They stepped through the door leading to the lounge, and Matthew gaped as his brother barreled from his side and straight into Ivan with an ear-piercing screech of delight.
The transformation was kind of impressive, honestly: Alfred had managed to do a complete one-eighty, going from brooding and bitter to ditzy Golden Retriever airhead zero-point-two-milliseconds. If the other angel had a tail, it would be wagging.
Ivan looked wholly unfazed. The demon opened his arms and absorbed the impact as if he were expecting it, even lifting Alfred up in a little spin with the excess force.
"Hello, lapochka," he chuckled, giving his consort a hug and guiding him over to the dining table, which was already set for dinner. "Did you have fun with your brother today?"
"Yep!" Alfred shamelessly leaped into the Dark general's lap the moment Ivan sat down and cuddled close. "Vanya, Vanya, potseluy menya!"
The platinum blond smiled as he dipped to press a gentle kiss to the angel's forehead.
Alfred gave a very uncharacteristic giggle. The tension in Ivan's shoulders visibly melted.
Huh. Feeling lightheaded, Matthew pulled out the remaining chair and dropped into it. He knew Alfred was a good actor—Heaven knows his brother re-enacted enough scenes from Hollywood movies back when they were at home—but this was really pushing it. Al was laying it on thick.
Did Braginsky really suspect nothing?
Lost in thought (he was starting to feel kind of bad for the demon now, was that weird?) Matthew chewed the inside of his cheek, missing the first part of Ivan's question.
"—did you go?"
"Eh?" Matthew jolted out of his shock. "Oh, just to some cafés, around Al's university, Central Park, places like that."
Ivan nodded, satisfied. He had thought as much, but the confirmation didn't hurt. The day had been long and tiring—half of Ivan's mind occupied by logistical concerns regarding the end of the war, and the other half by incessant worries about Alfred. Ivan's mood had improved immeasurably at seeing Alfred in the suite, as sweet and cheerful as ever. He brushed back a lock of Alfred's silken hair with a tender hand.
Yes, everything was fine. Matvey hadn't given Alfred any ideas about escaping. Alfred was here; Alfred was home.
When Ivan glanced up, Matthew's brows were scrunched together in an expression of bafflement. After the excursion in the human world, Ivan could hazard a guess for the violet-eyed general's confusion.
"I trust Alfred to return," the Dark general said, amused. "And I could not control him if I tried. Your brother is very independent, da?"
Matthew blinked owlishly. "Oh, yeah." He stared hard at the cooing angel against Ivan's chest.
Alfred winked at his twin and laughed. "Feed me, Vanya!"
Ivan rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips. "Da, dorogoy." He picked up a hulled strawberry and put it to his consort's mouth; Alfred immediately took a big bite. The angel reached for the bowl of borscht on the table and lifted a full spoonful to Ivan's face.
"Open wide! Here comes the airplane!"
It would be unsanitary to throw up where they were eating, Matthew decided as he fed himself with much less fuss. And Arthur had raised them with better table manners than that.
In some strange way, he was… happy for Al. Alfred was treated well, very well, considering the circumstances. He was displeased with his arrangement with Ivan, and Matthew understood why, but that dissatisfaction seemed more like the unfortunate consequence of Alfred's obtuseness than anything else. Otherwise, Alfred had it all: freedom, a comfortable place to stay, someone to provide for him; care for him.
Ivan, the poor sap, was clearly infatuated with his twin. Maybe Ivan didn't mind that Alfred did not truly reciprocate those feelings—maybe the illusion of domesticity, the feigned affection, were enough for him. Ivan didn't exactly strike Matthew as the type of guy to have a ton of friends, anyway, with the terrified whispers the servants spoke in when the topic switched to their employer, and the way the temperature in the room fell ten degrees whenever he walked in. Maybe another person to share his day with was all that Ivan wanted.
Was that what Gilbert wanted, too?
Matthew thoughtfully chewed his plum slice.
Angels were social creatures. Life in Heaven was communal. Even when they were generals and saddled with far too many responsibilities, Matthew and Alfred had never been too busy to lend a helping hand to volunteer at the soup kitchen or tutor children. The Underworld's arbitrary ranking system (demon elites, really?) didn't exist in Heaven. From the glimpse he'd seen of Ivan's day-to-day, the Dark general didn't appear to interact with those outside of his social class in any meaningful way at all.
Except for Alfred, of course.
That was kind of sad, now that Matthew thought about it, and not just because Matthew had grown up with his too-loud brother around almost every waking second of every day. He really didn't know very much about Beilschmidt beyond the tidbits Alfred had shared. Gilbert was good friends with Francis and Antonio. He loved his brother and beer and went drinking with his brother once a month. In his leisure time, he ran a personal blog. He knew his way around machines. Sometimes, he got insecure and tried to make up for it with false bravado.
If you asked Matthew, it sounded like a pretty lonely life.
The walk to the guest parlour stretched on for an eternity as dread pooled in the bottom of Matthew's stomach. Shortly after dinner, Toris had knocked at the door of the suite and announced Gilbert's arrival.
Alfred had declared that he needed to go to the bathroom, and returned with a small bottle that he pressed into Matthew's hand. "Give it to Gil, he'll know what to do," Alfred had murmured. "Don't fight if it starts to hurt, 'kay? That'll only make it worse. Just lie back and think of Heaven. That's what Arthur always says, anyway." Alfred's laughter was forced; his blue eyes wide and anxious, bright with guilt.
The snappy retort that Matthew had been ready to toss back died in his throat.
Alfred gave him a tiny smile before turning around to beam at Ivan. "Okay, all good! Let's go!"
His twin was whispering something to Ivan, now. The demon had wrapped an arm around Alfred's waist, holding him close as they strolled down the hallway. Matthew caught a quick snatch of conversation—"Gil won't, only yours, remember, Vanya?"—and then they were at the door that led into the parlour.
Matthew involuntarily shuddered. This was it. Once the door opened, Matthew's fate would be sealed. There was no going back. He would be the property of one Gilbert Beilschmidt, wild-eyed manic slaughterer of legions of angels—
Ivan pushed the door open. By the unlit fireplace on the far side of the room, a silhouette stood up in the shadows.
"Gilbert." Ivan ushered the twins in, and the door shut with an ominous thump behind them. Matthew audibly gulped. Alfred's hand found his in the darkness. "I trust that your ride here was pleasant."
"As good as can be on those bumpy roads!" The figure laughed, a raspy, low sound—not unpleasant, the violet-eyed angel noted with surprise.
Ivan turned on a lamp in the rapidly-fading twilight. As light flooded the room, Alfred crossed the room, dragging his reluctant brother behind him. "Hey, Gil!"
The demon grinned broadly. "Alfie! Hey, there!" He ruffled Alfred's hair, and Ivan growled. Gilbert retracted his hand hastily. "Long time no see, lil buddy! How're you holding up with Mister 'I've got an icicle up my ass' over there?"
"Gilbert, I will destroy you—"
"Good! Ivan's been super nice to me," Alfred chirruped. He tugged his brother forward. "Gil, this is Mattie! General Matthew Williams, my twin." The golden blond nudged the other angel. "Say hi, Mattie."
"H-hello," Matthew mumbled, suddenly shy. Gilbert was actually… kind of handsome, maybe, now that Matthew could make out his features better. There was a nice set to his jaw, a sculpted elegance to his cheekbones.
Matthew always did have a fondness for aesthetics.
The Dark general's eyes softened. "Quite a beauty, aren't you?" He gently grasped Matthew's hand and kissed it. "General Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, General Williams," he said politely.
"The pleasure is all mine, General Beilschmidt," Matthew stuttered out. Distracting, those crimson eyes were. Very distracting. When was the last time someone had looked at him with such intensity?
"Please, call me Gilbert." Gilbert smiled at him.
"…Matthew is fine." He ducked his head. The demon before him was so different from the one he had seen on the battlefield, and were the white hair and red eyes not unmistakable, Matthew would felt like he was talking to someone else entirely.
A yellow thing plopped into Matthew's hair from nowhere, and the angel jumped at the unexpected weight. "E-eh?"
Gilbert laughed again. "Oh, look at that! Gilbert likes you. I think I'll call you Birdie. You kinda remind me of one, cute and fluffy. Also, the wings." The general gestured at the gold-edged appendages on Matthew's back.
Matthew's brow furrowed. Was the nickname an insult? Gilbert didn't seem mean or malicious, though…
"Now that you have been introduced, shall we discuss business, Gilbert?" Ivan's voice cut in.
"Sure!" Gilbert turned to the other demon. "Will the lovely twins be staying?"
Ivan sat down on a sofa decorated with ornate carvings. "If they want."
"We do!" Alfred said, and Matthew nodded. The blue-eyed angel flopped across Ivan's lap. Ivan instantly wound his arms around his consort.
Matthew gingerly settled into the matching sofa opposite; Gilbert took a seat beside him.
"So, your men didn't take captives from the stronghold."
"Nyet. Alfred was very adamant about that. However, I heard that your troops have apprehended some stragglers from the Light army…"
Their discussion of post-war logistics continued, occasionally interrupted by Alfred's input.
At one point, talk turned to what was to become of the angels who were already prisoners, and then to the angels at the castle. Ivan hissed something in Russian; Alfred chattered back in the language, and Matthew spaced out.
The past few days had been a lot. Matthew was feeling slightly sleepy. Someone had lit a fire in the fireplace when Matthew wasn't looking. The flames were hypnotic.
The violet-eyed angel leaned back. A soft gasp left his lips when, instead of fabric, his back touched something else. Matthew whipped his head around.
Gilbert had slung his arm across the top of the sofa. At seeing Matthew's reaction, the demon made to move, but Matthew—gods know what he was doing—cautiously reclined again.
Gilbert was warm, warmer than Matthew would have thought.
The demons were warmer than Matthew would have thought, in more than one way, the Light general mused. Ivan was cold to the touch but warm in his actions towards Alfred. He trusted Alfred, and—whether Alfred recognized it or not—genuinely wanted Alfred to be happy.
Would Gilbert want Matthew to be happy, too?
The violet-eyed angel shrank in on himself, nibbling at his lip. What if Gilbert didn't want Matthew as his consort? Alfred had sounded so sure, but his brother could have been wrong. What if Gilbert saw Matthew as just a pet, or worse, a slave—
A calloused hand brushed his cheek, and Matthew startled. He looked up and met crimson eyes.
"Is something wrong?"
"I—nothing," Matthew squeaked, curling up tighter.
Gilbert's expression was inscrutable. For a moment, Matthew thought that he had made a mistake—was Gilbert angry? His features were so stern when he wasn't smiling—but then the demon's posture relaxed.
"Hey, it's okay, Birdie," the Dark general soothed. "I get that it's scary to be in the Underworld, especially when you're in the company of such a handsome rascal as myself." Gilbert chortled to show that he was joking. "It's a big change. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, though. I won't hurt you, Schatzi."
"…What?"
"Hm?" Gilbert rubbed at the back of his head. "Schatzi? Oh, er, it means 'little treasure.'" The demon's pale cheeks flushed red as he averted his gaze to the side. "Is it, um, cool if I call you that? I know that we just met each other and all, but you're really cute and I really want to know you better and—"
Matthew giggled (great, now he was doing it! Thanks a lot, Al). Gilbert was sweet and a little awkward, and right now, his eyes were shining with hope and concern and so, so gentle—
"Yes, Gilbert," Matthew smiled at him. "I would like that."
