move to correct the officer. At a ripe age of 24, he's willing to take the minor card to get out of a sticky situation.
"Don't worry, officer," Alistair pipes up, releasing the indignant man now that he's not actively gunning for Arthur. "We would really like to not press charges. The damage is done, eh?" The man looks at Alistair's tobacco weathered face and rolls his eyes, accepting that he is the eldest among Arthur's party. "We're just trying to get home for the holidays," Alistair continues, collecting his discarded luggage from the sidewalk. The officer seems to deliberate this, glancing back to Arthur once more.
"Alright." He concedes, deciding to let it slide in the spirit of Christmas, as Arthur had noticed is common here. "If there's no legal action being taken here, then there's nothing I can do except ask you to leave airport property." Alistair raises his hands in a compliant surrender.
"Without a problem," he assures the man, skating his bag to stand by Alfred's car. Alfred loosens his grip on Arthur in favor of popping the trunk open.
"I suggest you go wait in your car. I will be escorting you off the premises when your passengers arrive," the officer directs at the angry man who now appears to be drenched in a nervous sweat. He casts a steely gaze to Arthur once more, who scowls in return, before throwing himself back into the warm passenger's seat of the car. Alfred and Alistor slide in shortly afterwards, and Peter dares not speak a word less he gains Arthur's ire.
"Bloody hell, Art. I can't even get off the plane in peace." Alistair gripes, combing stressed fingers through his messy hair.
"I didn't start it," he begins, perturbed that somehow this is all his fault. Alfred starts the car and suddenly bursts forth with all that subdued laughter he'd been hiding as soon as his door is shut. Arthur sends a steely glare at his boyfriend, utterly irritated that somehow Alfred seems to find his suffering amusing. "Alfred," he scoffs, angrily crossing his arms over his seatbelt. The object of his anger says nothing as he checks his shoulder to pull out from their parked spot. It doesn't take long to pull out of the airport arrivals and to head toward the highway.
"And I thought I was the jailbait between us," Alfred says between his laughter, which causes Alistair to join in. Arthur scoffs, incredulously, and makes sure they're not in view of the security officer before slapping Alfred's shoulder. He just shrugs it off thoughtlessly.
"Why is Arthur jailbait," Peter pipes up, and this time everyone laughs, even Arthur.
Arthur sinks into the couch and hangs his head back, propping his feet up on their coffee table with a suffering sigh.
Alfred settles in next to him, patting his leg affectionately, as Alistair sinks into their loveseat next to Peter. An ice pack is sat rather carelessly over his abused eye, but Arthur makes no protest other than an irritated sigh. Alfred snickers at him once again but says nothing. He just places an affectionate hand on Arthur's thigh.
"Nice place, Art." Alistair crosses an ankle over his knee.
"Thanks." He sits up to look over Alistair, but does keep in mind to hold the ice pack in place. After a quick pause, he figures the pleasantries are in order. "How was the flight?" Alistair just shrugs.
"Long," he supplies, fingers picking at his loosely buttoned shirt. Arthur picks up on it immediately and gestures toward their balcony.
"We've a balcony, knock yourself out." Alistair smiles and sighs in utter relief.
"Thank fuck. I've been waiting twelve hours." Alistair picks himself up and fishes for the cigarettes in his pockets.
"I'll grab us some drinks," Arthur declares.
"I'll help," Alfred volunteers, trailing him like the puppy he is into the kitchen.
"Thanks," is Alistair's faint call as he shuts the balcony door. Arthur sighs and sets the ice pack down on the counter. He shakes his head, trying to clear his irritation from their trip to the airport. He hears Alfred fall in step behind him.
"Quite an eventful morning," Arthur says finally. Alfred snorts.
"An understatement," he agrees.
"I need some gin," he grouses and stands on his toes to reach the cabinet above the stove. Alfred's hand falls at his hip as he reaches above Arthur's height to grab the bottles for him. He presses a kiss to Arthur's hair, and honestly as patronizing as it felt, Arthur finds he can't be mad at Alfred. Arthur says nothing, though, and takes the bottle to mechanically start making himself a drink. Alfred just watches him in rapt silence for the majority of the process.
"Would you like one?" Arthur raises his uninjured brow. Alfred smiles sweetly.
"Sure," he agrees, leaning back against the counter. Faintly, from the living room, Arthur can hear Peter's handheld system music. "I'm sorry you took a punch for me." Alfred says with a click of his tongue. His arms are crossed when Arthur glances over, and his hips cocked in such a way that has Arthur staring. He even lounged prettily. Boy, how unfair that is when they have to entertain guests for the remainder of the evening. Arthur thinks the prospect of getting repaid for this morning will likely have to be penciled in tomorrow.
Hopefully. Alfred seems to catch Athur's lustful gaze as he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. Any remaining ire leaves his bones as he pours the liquor. Alfred is such an idiot, but judging by the fact that there is no comment on his horniness, he assumes Alfred prefers to speak of the airport brawl instead.
"It's alright." Arthur heaves a sigh. "Though I'm not sure why he went after me instead." It had nothing to do with his smart mouth, or anything. Obviously He grabs their scotch from the counter and begins Alistair's drink.
"Who knows," Alfred muses. "I've never seen you really fight someone before." He mentions. Arthur just shrugs.
"It's not as if I try to go around picking fights, you know." Arthur's tone is almost scolding but as usual, Alfred is just filled with his charming mirth. Seeing Alfred's oddly impressed expression makes him drop his annoyed attitude and he adds, "though I did break his nose."
"You did?!" Alfred snickers. "Man, I missed that part."
"Mm," Arthur hums, handing Alfred his drink. "It was right before you grabbed me."
"Huh," he says. Alfred takes a long sip of his gin, wrinkling his nose at it immediately.. "But you weren't half bad. Had a hard time pulling you off the guy." Arthur snorts, taking a sip from his drink, back to his composed, prim self in the blink of an eye.
"Yes, well. Perhaps you're losing your touch." Alfred's booming laugh has Arthur grinning like an idiot right alongside the fool, and not at all resisting when Alfred slots Arthur into an affectionate hug. Alfred rests his chin on Arthur's crown and sighs contentedly; Arthur can't help but relax into it. As if in afterthought, Arthur plucks Alfred's drink from his hand, pouring it into his own glass.
"Hey," Alfred whines. "That was mine."
"And now it's mine," is Arthur's quipped reply. "You didn't like it anyway. I'll make you something better. Sweeter?" Alfred rocks their figures gently, as if trying to decide. Arthur doesn't move. Actually, he quite likes being held this way, with Alfred's strong chest at his back and his arms folded around his waist.
"Yeah, that'd probably be better," Alfred agrees. Arthur smiles, setting his overfilled glass on the counter to worm out of Alfred's grasp.
"I thought so." He collects their opened bottle of rum from the fridge, and gets to work. Whilst he's pouring the liquor, Alfred slinks a hand under his chin, pulling his face to look his way. He blinks, and does his best not to wince when Alfred runs a tender thumb across his bruised cheek. Alfred smiles sweetly at him, so sweet it's sickening. But it has Arthur weak in the knees, too. He wonders if Alfred has picked up on that leverage or not, but he isn't about to point it out either.
"Next time, do me a favor," Alfred whispers, leaning in close, but not close enough to actually kiss.
"What is it," Arthur replies in earnest, leaning forward on his toes to inch ever closer. He can feel Alfred's breath on his skin.
"Next time, wait 'till I am out of the car to start a fight." Arthur knows it's a joke, but somewhere in Alfred's tenderness is a hint of earnest. Arthur smiles despite himself, pressing his lips to Alfred's slowly. He licks Alfred's taste from his lips, finding that the gin still lingers there, just faintly.
"I'll do my best," he agrees.
"Good." Alfred seems satisfied. "Wouldn't want anyone messing up your face." Arthur chuckles, turning back to Alfred's cocktail.
"It will heal," Arthur replies simply. He presses the drink into Alfred's hands and collects Alistair's from the counter. Alfred follows him dutifully out of the kitchen. Alistair has returned from his smoke break, rubbing cold fingers together as he watches whatever game Peter is playing with mild interest. His brother takes the drink from him with a hum of thanks, sipping on it quietly as Alfred and Arthur resume their spots.
"So," Arthur starts, "how is the family?" He might as well get the bad stuff out of the way first. Alistair takes a long pause at that, before he ultimately shrugs.
"Same shit, different day," he muses. "James moved out though."
"Ah," Arthur says. "School?"
"Yes but Rebecca doesn't seem as inclined. She says she wants to study abroad." Arthur's thoughts drift to Rebecca, to her wild nature. While she had never been that close with Arthur, she had spoken on his behalf and covered for him a handful of times. She's not all that bad. Just a mess.
"She should," is all he says to that.
"How is your brother?" Alistair's eyes shift to Alfred, who seemed rather preoccupied with his drink.
"Oh, he's great. He's off abroad as well, in Canada."
"Is he coming back for the holidays," Alistair asks.
"Not this time. He's got an internship this semester." Alfred's explanation draws long, and Arthur falls silent at his side. Without missing a beat in the conversation, Alfred curls an arm around Arthur, and he's fit perfectly to his lover's side, head on his shoulder as he chatters on about Matthew.
The family empties more than a few glasses of drinks through the night, ordering in before all the restaurants close. Peter is more than happy to monopolize Alistair's affections as they chat and eat takeout, but the eldest Kirkland doesn't really seem to mind. He just rubs the boy's shoulder every now and again, accepting that Peter has stuck to him like glue. Arthur eventually grows drowsy from all the alcohol, especially after consuming what was essentially a double before they'd even had dinner. Before he knows it, he's fighting to keep his eyes open amid all the talking that he hadn't really been participating in for the past takeout boxes are piled high on the coffee table, and the warm light of their Christmas tree flickers in the corner of the room, proving far more mesmerising than the conversation. Arthur's lazy eyes drag to Alfred, who does not take notice of his newfound attention.
Arthur takes a long moment to admire him. Admire his lover of two years, the boy who'd followed him across the ocean and back. He's just as beautiful as the day Arthur first laid eyes on him: all sunshine and warmth and summer. He doesn't know why on earth he deserves someone as doting and genuine as Alfred, but being together has changed his life forever and he's so grateful for it. However unorthodox the day had been, he finds that cozied up in Alfred's arms is what he had ultimately wanted all along, anyway, even if it was on the couch with his brothers rather than in their bed. Either way, he's content. He couldn't really ask for a better Christmas Eve, even if he would have a dreadful black eye in the morning.
He finally begins to lull off to sleep there at Alfred's side, listening to the drone of his voice as he chats Alistair's ear off. He's pretty sure he's been maneuvered into Alfred's lap at some point, but he isn't really sure before he dozes off, fast asleep.
So this story has been a long time coming. I figured I owed it to my younger self to finally get it done and what better time to do that than Quarantine 2020. I've restructured some chapters, added a few things in, and finished off the last few pieces that it needed to be considered done, but I kept the earlier chapters largely the same. Part of me considered starting it from scratch so it was cohesive and honestly just better, but I felt it would lose some of its charm that way. I think it is nice to be able to read the older chapters and see where I was as a person back then, so that is why they have remained the same. Thank you to everyone who has bothered to keep up with this thing so many years later. This was really my first foray into writing, so it holds a special place in my heart - flaws and all.