Tongue poking out in concentration, Alfred meticulously filled in the bold lines at the corner of his eye. Emma always said that cat eyes looked better on him, but Ivan had already waited so patiently, and Alfred really didn't want to delay them any longer. A simple winged eyeliner would have to do.
He drew the final stroke and, examining his reflection, put aside the brush with a satisfied nod. Silver eyeshadow, a touch of mascara, perfect liner… Alfred's usual for his dates with Ivan. The demon seemed to like it well enough. There was just one last thing.
The angel unscrewed the small jar of balm and swiped a dab across his lips so that they were glossy and soft. There! Alfred flashed a bright grin at the mirror. He looked good.
"Ivan!"
"Have you finished applying your cosmetics, lapochka?" Moving from where he had been seated on the bed, Ivan wrapped his arms around his consort's shoulders.
"Mhm," Alfred confirmed. He turned his bright smile to the Dark general. "Are you ready for the awesomest day of your life?"
"Oh, look at that one!" Alfred excitedly gestured to a diorama featuring a peregrine falcon. "Aren't its wings pretty?"
"Da, they are very nice, but not as nice as yours." They were wandering through the American Museum of Natural History's bird exhibitions—had been there for three hours as Alfred oohed and aahed over the different exotic birds—and Ivan knew what to say by now. When he hadn't complimented Alfred's wings the first time Alfred had asked the question, the angel had pouted for a solid hour.
Alfred preened. "I know! My wings are the best." Alfred was very proud of his wings. Most angels had plain white wings, but all of the generals had been Blessed when they first assumed their duties. Beyond the amplification of their magical powers, they were granted a lovely hue to their feathers. Arthur's wings were edged with silver, and the Vargases had beautiful bronze accents. Only he and Mattie had golden feathers, and although vanity was discouraged in Heaven, Alfred always felt that he was permitted to be a little vain when it came to his wings.
Ivan was very nice for appreciating them. Well, maybe not nice. Maybe Ivan just had functioning eyes. Alfred's wings deserved all the admiration in the world. Did Ivan even know how ridiculously lucky he was to be able to touch them every day? Ivan should lavish them with more praise, maybe build a tasteful altar to worship them.
The former Light general's hackles rose when the next display came into view. "Why do they get an exhibit?" He hissed at the diorama of stuffed pigeons.
"Perhaps because we are in the Hall of New York City Birds? And pigeons are birds in New York City?"
"They're barely birds," Alfred sniffed. "Flying rats, more like." He grabbed Ivan's hand. "I'm getting bored. Let's go look at whales! There's supposed to be a 94-foot-long model hanging from the ceiling somewhere. I want to see it! Did you know some whales can live for more than 200 years? Almost as old as me! And we haven't even gone to the space center yet. I want to go to the Hayden Sphere, and the Scaling Walk, and the Cosmic Pathway… You can walk along the whole 13-billion-year history of the universe! That's nearly as old as you are, ha ha."
Ignoring Ivan's sputter of indignation, Alfred dragged the demon out of the exhibition hall.
"Psst, Ivan, cover me." Alfred's eyes darted back and forth as he reached for the pocket of his hoodie.
Ivan frowned. "What?" After a very pleasant late lunch at a Russian restaurant that Alfred had found, the angel had taken him to the movie theater for popcorn and action-heavy trash with an excessive number of explosions. They had been in the middle of a leisurely stroll through Central Park when Alfred suddenly stopped short.
"Cover me, Braginsky." Alfred pulled out a poppy seed roll left over from lunch.
"I—" Ivan heaved a sigh. "Is this about the pigeons again, Fredka?"
"They're ruthless. The worst mistake you can make in warfare is to underestimate your opponent." Wiggling under Ivan's arm, Alfred started to tear the roll into small pieces. "That's probably you sucked so much during the war."
"I am going to move my arm and leave you here."
"No!" Alfred clutched at the demon's coat, other hand holding a fistful of bread. "Don't you dare. Oh, hey!" Alfred perked up. "That's Quackers. He knows me."
Ivan squinted at the plump mallard as it awkwardly hopped out of the pond and waddled towards them. "…How long have you feeding Quackers, lapochka?"
"Long enough for us to be buddies!" Alfred tossed some of the bread at the duck, who swiftly gobbled it up. A few pigeons landed, and the angel waved his arms at them. "Shoo, shoo. This isn't for you."
"Look at how happy they are, Ivan," Alfred hummed as a few more mallards swam ashore to join in the feeding after the pigeons left. "There's Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and that one," he pointed to the fattest duck Ivan had ever seen, "is Scrooge."
"Why—" Ivan cut himself off as Scrooge delivered a vicious bite to one of the ducks and snapped at another that was about to go for a chunk of bread. "…Huh."
"Yeah." Alfred tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I feel like I should stop him, but it's like a train wreck I can't look away from. Oh, well." The golden blond shrugged. "I'm just here to provide the nosh. I figure if it gets too bad, the ducks could all gang up on him. Self-governance, or something like that. Anyway, I got us tickets to a great concert! It starts in an hour. We'll make it on time if we head over now. Let's go!"
The pain in Ivan's temples throbbed with the beat. Next to him, a very drunk girl doubled over and regurgitated the contents of her stomach.
Ivan wound his scarf more snugly around his neck and buried his nose in the fabric. Alfred had taken them to an EDM concert, and the combination of strobe lighting, loud music, and sweaty, gyrating bodies was really starting to get to Ivan.
A young man—high, judging by his dilated pupils—bumped into him. "Hey," he slurred. "Aren't you, like, hot in that? You know, you look kinda hot—"
"Nyet." The demon shoved him aside none too gently. Where was Alfred? Ivan was not staying a second longer in this cesspool.
"Alfred," he called over the heads of the concertgoers. His voice was drowned out as the bass dropped and a collective cheer vibrated the walls of the room.
Ivan carefully navigated the sticky dance floor. He caught a flash of gold in the harsh light, and his bad mood soured further. Hair drenched and shirt plastered against his body, Alfred was dancing without a care in the world in the middle of the throng.
Gods, was everyone trying to grind against Alfred? A man dressed in black was pressed closely against Alfred's back, and were someone's hands running down his consort's hips?
Scowling, Ivan pushed his way through the packed crowd. All day, Ivan had been hyperaware of the attention that Alfred received, the attention that Alfred was completely and utterly oblivious to, from the bashful flirting of cashiers to the way that other pedestrians ogled the angel as he sauntered down the sidewalk. Alfred was too magnetic for his own good. With his pretty features and bright personality and natural charisma, Alfred effortlessly and unintentionally attracted interest, wherever he was.
The discomfort of knowing Alfred was the subject of such avid observation had been tolerable, out in broad daylight, in the city—no one would dare to openly molest Alfred in public—but this was crossing the line. The people here had no sense of personal boundaries at all.
"Fredka, I would like to leave." Ivan snatched one of the angel's wrists and pulled him away before the man behind him could slide a hand up Alfred's shirt."Right now."
"Awesome!" Alfred yelled over the music. "I knew you'd like to rave!" He tugged Ivan into the tight circle.
"Hey, Ivan, sorry I'm late, this kid I'm tutoring started crying because he didn't get Newton's third law of motion and I had to go get him some ice cream. Then I had to get some ice cream for myself, you know how it is—" Stepping out of the portal, Alfred paused as he caught sight of the Dark general slumped across the settee in the other room. The angel flung his messenger bag on the bed and exited the bedroom in a few long strides.
"Vanya, baby, what's wrong?" Alfred perched on the arm of the settee and gently stroked Ivan's hair. "Do you have a headache again?" As it turned out, Alfred had made an oopsie the other night, when they had their date. Ivan had wanted to leave, not rave. The demon had been suffering intermittently from debilitating headaches since.
Alfred felt terrible for it, especially in moments like these, when Ivan was unresponsive and limp. The headache must be really bad today, for Ivan to not even acknowledge Alfred. Ivan usually gave him a kiss, at the very least. It probably didn't help that Alfred wasn't in the suite when Ivan got back from work.
Carefully nudging the platinum blond up, Alfred squeezed into a corner of the settee and set Ivan's head in his lap. "It's okay, baby," Alfred murmured. "I'm here now."
He must have been rubbing small circles at the base of the glossy horns for hours—outside, crimson was painting the skies—before Ivan finally stirred.
"…Lapochka?" Ivan's voice was hoarse.
"You good, big guy?"
"Da." Ivan slowly maneuvered himself up from Alfred's lap and leaned heavily against the back of the settee. He took a deep inhale. "Much better. Thank you, Fedya."
"Mhm." Alfred nibbled at his lip. "Vanya, is something wrong?" Alfred had been getting worried. Ivan's headaches rarely lasted so long, and were typically much milder.
"Nyet, nothing is wrong." The demon took off his coat and draped it across the arm of the settee.
Alfred narrowed his eyes. There was something not right about Ivan's body language. Ivan's shoulders were way too tense for everything to be fine, and his hands were faintly shaking with a persistent tremor.
"Braginsky," the former Light general said sharply. "I'm not stupid. Something's clearly the matter. Come on, baby," Alfred's tone turned sweet, cajoling. "Tell me what's bothering you. Don't you trust me?"
Ivan seemed reluctant to meet his gaze. "I don't know, dorogoy…"
"Vanya…" Alfred made his tried-and-true puppy face, and threw in a sniffle for good measure.
Ivan glanced at Alfred. It was his downfall. Ivan swore that those eyes held unholy power.
Alfred inwardly gave himself a high five as he saw Ivan crumble like stale bread in pond water. The joy was short-lived, however—dashed almost instantly by the next words that came out of Ivan's mouth.
"We have located the last angel stronghold."
Ivan fidgeted with the ends of the scarf as Alfred froze, eyes wide. He had been afraid that Alfred would take it poorly. The angel was once the Light side's most powerful general, after all. The end of the war—and Heaven's defeat—would no doubt evoke strong feelings in his consort, feelings that were further complicated by the impending victory of the army he had been trained to view as the enemy.
Alfred didn't say anything, so Ivan continued to speak. "We are planning an attack in two days. The king has put me in charge. We are to kill the general who guards the city on sight. A General Williams, I believe."
Alfred jerked up, so abruptly and violently that Ivan recoiled. "You can't!" The angel's voice was frantic. "Ivan, you can't kill him!" He looked about to burst into tears.
Ivan's brow furrowed in confusion. It was common knowledge that Alfred and Arthur had been close, but Alfred had never reacted with such intense emotion when it came to the other angel. And hadn't Alfred mentioned that Kirkland was like his brother? Why was Alfred so concerned about the well-being of this General Williams?
"Why? Is he a close friend?" Another possibility struck Ivan, and the demon stiffened. "…A former lover?" The Dark general all but snarled, sparks of jealousy igniting in the pit of his stomach.
"Gods, no. Ew." Alfred shuddered in revulsion at the thought. "Mattie's my twin brother. He's technically older."
A wave of relief swept through Ivan. Then he processed the rest of Alfred's words.
"Twin brother?" Ivan's jaw went slack in shock. "You have a twin brother? You've never talked about him. In fact," Ivan glared at the angel, "as I recall, you told me that you had no siblings."
"Well, of course I wouldn't tell you about him!" Alfred huffed. "I didn't want you to go after Mattie! Everyone always forgets about him, so I was hoping that he'd be safe. You won't hurt him, will you?" When Ivan didn't reply—he was still staring at Alfred, an unreadable expression on his face—Alfred crawled into Ivan's lap. "Master, please don't hurt him," the angel whimpered, trembling.
Ivan buried his fingers in Alfred's downy feathers and petted them to calm the golden blond. "I want to avoid as much bloodshed as possible, Fredka."
Alfred turned to him with huge, hopeful eyes. "Really, Vanya?"
"Da." Ivan hesitated. "But war is no place for the idealistic, as I am sure you know. Unless you can think of a way for the stronghold to surrender without the use of violence…"
Alfred's eyes glinted with determination. "I do!" He squirmed out of Ivan's arms to fetch a pencil and some paper.
As Alfred picked at his dinner, Ivan shuffled through the pages of detailed diagrams that Alfred had sketched out. Alfred's plan was a sound one, manageable. It would neatly conclude the decades-long war in favor of the Dark forces, and no one would need to be hurt.
It was the ideal solution… if what Alfred had said was true.
Ivan rifled through the stack again.
He wanted to believe his consort—really, he did—but Ivan knew that Alfred had a habit of dealing in half-truths and white lies. The angel was tight-lipped to the point of absurdity on some topics, and he had actively lied to Ivan in denying the existence of the final general, his twin.
On some level, Ivan understood Alfred's rationale and desire to protect those he cared about. But two years, and not a single word—
There was a lot at stake here. Ivan's reputation, the demons' success, the lives of the soldiers under Ivan's command… The safety of Ivan's men depended on the reliability of Alfred's information.
And if Ivan was being fully honest, a part of him, a secret, hidden part, was hurt. For two years, Ivan had shared his life with Alfred—disclosed to the angel things that Ivan had never whispered to another soul—and Alfred hadn't trusted him enough to share the fact that he had a twin brother.
What else was Alfred hiding?
Ivan carded a hand through his hair, mind made up.
"Alfred."
The angel looked up immediately. "Yeah?"
"You may accompany me to the meeting with the other officers tomorrow. I will give you a chance to present your ideas there. If they agree with the plan, we will carry it out."