My Misfit
Part Two
Alfred simply blinked in a mute disbelief, watching as Arthur covered his flushing face with his hands. A moment later he laughed, deep and bitingly pinched with sarcastic amusement. "Yeah fucking right, like I'd fall for that!" he exclaimed, sliding off of Arthur with a grimace, semen running down the insides of his thighs.
"You think I'm lying?" Arthur sat up as well, turning his acidic green eyes to the American. Alfred glared back just as venomously. "I wasn't lying."
The American huffed. "Right. I'm just going to believe everything you say because you're rich and famous and I'm just some poor nobody – fuck that. I know your type. You think that just 'coz you got money you're better than me, and that 'coz I work at McDonalds, I'm stupid or some shit. But let me tell you right no—ahmph!"
Arthur slapped his hand over Alfred's mouth, effectively cutting off anything he was about to say. "Don't say another word," he hissed, pushing Alfred down onto the bed so he could tower over the prone American. "I'm not some sick fuck. I wouldn't say something like that if I didn't mean it. I am more of a gentleman than you give me credit for, you twat. And if not that, I am, at the very least, a man of my word."
Alfred slowly peeled Arthur's hand from his mouth, remaining silent for a heavy moment, merely staring Arthur down before sighing. "So, what? You want me to just up and leave? Fucking frolic off on some adventure with your band or some shit?"
"What do you have holding you here?" Arthur asked instead, sitting on Alfred's thighs, his fingers tracing the curves of the American's abdomen.
Blue eyes found his after a thoughtless moment. "To be frank; not a damn thing."
Arthur smiled and covered Alfred's lips with his own.
-o-
"My mom still hasn't forgiven me for taking off like that," Alfred said, sighing in contentment as he leaned back into his lover's chest, a pair of warm lips leaving trails of kisses down the side of his neck.
"No offense," Arthur murmured softly, his hands exploring skin that he knew all too well, "Your mum's a bit of a skank." Alfred chuckled, nodding in agreement as his hands caught Arthur's. "Hm, and what shall we do now?"
The American smirked, twisting around to look at Arthur. "Well, I don't know. You're the dumbass that brought me here. So why don't you tell me."
"Gladly…"
-o-
"Where on earth did you find a cutie like him?" was the first thing any of the other band members said when they pulled up to the hotel in the tour bus. Alfred and Arthur shared the same scowl as Francis began walking circles around Alfred, tapping his chin in a very exaggerated way before attempting to lift Alfred's shirt.
The American quickly slapped his hands away. "Don't touch me, you fucking dickweed," he snapped irritably, making Arthur snort loudly in amusement.
Arthur wrapped an arm around Alfred's waist, pulling the reluctant blond to his side. "Mine," he said. His voice was a deep growl as his venomous green eyes pointed towards Francis, leering at his bandmate, as if daring the Frenchman to try and take Alfred. Francis merely shrugged, murmuring something in French and walked back to the bus. Gilbert and Antonio seemed unaffected by the display and Alfred assumed that the whole idea of randomly picking people up off the street wasn't exactly new to them. "Also, Antonio, give Alfred some of your clothes – you're about the same size."
And with that the American was shuffled onto the tour bus. He had sent his mother a text and hid the keys to his truck in the glove-box so she could pick up the vehicle later. She had simply texted him back with, "OK fine is thr gas in the truck?" Alfred was surprised she even responded.
Antonio's clothes fit Alfred well enough and he thanked the bassist begrudgingly, mumbling under his breath and crossing his arms sharply when Antonio said it was fine.
"So you live in that pit of a town?" Gilbert asked after a while of driving. The group sat on the long, leather upholstered benches that were bolted against the walls of the bus. Francis strummed absently at an acoustic guitar, humming something in French under his breath. Alfred grimaced.
"Yeah? So what if I did? You got a problem with it?"
Gilbert's face scrunched up, obviously torn between how he should feel about their newest guest. "Are you always this confrontational? Damn. You sure know how to pick 'em, Arthur."
"Shut the fuck up, Gilbert," Arthur hissed.
Francis tatted, tapping the strings of his guitar to hush the notes that vibrated from them. "I agree with our unfortunate friend –"
"Don't call me that you twat!"
"- we should at least give this strapping young man a chance, no? Tell me, Alfred was it? What about our band do you like? Obviously we're not as popular here as we are across the Atlantic."
Francis gave Alfred an expectant look and as soon as Alfred's mouth was half-open, Arthur slapped a hand over it, fearful of what the American might say and embarrassed for what he knew the American would say. "I think that's enough of that," Arthur sputtered, removing his hand from Alfred's mouth and grabbing the blond by the arm. "Don't disturb us."
The French guitarist rolled his eyes, strumming his fingers along the instrument's strings easily. "Oui, oui, try and keep it down? You never know, we may attempt to have a civilized conversation up here."
Arthur and Gilbert both snorted. "I wouldn't count on it, Frenchie," Gilbert cackled as Arthur led Alfred towards the back of the bus.
In the far back there was a small room, cut off by a sliding door and a lock. There were a few instruments and sheet music littering the floor with a wide bed pushed towards the corner. It was simple and messy and very different than Alfred imagined what a famous rock star's bus room should look like. Although he had no idea what he was expecting in the first place. "Look," Alfred was saying as Arthur sat him down on the bed, hands resting on his shoulders. "I don't know about you, but twice last night is more than enough for me."
"Would you shut up for five seconds?" Arthur groaned, sitting next to Alfred and pulling a pen and notebook into his lap from the floor. "I just wanted to speak to you privately for a moment. Not everything is about sex."
For a time, Alfred looked stunned, his eyes incredibly blue and utterly American, and Arthur elbowed him in the arm, muttering something along the lines of, 'stop being a dolt'. "Right. It's hard to tell with your type, yanno." He paused, looking highly uncomfortable. "You wanted to talk?"
"I don't understand you," Arthur began, tapping his capped pen against the paper of his notebook. "You have no issues with intimacy, but a simple conversation puts you on edge?"
Alfred grimaced heavily. "Sex isn't intimate and you know it. It's like… fuck, what the fuck do you want me to say? If you're lookin' for something deep or some shit, you're asking the wrong person."
Arthur quirked a quick smile. "On the contrary, I believe you've something interesting going on in that head of yours." He paused, staring at the American through squinted eyes. "But I can never be sure."
"Look, let's just forget this whole thing, alright? So, starting over: What the fuck do you want?" He crossed his arms as Arthur chuckled, uncapping his pen and setting the point to the paper. "I don't get what's so damn hilarious. Why the hell did I agree to this again?"
The musician smiled. "Because who doesn't want to pick up and leave at least once in their life? And there's even less who truly get the opportunity. So, better question: Why wouldn't you?"
"Other than the obvious fact that you're a narcissistic bastard and your band mates are stupid cum-dumpsters? Not a damn thing, really."
-o-
Alfred hummed, distracted and unfocused as he clutched the pillow beneath his head tightly. Arthur was bent low between his spread legs, leaving long, languid licks across the underside of his erection.
Arthur's hands moved from his hips, rubbing circles into the insides of his thighs, to tracing his fingers around his balls. "Hnn, ah- w-would you just hurry?" he griped, trying to restrain his hips from moving when Arthur took his cock into his mouth. Alfred's breath hitched, his ribs shuddering as he tried to calm his breathing. Arthur's tongue was hot and quick; an overwhelming sensation against his cock and he did his best to silence himself, refusing to give Arthur verbal satisfaction. "J-just fuck me, dammit!"
There was a banging on the door followed by Francis' tired voice. "You heard him, just finish. Your wails of sickening pleasure are difficult to ignore when attempting to sleep."
Arthur sat up, Alfred's cock sliding out of his mouth with a wet pop, making the American smother a moan. He reached across the bed, picking up a shoe from the floor and threw it the right of the door. "No one cares about your sleep, frog! We'll be as loud as we like!"
A few grumbles came from the other side of the door, but nothing more. Alfred looked at Arthur with a sharp, impish stare. "Should I scream for you?"
"What?" Arthur balked.
Alfred smirked. "Yeah, I'll do that, c'mon, it'll be great. Where's that lube? Just stick your dick in, before it's not funny anymore." Quickly the American located the bottle of half used lube, squirting a glob of it into his palm and squeezed his fingers around the substance until oozed between his knuckles. He wrapped his hand around Arthur's cock, generously greasing his erection before lying back with a crooked smile.
"What're you planning," Arthur asked; his breath was warm against Alfred's sweaty skin. The musician crawled over Alfred, covering the American with his own body and ghosting soft touches to the curves of Alfred's muscles with the tips of his fingers.
"Live a little," was his only response and Arthur sighed. He bent his head low, his forehead against Alfred's shoulder as he pressed the head of his cock into Alfred, sinking himself in slowly and twitching with pleasure.
Alfred's head tilted back, and moaned huskily. "Oh, Arthurrr!" he called out to the ceiling of the bus, "More! Arthur I want more!" Arthur almost stopped, flushing and embarrassed, but feeling far too aroused to do anything other than continue, sliding out and snapping his hips back in. "Arth-chach-Arthur!" Alfred choked, his hands winding into Arthur's hair and pulling. "Oh, your dick is so big, Arthur."
Arthur chortled, falling onto Alfred's chest when his legs wouldn't support him during his laughing fit. The American's arms wrapped about his shoulders. "Goddammit! Will you shut up in there?" Gilbert yelled, pounding on the wall next to the bed they shared. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
"You really think my dick is big?" Arthur asked once his choked laughter had ceased and he had managed to find a decent pace with Alfred, thrusting in swiftly and pulling out slowly. His curious fingers followed the valley of the American's tight abs, stroking his thick erection when his hand dipped low enough.
"Well, I guess your dick is big enough," Alfred moaned out, hissing and mumbling obscenities to himself whenever Arthur bit at his tanned skin or when the Briton's cock rubbed against his prostate at just the right angle.
When their climaxes began approaching rapidly, Arthur leaned over and kissed Alfred, nipping at his parted lips as they gasped into one another's mouths. Alfred's cock was hard and heavy in Arthur's hand, leaking pre-cum from it's slit as Arthur stroked him into completion, following soon after.
They tangled themselves into a sticky mess of sweaty limbs and semen, pulling the blankets about their shoulders as the sway of the moving van rocked them to sleep.
-o-
The first Empire concert Alfred attended was in Oklahoma City. He was ushered backstage by a pair of anonymous men with headsets and clipboards, a young woman following behind with a large VIP pass dangling from her neck. They had the "rare" opportunity to watch form the sidelines as the band set up, walking under a bright sheen of lights of various colors; the crowd screaming and cheering at the mere sight of them.
Alfred was rather unimpressed.
The girl next to him bounced on her heels, humming cheerfully to herself as the first song began. "Oh, this is so amazing," she cried over the roaring speakers as Francis began plucking out a rift that Alfred was unfamiliar with, the audience both growing hushed and oppressive at once. "It's just so magical."
"I'm utterly blown away, sure," Alfred answered dully, picking at his nails with disinterest. Secretly he hoped Arthur would look his way, just to see how completely he was affected by the Briton's position and fame. He never did and the American was disappointed.
The girl frowned at him. "If you don't like them, why're you here? I swear, why couldn't they have given your pass to someone that actually cares?"
Alfred rolled his eyes, leaning against a support beam, only to be scolded by a backstage technician. He grimaced. "Blah, blah, blah." The guitar rift ended gently, a single note wafting high in the air - alone until Arthur's voice joined it, starting low and soft and slowly growing in volume. The girl opened her mouth to retaliate, but Alfred cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Hey, shut up. He's singing. Just fuckin' listen. It's what music's for."
"Rude," the girl hissed under her breath, folding her arms under her small cleavage and turning her eyes back towards the stage.
Alfred didn't care much of what she thought. Instead he closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Arthur's voice and the words he sang. He had never heard this particular song before, and he tried not to make himself impressionable as he listened to the sweet lyrics of a lover crooning to his lost beloved.
"I wish that song was about me," the girl sighed out wistfully, clasping her hands together and swaying. "It's so romantic!"
"No it's not," Alfred grumbled. He wished he had brought a pack of gum with him and instead chewed on the inside of his cheek absently. "It's about being left behind, but still in love. You'd know that if you'd just fuckin' listen like I told you to."
She nearly snarled at him. "That's the romantic part! God!"
Alfred pressed his face into his hands, refusing to answer when a few of the tech crew members began to give him odd, defensive looks. He wasn't going to get kicked out just because some girl was too stupid to know the difference between a sad song and a love song. Instead he popped the top button off of Antonio's shirt, putting the button in his mouth and rolling it between his teeth.
For the rest of the concert Alfred forced himself to remain quiet as the girl giggled and babbled about the band members, incessantly repeating how attractive each of them was and her favorite attributes about each. He was both upset and pleased that she had the least facts about Arthur. The air was thick and heavy as the lights produced more and more heat. A box fan in the corner simply pushed around the stagnant air that smelled of oil and rubber. Alfred grimaced and leaned against the support beam again, despite the sharp warnings sent his way by the staff.
"Thank you all for coming tonight!" Arthur was yelling into the mic, the overhead lights gleaming off the sweat on his pearly skin. "We're The Empire and goodnight!"
He waited anxiously as the band trotted his way, waving and blowing awkward kisses at the crowd as they went along. Someone flung a bra onto the stage, which Gilbert caught, waving it around a bit and stuffing it into his pocket. "Oh, oh, oh my God they're coming this way! Oh my God!"
Alfred ignored her, instead he caught Arthur's eyes with his own. The singer smirked, ignoring the girl and walking up to Alfred, cupping his face into his moist palms and kissing the American harshly. The girl made a strangled noise of surprise, blustering further when Francis settled his arm around her hips. "Hello, ma chérie, are you our surprise guest for the night?"
"Why do you have a button of all things, in your mouth?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowing deeply as he pulled the brown button from Antonio's shirt out of his own mouth.
The American only smiled cheekily. "It's hot in here. Let's go outside real quick."
Arthur cast a glance back at the band, satisfied that they were occupied with the fan before taking Alfred's wrist and dragging him out a side door. The air was cool in the late spring night, and Alfred gulped at it like it was his first breath after breaking water from a long dive. "That first song you sang," he started, pushing Arthur into the concrete wall and kicking over a pile of crate boxes, "Tell me about it."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Arthur's hands found their way around Alfred's neck as the American licked at the beaded sweat on his exposed neck and Arthur tilted his head to the side with a hitched breath.
"What it was about..." Alfred pulled back and cupped his hand boldly onto Arthur's crotch. "I wanna know why you wrote it."
The night was quiet around them - the rush of people leaving the stadium a noise far off in the distance. Arthur swallowed. His limbs were tired and his hair felt itchy from being under what was basically a heat lamp for the past four and a half hours, and having Alfred rub him through his already too tight jeans didn't help the swimming sensation that he felt in his head. "It's a newer song," he murmured, pressing himself closer to the wall behind himself for support. "About... someone that left."
Alfred snorted. "No shit, genius. I wanna know who, when, and why. I... just tell me."
Arthur looked at Alfred through narrowed eyes, sizing up the American for a long moment. "I see. You're envious, are you not? Jealous. The mighty Alfred! Oh! Now that's rich!" Arthur chortled loudly, despite the darkening expression on Alfred's face.
The musician's laughter was cut short when Alfred undid the front of his trousers, slipping a hand inside and palming his cock. "You're not wearing underwear," Alfred mumbled, his head falling back to Arthur's shoulder to lick at his collarbone.
"A-ahh! W-well, you wouldn't either, if your trousers were... hmm, this tight." Arthur leaned onto Alfred, panting and cursing as he was steadily brought to a flushing erection. He keened in the back of his throat softly as Alfred's fingers rubbed at the sensitive underside of his cock. "If you really want to kn-ooh, uhn, the song was for... my ex..."
Alfred didn't say anything, just scowled before falling onto his knees in front of Arthur. "People are so fucking stupid," he said, wrapping a hand around the base of Arthur's hard cock. "I really hate people for being so fucking dumb." Before Arthur could question the sandy blond's words, Alfred took his cock into his mouth, swirling his sharp tongue around the head before pushing his lips to meet his knuckles at the base of Arthur's cock.
"Fa-uuck!" Arthur hissed, his knees shaking as his slim fingers wound into Alfred's messy hair. He thrust frantically into Alfred's mouth, slurping stray spit from his lower lip through his teeth. "Wh-what's... gotten into you-nnngh!" Slowly he slid down the wall, the concrete scratching at his shoulders as he went down, his knees spreading further and further apart to make room for Alfred, who only moved down with him, never stopping.
"Alfred... Ahh-lfred... why a-are you...? A-ah! Alfre-ed!" His hands ran through Alfred's hair as the American worked him with skilled lips and tongue, bobbing his head and swallowing when Arthur came hard and breathless.
Alfred wiped his face, smearing a bit of semen across his chin. "Whoever your ex is..." He trailed off, looking uncertain before shrugging his broad shoulders. "Let's get back."
Dazed, Arthur blinked up at Alfred as he stood, holding out a hand towards the Briton. "Yes. Right." He took Alfred's hand, his fingers brushing against the American's wrist. He wasn't sure what was happening, but as Alfred helped him make himself decent once more, he decided that it wasn't a bad occurrence at all.
-o-
The girl from the first show, much to Arthur's displeasure, became a permanent fixture on the tour bus. Her name was Chantal and she had fallen for Francis' charms, or lack thereof. Arthur wasn't appreciative of her presence, as all she did was giggle, scratch at Francis' filthy beard, and spout random things about the band and its members that she had seen online.
"Oh and about that time when Arthur punched that one paparazzi guy in the face when he had his camera..."
Arthur groaned, laying across a leather seat with his head in Alfred's lap as the American played a game on Gilbert's PSP, chewing his gum loudly. "That didn't actually happen!" he said for what might have been the hundredth time that day. Alfred took a moment to pat his head in the most patronizing way possible before returning to his game. "Bastard."
Chantal frowned at him, snuggling up to Francis and giving a sickening smile when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Well, how am I supposed to know! I'm just repeating what I've heard. I just want to see if it's true is all!"
The atmosphere on the bus was tense. Gilbert drummed an unrecognizable beat on the tops of his thighs with the palms of his hands. Finally Alfred looked up from his game, watching Arthur scowl deeply at the ceiling. "And that's what makes you such a dumb bitch," he said easily, blowing a bubble and popping it with a gnash of his teeth. Chantal gaped, her brown eyes wide and expression obviously offended. "How hard is it to make your own opinion, huh? Didja ever think of that? Probably not, sorry, I forgot how terrifyingly hard it must be for you to think."
"You... you..." Chantal's mouth opened and closed with disbelief. When Francis said nothing in her defense, she stood, her fists at her sides as she nearly screamed, "You're a fucking bastard! I hope you go to hell!"
"I already am in hell!" Alfred shouted back as she stomped her way into Francis' "room". "God, she's such a fucking dick-dump."
Francis stood, brushing off the front of his blouse with bored strokes. "Ah, well. I suppose I'll go cheer her up, if you know what I mean," he said easily, sending them a wink before following after Chantal.
Gilbert and Antonio shared a high five, relaxing into their respective spots. Arthur looked up at Alfred. "I think I love you," he muttered jokingly.
Alfred glanced down at him, pausing, before huffing indigently. "Shut up, you stupid bastard."
-o-
After the show in Atlanta, Alfred and Arthur wandered the streets, laughing and snorting as they drunkenly weaved their way through crowds of people, pushing each other into walls and into darkened alleys. The summer air was thick in the south, even at night. Cicadas could be heard singing loudly through the evening, steadily giving way to the crickets and mosquitoes.
Arthur wore his sunglasses and an over sized hoodie, not necessarily attempting to hide his identity. Hardly anyone recognized him anyway. But the hoodie was Alfred's and he had stolen it just to smell the traces of cologne on the collar as he drank at a local bar.
"We should do something fun," Arthur was saying as he walked next to Alfred, his hands in his hoodie pockets while he attempted to walk down the sidewalk without stepping on the cracks.
Alfred snorted, running into Arthur purposefully and making the Briton step out of place. "You wouldn't know fun if it bit you in the face, old man." Arthur grumbled at him, knocking into him in retaliation and making Alfred run into a passerby. "Watch where the fuck you're going, prick," the American spat. "Fucking people, goddamnit!"
"Well, when I said 'fun' I meant... fun. You know... the bus is empty." He staggered, into Alfred, looping his arms about the American's waist and laughing, warm and dumb to the world around them.
Alfred laughed, too, pulling off Arthur's sunglasses and clipping them onto the front of his shirt. "You're drunk and stupid," he said uselessly, tangling his hands into Arthur's hair as the blond leaned into him, nipping at his neck.
The musician hummed, fingers burying into the fabric of Alfred's shirt. "So are you, so I don't see a problem. Drunk, drunk, drunk - I just want to feel you all over me. Don't gotta be drunk to want that, hmmm?"
"I guess not," was Alfred's grunted reply. Arthur pulled at him, the sleeves of the hoodie were too long, and slipped over his hands as he wrapped them around Alfred's bicep. "H-hey dipshit," Alfred said, choking on a laugh as he pulled Arthur in the opposite direction, "The bus is over this way!"
Numbly the musician followed him through the streets, laughing and tripping over himself when he wasn't mumbling obscenities and complaining how it was taking too long to find the bus. Alfred tried not to seem amused, but the alcohol was tickling and warming at his face and the buzzing behind his ears was enough encouragement for him to continue on.
They pried open the bus doors with warm, heavy fingers, delighted to find that absolutely no one was on the bus that night. Arthur's too wet lips covered Alfred's clumsily, leaving trails of saliva as the American tried to maneuver them into the far room in the back without falling down. "C'mon you idiot, the bed..."
Arthur snorted, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and jumping onto his back. Alfred stumbled, catching himself on one of the seats and groaned. "Shit, you're heavy as fuck," he grumbled, to which Arthur only giggled, licking at the shell of his ear as the American carried him into the back to sit on the bed. He peeled Arthur off his back with a long sigh, pushing the musician into the strewn blankets with a hand.
"Alfred, Alfred come here," Arthur said, cupping Alfred's face between his hands as the American crawled up his prone body. "Alfred... can you touch me?"
"I was plannin' on it," Alfred sighed out, Arthur's hot panting breaths pushing his hair from his forehead and fogging his glasses in the humid Atlanta heat. His fingers found their way under Arthur's hoodie, tracing nonsense patterns into the Briton's skin.
Arthur shook his head, pulling Alfred's face closer to his. His eyes were half-lidded and he blinked slowly up at Alfred. "No, I mean... touch me like - like you love me. Just pretend. I miss... I miss being loved."
Crickets could be heard singing in the shade beneath the bus. Alfred pulled Arthur's hands from his cheeks, studying Arthur's face with a blank expression. "Yeah. Okay. I can... do that." He pursed his lips momentarily before crawling off the bed. He searched around the floor for a few moments, picked up a wrinkled bandanna from one of Arthur's stage costumes and half a bottle of soda.
"What have you there?" Arthur asked, as he stripped himself slowly, watching Alfred with a drunken curiosity.
Alfred grunted an unintelligible answer, pulling his shirt over his head before sitting back down onto the bed. "I want... I'm going to blindfold you, alright? It'll make everything better, I swear." Arthur seemed reluctant and Alfred reached out, tucking a lock of hair behind the Briton's ear. "You can just imagine whoever you want, 'kay?"
Frowning, Arthur nodded with a dip of his brows. Alfred rolled the bandanna into a strip and tied it around Arthur's eyes, careful not to get the blond's hair stuck in the knot. "Why can't it be you?" Arthur mumbled as Alfred finished pulling off his trousers the rest of the way. Alfred gave a sad smile, running his hands along the insides of Arthur's thighs.
"You don't want it to be me," he whispered before leaning down and licking at the musician's testicles, kissing at his limp cock and letting his fingers dance sweetly across the expanse of skin of Arthur's abdomen.
Arthur hupped, stuttering nonsensically and blindly winding his fingers into Alfred's hair. "A-ah! M-more, more! P-please...?"
Alfred sat up in the bed, grabbing the soda bottle as he examined Arthur's writhing body in the moonlight. His pale skin almost glowed, and he bent to kiss at the side of the Briton's knee. They probably wouldn't remember this night and he wasn't sure if he could be the gentle, loving partner that Arthur craved, but - and he blamed the thought on the alcohol - he figured he could try; just this once.
Around the bottle was a thin, nylon band and Alfred rolled it off, tossing the bottle aside as he searched the blanket for the lube. Arthur's legs spread as Alfred lightly coated his semi-erection and balls with the lube before carefully rolling the nylon band down Arthur's cock and stretching it over his balls to sit snugly behind his testicles. Alfred double checked the label on the lube, grimacing a bit when he read the words, "cherry flavoured".
"British lube," he grunted, letting the bottle fall back into the messy mountains of blankets. He leaned back over Arthur, setting his hands on the musician's hips as he began kissing and licking at Arthur's pale skin, closing his eyes and listening to the strangled pants and groans that drew themselves from Arthur's mouth. His fingers traced along the curves and dips of Arthur's lean muscles, teasing and stroking.
Hands explored their away across the canvas that was Arthur's body, finally reaching Arthur's face. He placed two fingers against Arthur's mouth, dragging the pad of his forefinger across the Briton's lower lip. "Alfred," Arthur mumbled, his tongue pushing past his lips to lick at the American's fingers; slow, wet, and hot.
Alfred shook his head, pushing his fingers inside Arthur's mouth. "I'm no one," he told Arthur, his voice soft and low, "I'm just... a nobody, alright? A... a misfit you picked up. Don't say my name. 'Coz right now, I don't have one."
Arthur didn't respond, just simply sucked on his fingers, his tongue twisting between the digits, lapping at the knuckles and humming.
The American pulled his hand away from Arthur's mouth slowly, pressing light kisses to the side of Arthur's moist lips as a silent gesture.
His hand found it's way to Arthur's ass, stroking his wet fingers carefully around the musician's entrance, his lips slowly making their way down Arthur's chest with sporadic open mouthed kisses against pearly skin. "Uuhn... M-more... I just want... I want... your love."
Alfred frowned and took Arthur's erection into his mouth, forcing his mind to go blank. He wouldn't allow himself to think. Not now. Not about this. Arthur gasped loudly, his hands burying themselves into the blankets. The American took the moment to press a finger into Arthur watching the Briton bite down on his lower lip and squirm, as if trying to burrow into the bed itself.
"Just enjoy it," Alfred found himself saying as he took a breath, blowing cool air onto the tip of Arthur's weeping erection. He pushed the cock ring down a little bit further and took Arthur into his mouth once again, trying not to grimace at the flavor of the lube that was definitely not cherry.
He took his time, sucking Arthur off as two of his fingers curled and prodded around for the Briton's prostate. Arthur writhed into the blankets his hands crawling across the bed in search of something new to grasp every few moments. He sighed long and hard, his hips bucking up into Alfred's mouth, who swallowed him easily, as he searched for release. His climax struggled against the cock ring and everything felt hazy and explosive to the point where he thought he might pass out from the overwhelming surge of sensation as the head of his cock was squeezed by Alfred's throat.
"L-let me come," Arthur pleaded at last, groaning and squirming, the heels of his palms pressing into the bandanna around his eyes. "Oh God let me come!"
Sitting up, Alfred worked the nylon band from Arthur's cock, bending down to wrap his lips around his head and stroking Arthur with his hand until the musician came into his mouth. Arthur jerked with his climax, stiffening and relaxing in intervals until he gave a final, long sigh and dropped his arms like dead weights by his sides.
Ignoring his own erection, he crawled up the bed to lay next to Arthur, hesitantly reaching out to pull the bandanna from Arthur's eyes. The Briton sighed contentedly, snuggling into Alfred's chest and mumbling half-words and yawning. Alfred simply watched him, stroking his messy hair until he fell asleep.
The American placed a small, tender kiss to Arthur's forehead. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "You should look somewhere else. I ain't... good enough for you."
He tucked the musician into the blankets as pent up tears of frustration and sadness trickled down the apples of his cheeks. For his sake and Arthur's, he hoped neither of them remembered this night.
-o-
"Hey, can I ask for a favor?"
Arthur looked up from what he was writing, capping his pen with a frown. "And what would that be?" he asked. Over the past few months both he and the band had grown tolerant towards Alfred's bitter behavior, sometimes even looking forward to it whenever the American and Chantal began to fight. Needless to say Chantal never won any of their verbal battles, but she had an undermining way of making everyone feel guilty or offended at the end of the day.
Arthur had spent many nights arguing with Francis about what to do with her, but they never seemed to make much headway. Arthur blamed it on the fact that Francis was a jealous, egocentric French bastard. Francis blamed it on the fact that Chantal was good in bed.
Alfred crossed his arms, peering down at Arthur's notebook. "What're you writing?"
"That's none of your business!" Arthur flipped the notebook to a blank page and sat on it, giving the American a level stare. "Now, what did you want already? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Fine, Jesus Christ. You don't have to freak the fuck out like that." He sat on the seat next to Arthur, folding his hands together and sighing against his knuckles. "Okay... so... we're headin' up north soon, right?"
"Yes, why do you ask?" Arthur's expression turned confused as Alfred fidgeted, pushing his glasses up his nose and frowning. "Alfred?"
The American blew out a strained breath. "Okay, so I have a brother," he said finally, the words tense.
Arthur raised a curious brow. "And? Alfred I don't understand what you're trying to say." He snorted and set a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Relax already. So odd..."
Alfred grimaced. "I'm trying to be... ah, fuck it. My brother lives in Canada. And I was... Get him a pass to the concert in Buffalo, okay?"
"You have... a Canadian brother? Well, that's interesting. Alright, I'll see what I can do. What's your brother's name?" Arthur pulled the notebook back out, uncapping his pen to write himself a quick note in large, bubbling handwriting.
"Matthew," Alfred said, watching Arthur write, "Matthew Williams."
Arthur paused. "Not Jones?" When Alfred's lips pursed he waved his hands about, about to retract his question, but Alfred beat him to it.
"It never was Jones. Mine was Williams, before... well... a lot of shit. Stupid shit that I'm sure no one cares about. But whatever. I just want to see my fucking brother." He huffed, hiding his face into the palms of his hands. "You don't have to do anything. I just... yeah. Are we done talking now?"
The Briton smiled lightly, finishing his note and setting the notebook and pen aside. "Of course." He pulled Alfred's hands away from his face, trying not to laugh at the scowl that cut into Alfred's masculine face. "If you don't want to use your mouth for talking, I can think of other things for it to do."
Alfred snorted, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Shut up, you perverted limey."
Arthur only shook his head, flipping back through his notebook, continuing his work with a smile.
-o-
Walmart, Arthur decided was the definition of an American social dump. Alfred followed behind him, loudly smacking his gum and sending other customers looks of intense boredom as Arthur walked to the checkout, his arms full of boxes of tea and packages of cookies. Alfred grabbed a few packs of gum, waving them in Arthur's face before setting them onto the conveyor belt.
"Oh... Shit! Guys, guys where the fuck are you guys?" Gilbert's voice could be heard halfway across the store. Arthur stopped, his brows furrowing in irritation. The sound of boots slapping against the tiled floors, rounded in on them and the German drummer ran into them, waving around a magazine frantically. "Fuck, Arthur you need to look at this!"
"Will you shut up?" Arthur hissed, snatching the periodical from Gilbert. "Now what could be so..." His acidic green eyes scanned the front cover of the magazine, his words dying on his tongue. "Gilbert, where did you find this?"
The drummer shrugged, his hands balled up at his sides in obvious irritation. "'Toni found it over in the magazine racks. But that's not the problem - there's a picture of me in there! Fuck! Who's the sick fuck that followed me into the shower?"
Alfred plucked the magazine from Arthur's hands.
The Empire, Exposed! Raw, Fresh, and Naked! See Inside for Delicious Shots!
You Won't Believe Arthur's New Toy! [Full story on pg. 12]
Alfred quickly opened to the indicated page, scowling angrily as his vision was met with blurry pictures of him and Arthur together, kissing, sleeping, even a photo of them together obviously lost in passion on the bed in the bus. He tore his eyes away from the article. "Who the fuck did this? That's in the bus," he said, pointing at the picture harshly. "I'm going to fucking kill whoever did this. Make them into a fucking pair of boots after I skin their motherfucking ass."
A mother and her child shied by, and Arthur set a calm hand on Alfred's forearm. "On the bus?" he asked smoothly, glancing at the photo in question and flushing slightly. "Bloody hell... The media isn't even that bad back home. What is this shit?"
"'They're only sex buddies. They only bicker and fight. I don't see why they've been together this long.' an inside source tells us. But after seeing a plethora of photographic evidence, the staff here is far more convinced these two won't be separated easily. We eagerly await more news on this couple."
"Not even that frog would stoop this low," Arthur was saying, mumbling something about old friends and pacts. "I can't believe this..."
Gilbert huffed. "I bet it's that Chantal bitch. Look, there's even a picture of Francis sleeping with his hair a mess. No fucking way he'd let that out."
Alfred tucked the magazine under his arm with a sigh. "That stupid fucking whore. Since day one, I've been tellin' you guys how much of a slut she is but no! Aw, fuck. If my mom sees this..." He paused. "Well... Okay she probably wouldn't give a shit; but on principle. Fuck."
"I think it's time I had a chat with our dear friend," Arthur grumbled as he stepped forward to pay for their items.
"I hope someone dies," Alfred added spitefully, ignoring Gilbert's cackle.
-o-
To his credit, Francis was just as appalled by the magazine as the others were. He cursed fervently in French, glancing at the photo of his sleeping face a few times with a large grimace crossing his face. "I cannot believe this," he muttered, his fingers twitching around the pages. "That's such an awful shot - and that angle? Completely unprofessional." His eyes found Arthur's, squinting in disgust. "Why are you showing me this?"
Alfred sighed, ready to say something, but was cut off when Arthur hit him in the stomach. "Hush." The Briton turned to the page filled with candid shots of Alfred and himself. "We have cause to believe that your little bird is the reason behind this. Many of the photos in this article were taken on the tour bus and in many different cities. This isn't an accident nor happenstance." He threw the magazine down. "I want her gone. Gilbert and Antonio want her gone. Alfred will throw her off the a bridge for us." Alfred snorted.
Francis sighed heavily, picking the periodical back up to wince at the photo of his bedhead once again. "Oui, you make a valid point. Chantal - beautiful as she is - has gone back on her word. Ah... Well, I hope to find another. I don't know how you find them, Arthur. You lucky bastard."
Alfred let loose an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Sweet! Can we run her over with the bus? Maybe toss her into the ocean?"
"Or we could just leave her at the store. We're all accounted for, with her as the only exception. It seems cruel, but I can't think of a more fitting solution." Arthur tapped a finger to his forearm as Francis nodded slowly, frowning at the magazine and shaking his head sadly. Arthur pat his friend and band mate on the back sympathetically. He knew what it felt like to be bitten by the bitter sting of betrayal all too well.
The driver of the bus nodded at Arthur's request to continue onwards to the stadium that was still another four hour drive from the small Walmart in south Jersey. Gilbert snickered as the bus returned to the highway, elbowing Antonio in the ribs as the Spaniard chuckled. The only one who looked even relatively upset about the turn of events was Francis, but after about twenty minutes, he seemed to be able to shrug off his guilt and continue on patronizing Arthur as if nothing had ever happened to begin with.
And for that Arthur was grateful.
Alfred on the other hand felt that the entire exchange was too easy, too quiet. It also unnerved him as to how smoothly they had decided to just leave. He sat closer to Arthur, a frown on his face and an anxiety in his stomach that he refused to give a name to.
The noise of a cellphone jingling caught the band's attention. "Don't answer that," Arthur ordered, watching Francis' eyes dart to his pocket. "I swear to God, Francis, if you answer that bloody phone I will beat your French arse into submission."
Francis frowned, casting a long glance at each member of the band before standing and pulling his phone from his pocket and answering the call as he walked towards the back of the bus.
"I hope he doesn't ask to bring her back," Antonio mumbled, looking up from the screen of his own phone, pausing in the middle of typing a text message. "She gives me the chills, you know? Lovi says we should've thrown her under the bus a long time ago."
"Lovino wants to throw everyone under a bus - you included Toni." Gilbert laughed but hushed suddenly when Francis could be heard yelling something in sharp French. "Woah, it sounds pretty hardcore. I hope he's telling her off."
Alfred sunk lower into his seat, ignoring the odd stare Arthur sent his way.
That night they lay in bed as the bus swayed, rocking them into a slumber, Alfred stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, worry and questions poisoning his mind. He took a chance and glanced over at Arthur only to jolt in shock to find that the Briton was staring at him and not sleeping.
Arthur frowned. His eyes were dark and warm in the night, and he reached out and touched Alfred's chin gently. "Something's on your mind," was all he said.
"Yeah. I guess." Alfred rolled over to face Arthur, tucking the blankets under his chin with a petulant glare. "It's nothing that matters."
"Tell me." Arthur propped himself up on an elbow to tower over Alfred. "I'm tired of all this hiding, Alfred," he whispered, pressing his forehead down onto Alfred's. "Aren't we... we..."
Alfred grimaced. "Are we what?" He huffed, squirming into the blankets further with a scowl. "Didn't you read that fucking article? We're fuck buddies. I'm sure that was your intention when you picked me up in the first place, so why should it be anything else? Huh? Jesus Fucking Christ, Arthur, what are we?"
Arthur hesitated, squinting at Alfred through the dark. "What do you want to be?" he asked quietly, watching Alfred's expression carefully. "What do you want to be when this tour is over, Alfred? I need to know."
"I don't want it to be over," he answered, swallowing thickly. "That's the damn truth, too. I... I kinda like hanging with you guys. And... all that shit. Yanno? And... and I kinda like more than just fucking you. Although I really like fucking you."
The musician snorted, falling back down onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Alfred's ribs. "Well I quite enjoy you as well." He shimmed on top of Alfred, straddling the American with a smirk. "Alfred, this is a serious question, so no snarky reply: Do you want to stay with me? After the Total Reign tour ends and longer?"
Alfred quirked a grin. "Fine. Sure." He pressed a palm to his eye, choking on something that might have been a laugh or a sob - he didn't know. "As long as you never ditch me like you guys did Chantal, then you'll never be able to get ridda me." Alfred sighed through his nose. "I just... why me? I'm just some kid from a shitty suburb."
"A misfit, as I recall you calling yourself," Arthur murmured, kissing the side of Alfred's mouth. "Even a misfit has a place where they belong."
They chuckled, rolling in the blankets together, kissing skin and mumbling broken phrases in relief. When they had finally calmed down, the excitement of something new - something rekindled - coursing through their veins, Alfred tucked Arthur's head beneath his chin, as the Briton drifted off into sleep.
The future never seemed so unclear.
-o-
Matthew met him two hours before the concert was to start, loitering in front of the stadium, kicking smashed cigarettes around on the ground.
"You made it," was the only thing Alfred could think to say when he spotted his brother. It had been eight years, but Alfred could still recognize the Canadian in a crowd. "I'm uh... glad."
Matthew smiled. His golden hair was tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck, the same rounded glasses that he'd had in grade school were perched on his nose. "Hey Al. It's been a long time, eh? You're still great with conversations, I see."
"Some shit never changes, huh?" He gave a cocky grin before pulling Matthew into a tight hug, burying his nose into his brother's collar for a moment before finally ripping himself away with a pat on the back. "Fuck, I missed you. Things have been pretty shitty."
The Canadian laughed lightly. "I missed you, too. And I understand. Dad hasn't been himself, either, not since the last marriage."
Alfred grimaced, surveying the stadium parking lot and growing lines with blue eyes. "We should get inside before they start mobbing. But uh..." He snubbed his nose, before popping a bubble of gum. "Thanks for coming."
"I wouldn't miss a chance to see The Empire for free, you know. They're actually pretty popular over at my University." Matthew chuckled. "Oh, and I wanted to see you, too."
Alfred punched him in the arm before leading him inside through the side entrance, making sure to flash both his and Matthew's backstage passes at any questioning tech personnel. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me how I got your pass or nothing," Alfred told Matthew as the made their way to the side of the stage, watching the tech crew set up the sound systems and plugging in all the band's equipment.
"Over the years I've figured out that you're full of surprises, Al," Matthew answered easily, shrugging nonchalantly. "Although it does explain why you stopped texting me suddenly." His brother paused, worrying on his lower lip. "I saw... in a magazine... you know, pictures."
"Gotcha." He blew a bubble, popping it with his forefinger and pulling the residue from his face. "Uh... is there anything about it that bothers you or whatever? Or do you have questions or some stupid shit like that? Matt help me out here. Talking is bad."
Matthew laughed loudly, reaching over and slapping Alfred on the shoulder in amusement. "Some things really do never change, eh? Alfred I would have loved to see you in school - you'd make even the toughest guy in my class cry." His broad smile grew contented as he stood next to Alfred, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his red hoodie. "So are all those rumors true, then? About how you and Arthur Kirkland are... you know...?"
"Together? Yeah. They're uh... true. And the ones about Gilbert and Francis? Nope. Reporters and paparazzi are just a bunch of lying ass fuckwads. Francis is so metro-sexual it hurts and Gilbert? Uh, I'm pretty sure he's asexual or something. Antonio has a guy waiting for him back home, so if you hear anything about that, it's a lie, too."
"You sure know a lot about them," Matthew said, watching the stage crew work with dark blue eyes. Alfred shrugged and leaned against a pole, crossing his arms and preparing himself for the long haul. Concerts always seemed to last forever, and he hated being stuck backstage with the fans that won VIP passes. It was always awkward and put him in a bad mood. Matthew only hummed to himself, checking his phone every few minutes in silence. Even after all the time they had been apart Matthew still knew him best.
Alfred sighed. "Can I ask you a question? Hypothetical or whatever - or not. I just have a fucking question."
Matthew closed his phone with an amused look. "Sure thing. What's up?"
Alfred pushed away from the pole, running a hand down his face in frustration. "Okay. So what if... No - how about... fuck! I don't even know how to start!"
"You just want advice right? So, what's your problem?"
"I just want to fucking know if I should go to London with Arthur when all of this is over! I'm just so...! Ugh! And I keep having these stupid thoughts and doubts and shit and Matthew! I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do!"
Matthew caught Alfred's wrist, pulling the American to his side to keep him from pacing. "Here's a better question. Do you love him and does he love you?"
Alfred froze. "What kind of question is that?" he hissed.
Their conversation was interrupted by loud chatter and a shout of Alfred's name. "Alfred! Oi! Hey is that your hermano?" Antonio came barreling into them, catching himself on Alfred before turning to shake Matthew's hand excitedly. "Wow! You two look so much alike! Crazy!"
"O-oh! Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Matthew stuttered out as Gilbert then took Antonio's place, smirking and clapping the Canadian on the back.
"So, this is Mr. Williams?" Arthur asked, giving Matthew's hand a stiff shake once Francis had his turn. When Matthew nodded meekly, flushed and overwhelmed by the band's cheerful greetings, Arthur smiled. "It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Matthew. You really do resemble Alfred." There was a call for a sound check on the stage and the singer blinked. "Oh, must dash. I do hope you enjoy the show." He dropped Matthew's hand and turned to Alfred, stretching up to kiss the American roughly. "Wish me luck?" he murmured against Alfred's mouth.
Alfred smirked into the kiss. "Like you need it," he muttered in response, kissing Arthur again and smacking his ass as the Briton sauntered away towards the stage.
Matthew coughed. "You two make an... ah... obscene couple," he said, a small smile worming across his face. He watched Arthur set up on stage for a moment. "Go with him."
"What?"
The Canadian only smiled secretively in response, rocking on the heels of his feet as the audience began to fill in. Alfred didn't pursue the subject. He had a feeling he would be too pleased with the answer.
-o-
The final concert of the Total Reign tour ended with massive fanfare. Fans screamed, the pyrotechnicians went out of their way to create a dazzling farewell at the final note of the final song. It was fitting, and Alfred caught up with Arthur afterwards, running his hands through the musician's sweaty hair and kissing him.
It was their last night together.
Alfred was still waiting for his passport to come in the mail - which would only show up at his home address nearly five hundred miles away. Arthur had promised to get him on the first flight to London once he was cleared.
Their hands wandered across their bodies, touching as if trying to memorize every single inch of each other. "It'll only be a couple weeks," Arthur was saying as they pushed their way into the hotel room, his hands already inside of Alfred's half-done trousers. "You'll have time to pack properly."
"Don't need to pack." Alfred fell onto the bed, pulling Arthur with him, smashing their mouths together, their teeth clicking together. He didn't want to have to say what was going through his mind. He wanted Arthur to feel it - to understand it simply through action. As if a kiss could say all the words that could never crawl their way from his throat.
He didn't want to part. Not yet. Not ever. There were too many doubts - too many insecurities. Alfred worked off Arthur's shirt, settling himself onto the Briton's hips and bending down to lap slowly at Arthur's nipples.
"Alfred..." Arthur panted through his nose, hips rolling up against Alfred. "Remember that night," he started, hands, running down Alfred's arms and back up, tracing the muscles and curves, "the night you... pretended to love me?"
The American stuttered, almost losing his balance and falling on top of Arthur, his face inches away from the musician's. "I..." He gulped, eyes darting around the room before settling on staring at Arthur's neck. "I'm shit at pretending, Arthur."
Instead of the disgust or shame or whatever Alfred had been expecting Arthur to show, the Englishman laughed, his voice pitched and laced with relief. "You utter moron," Arthur mumbled, wrapping his hands behind Alfred's neck, the American's golden hair tickling at the insides of his wrists. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"I'm shit at feelings, too," Alfred answered with a breathy laugh. He pulled the bottle of lube Arthur had told him to hold onto out of the pocket of his jeans, tossing it into the blankets as he began undressing the blond beneath him, slowly, taking his time to look and touch.
Arthur hummed happily in the back of his throat, pulling Alfred close when he finally naked and rolling over, trapping the American beneath him. "There's something I want to do," he said huskily, shimmying Alfred's trousers and boxers down his thighs and to his knees, waiting for the American to kick them off. "I know you're not well off with words, so I want to show you... how I feel, through actions. Is that fair?"
"I think you talk too much." Arthur only snorted, licking at the side of Alfred's neck and nibbling as his hand found the lube, popping open the cap and squirting it generously over his fingers. "Arthur?" He pulled off his glasses, watching the blond musician carefully.
Arthur spread his legs, dropping his head onto Alfred's chest as his slim fingers penetrated himself, stretching and working open his entrance. His breaths came out in warm pants, brushing over Alfred's chest and making the American shiver with excitement. Just listening to the small smack of lips and stunted moans that Arthur produced was enough to harden Alfred's cock.
"I'll make sure you don't forget," Arthur mumbled, pulling his fingers from himself and wrapping his lubed hand around Alfred's cock, stroking him until he was fully erect, his fingers digging into the pillows.
"It'd be hard to forget a whole damn year," Alfred bit back as Arthur positioned himself over his cock, Arthur's slender fingers guiding the head into his entrance. Quickly the Briton seated himself and Alfred's head tilted back, a raw moan ripping from his throat. "Oh, Jesus, oh fuck, oh fuck, you're so tight. Fuck Arthur."
Alfred's hands gripped Arthur's hips, holding him in place as they both breathed heavily. Arthur placed his hands on top of Alfred's. "I-I'm going... going to move now," he murmured, shifting and changing his angle before pulling himself up and sliding back down. Alfred's hands twitched as he helped Arthur lift himself, thrusting upwards when he began to slide back down.
They continued on, their pace growing quick and sloppy as Arthur rode Alfred's cock. The air was sweaty and filled with mumbled curses and smacks of tongues wetting lips, Alfred fondled Arthur, rubbing at the underside of Arthur's head and running his thumb over the slit, smearing precum before fisting the Briton.
Arthur keened in the back of his throat, coming with a terse curse, his semen spurting across Alfred's shuddering chest. Alfred pulled Arthur down to him, cradling his head to his shoulder as the musician rode out his climax. "Ready for the finish?" Alfred asked, half joking when Arthur finally relaxed against him.
"Give me your best." Alfred bit Arthur's lip before rolling over, pulling one of Arthur's legs over his shoulder before continuing, thrusting into Arthur as he sucked on the tender skin on the inside of the Briton's thigh. "Ah-Alfred! O-ohh, fuck!" Arthur balled his hands into fists, pressing them against his face and moaning loudly.
Alfred came with a choking gasp, falling onto Arthur as his semen spilled into the musician. He bit down on Arthur's shoulder, the skin pinking and bruising with the action. He wanted everyone to know that Arthur Kirkland was his.
"I seriously love your voice."
Arthur chuckled, his eyes drooping tiredly. "And I love you."
The American grinned, not his usual snarky, sharp smile, or his 'you're a complete idiot' type of smile, but a genuine, true kind of grin that made Arthur flush happily as he snuggled next to him. A few weeks would be far too long to wait to have this boy back in his arms.
Unimportant Notes: /crawls into hole to die of embarrassment
