"I never agreed to go to your house." Alfred frowned, "If you take me there, you're taking me against my will. Villain."
"And what are you going to about it?" Arthur merged back in to the street, beginning the journey home.
"Leave." Alfred teasingly plucked at the handle several times, gauging Arthur's reaction.
Arthur blinked oddly as a stray drop of rain snuck in between the cracked window and struck him in the face. "I'm afraid you'll find your door doesn't open from the inside."
Alfred tested his newly acquired information by giving a severe tug on the handle, once, twice, three times. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"Of course not. Peter likes to sit in the front, but I don't trust him not to open the door and hurl himself into traffic because he wants to go to a toy shop or something inane like that." Arthur shook his head, grumbling, "As if I'd want to keep you around."
A stark silence swallowed the interior of the vehicle the instant the words had fallen from Arthur's lips, and he knew without doubt he had spoken his thoughts too loudly. He ignored it at first, pretending there was not another soul in the car. That it was only him, and the swirling tension of the air was a result of the electrically charged air. His eyes refused to play into the act.
They flicked at an even and quick tempo, from the road to Alfred, then back again. Arthur's eyes avoided grazing over Alfred's face, unwilling to confront any sadness or hurt they might hold. They instead traced over his chest, the rise and fall as the man's breath, slightly hitched at times, the breathing of someone in a desperate struggle to hold back tears.
Arthur's eyes moved on. Sliding over Alfred's stomach, glancing across the button and down the metallic zipper of his jeans, content to settle on Alfred's thighs. Arthur frowned as he took in the curve of the soft flesh, marred holes made upon the jeans distracted him from his visual conquest. A particularly large tear sat upon the thigh closest to Arthur, a twinge of need surfaced, a need to touch the lack of fabric.
He knew the hole would not evaporate if his fingers were to glance over it, but a biting voice in the back of his head urged him on, begging for the tactile sensation. If only he could hook a single finger into that hole, give a simple tug to reaffirm its existence. Arthur's teeth ground together, the desire growing thick within his head, becoming swollen and demanding.
Arthur flicked through different excuses he could give if Alfred were to question his touch, which surely the young man would. He could not design a single excuse that could stand up to questioning before crumbling into a mess of lies, his hidden intention laid naked and exposed in an instant.
Strangled breath wrenched Arthur's attention back into the present. Alfred was still struggling to suppress his emotional distress, managing only to feed it in the silence. Arthur's hand twitched with a patronizing urge to quell Alfred's pain with a well placed touch, a mix of kind words and gentle whispers.
His hand moved of its own accord, Arthur having only the strength to direct it towards the other man's shoulders, instead of a more sensitive area. His fingers crept quickly along, spider like in their scurrying movements, covering the width of Alfred's shoulders before coming to languidly rest near Alfred's collar. Close enough to surreptitiously flick his fingers against the other's disheveled blond locks without drawing much attention.
"I didn't mean what I said." Arthur mumbled belatedly.
"Yes, you did." Alfred looked out into the night, his hands clenched in his lap.
"That's not true, I'm simply-" Arthur swallowed any semblance of pride he owned. "Being a grumpy man."
"Like always?" Alfred glanced back, his words hopeful but reserved, wanting the tension to pass.
"Like always." Arthur forced a rough laugh at the end of his words, but the unease between them refused to fade.
"Grumpy old man or not, you don't like me. I try everything I can to be your buddy," Alfred bemoaned, his chest puffing like an upset child's. "I mean, at the Country Club last week I even left you a doughnut." He deflated, chin dropping to his chest.
"Country club?" Arthur could not recall ever golfing with Alfred, knowing the other would use the gold karts to play go-kart.
"When we all get together at our little meetings. Because we're all countries, and it's like, a club." Alfred's eyes flashed to Arthur's face, seeking reassurance that his self-coined term was not ridiculous.
"I see." Breathed Arthur, "Certainly quite an, erm, artistic name." He tenderly tickled his fingers along the smooth surface of Alfred's neck, noting the warmth of his skin, the slight touch of sweat.
Alfred gave no signal that he had noticed Arthur's touch, his head lolling only slightly. "Can I turn on the radio?"
"Be my guest," Arthur welcomed, giving the back of Alfred's neck a motivating rub.
Alfred punched the radio on with a drunken fumble, his other hand readjusting his spectacles as he studied the radio frequency. He began to scan the stations without a word, pausing only long enough at every station to obtain the general gist of what genre was playing. Smooth jazz he passed, metal he passed, and with a somber grimace from Arthur, classical music he passed.
He went through this movement several times, scanning up and down the range of frequencies available. When static would make itself apparent, Alfred would lean towards the radio, his back arching and his eyes scrutinizing the air, trying desperately to see what sound lay beneath the buzz of noise.
Arthur's fingers clutched at the air every time he felt Alfred lean away, eager to brush against the man's hair and skin, to make subtle yet comforting contact. Alfred's peculiar musical decisions were beginning to strain his nerves, he wanted the boy to just pick something already, throw caution to the wind and listen to whatever came next so he could return himself to Arthur's touch.
"Your radio is broken," Alfred announced, throwing himself back into his seat with a heave.
Arthur's nerves settled as he felt the tickle of Alfred's silken hair against his forearm. "What makes you say that?"
"No Spanish folk music. Not a lick," Alfred moaned dramatically.
"Beg pardon?" Arthur wondered if he had misheard, or at least missed a segment vital to the conversation.
"You heard me, no Spanish folk music. No accordions, no happy singing voices, no catchy castanets."
"And how do you draw the conclusion that my radio is broken because it hasn't any Spanish folk music to play for you?"
Alfred shot a serious look at Arthur, his lips taught and thin, his glazed eyes slightly wild. "There is always Spanish folk music."
"Why do you need such music so badly to begin with?"
Alfred's eyes drained of their rowdy touch, and Arthur was sure he felt the other leaning into his arm, as opposed to merely tolerating it. "I feel kind of homesick," he hastily muttered, his words jumbling in their hurry to be spoken.
"That doesn't explain the music." Arthur thumbed the collar of Alfred's jacked, the grooves of the fabric settling into his memory.
"Like I said, Spanish folk is always on the radio back home. I swear it's on every other station even. At first I wasn't so big on it, but it's grown on me. The musicians and singers always sound so lively, like they're having a grand ol' time with their simple instruments."
Unable to completely grasp why folk music would cause Alfred to feel better, Arthur diverted the course of their conversation. "How long have you been here? In England, I mean." Their last meeting had been only three days ago, and surely a well-traveled man like Alfred would not be pining for his homeland in such a short period of time.
"Something like two weeks," Alfred responded.
The arm that had been resting on Alfred's shoulder snapped back to the wheel, colliding inadvertently with the back of Alfred's skull, "Two weeks?" Arthur questioned, more than a bit incredulous.
"Ow, yes." Alfred readjusted his glasses with slightly jittering fingers, the frame having come to balance precariously upon his nose after the blow to his head. "I was vacationing with Mattie."
"And this entire time, you haven't made a single attempt to contact me?"
"No, why would I?"
Arthur's chest was struck with ice, a sweeping and bitter chill coming to rest on his thoughts. His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, it creaked obligingly under his strength. "Oh, I don't know," Arthur spat, "Maybe to spend time with me."
"Believe me, I thought about it," Alfred began, but his lips pursed as he looked back on his words. "I don't mean I obsessed over it. But I considered it. Maybe. Not for a long time. Maybe like, for a minute." Alfred took to backpedaling.
"And of all the things on God's green Earth, what stopped you?" Arthur began to give the wheel a deep tissue massage, ignoring its mounting whines of protest.
"You'd be all like, 'You are a git-faced wanker who gives hand-relief to corporate mascots' and then I'd call you a slang word that sounds bad, but might not be bad." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Like a toff. I don't know what one is, but I'd call you one anyway."
Arthur loosened his grip on the wheel, his shoulders shedding a hint of their anxiety. "I suppose that sounds more or less like our conversations."
"We're doing pretty good so far, I think." Alfred hugged himself. "We haven't gotten to the hand-relief bit part of our conversation yet."
"Yes, we've certainly proved ourselves to be more civil than is usual for us, tonight."
The two men again fell silent, their company doing little to soothe each other. Wind whipped loudly through the window, carrying small torrents of water into the car, but Arthur was unwilling to roll up the window. His close proximity to Alfred constantly reminded him of the other's mental and physical state, one that involved extravagant amounts of alcohol.
Alfred began to hum, reserved if not lackluster. His hands moved fleetingly up and down the restraint that stretched across his chest, strumming and caressing. He shifted his weight in his seat, restless and seemingly full of excess energy despite the late hour. Soon Alfred's coat was off, pooling at his waist while his face was pressed against the plexiglass pane of the window, blinking every time a drop of rain hurled itself against the window.
Arthur was content to drive in silence, knowing that it lessened the chances of an argument breaking out if neither were speaking. He pulled into the drive of his home, slightly impressed that Alfred could manage to hold himself together without speaking for more than twenty seconds.
"This your pad?" Alfred straightened up as Arthur parked. "The little joint way off there?" He gestured to Arthur's cottage, several hundred yards away.
"Home, sweet home." Arthur smiled, he didn't mind if it was a cozy, if not somewhat cramped living space. "There's nowhere but tall grass and wildflowers leading up to the door, so we're going to have to make a bit of a run for it. You can put your jacket over your head."
"I think I'll pass." Alfred unbuckled himself.
"That wasn't a request, lad."
Alfred wavered in his seat, weighing his options. "I bet the rain feels nice," he mused.
"I'm sure it does, but I won't have any wet beasts crossing my hearth."
"Yeah, not when you can summon 'em up in your basement." Alfred quipped.
"How long have you been waiting to tell that joke, a few decades?"
"Something around there," Alfred divulged.
Arthur shrugged his own coat off, pro-actively pulling it over his head to shield himself from the rain. "Either you put your jacket over your head, or you sleep in the car." His tone left no weak-point for cajoling.
"But your coat is better than mine. Not to mention mine is leather, and it's so old it really does smell pretty funky if it gets damp."
"Then what shall I do? Hand over my coat and simply soak in the rain?"
"I never said that," Alfred balked awkwardly. "We could, maybe, share it or something."
"Do you even know how to share?" Arthur scoffed.
"With you, I do!" Alfred whined, childlike in his determination.
"Name one instance."
"The doughnut I mentioned before."
Arthur's mind recovered their earlier conversation, the fleeting mention of the fried sweet dough. He wracked his mind for the memory of finding it. Faintly, he recalled seeing a doughnut in the break room during the last 'Country Club', but he hadn't eaten it. Something had been distinctly wrong with it, something vital─
"Wait. I remember this doughnut you're going on about."
"You do?"
"It had the icing eaten off of it."
Alfred went silent, no doubt projecting the memory onto his own mind, watching the frames slip by. "Right. Yeah, that was me." His fingers knit together, his shoulders hunched with embarrassment.
Arthur studied Alfred. Studied his saddened posture, the red blush of both booze and shame painted upon his cheeks, the nervous twitching of his fingers. His irritation melted into a thick and tallowy mass too unmotivated to go on. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose."
Arthur rolled his window up before exiting the car, quickly stepping to the passenger side and pulling the handle. Alfred blinked up at him momentarily, eyes clouded and confused, puzzled by Arthur's rapid change of heart. An unsure smile curved across his lips as he also stepped out of the car and under the protection of Arthur's upraised arm.
Rain assaulted the two men as they struggled towards the front door, making their way at a frustratingly slow pace. Alfred repeatedly knocked into Arthur's side as he drunkenly teetered in one direction before swinging in another, each time his amused laugh hurried away by the whip of the wind.
Arthur clenched his teeth in surprise as Alfred's shoulder collided with him, employing a particular bit of force. He winced and attempted to will the pain away, stopping in his tracks to recover for a moment. Alfred stilled with him, leaning most of his weight into Arthur as he waited.
"What are you doing, you lug of a man?" Arthur barked against the wind.
"I think-" Alfred shouted back, strands of hair tangled hair lashing his face as his form lurched to the side, "-I think I'm gonna fall. Yes. That is definitely going to happen."
"You are not going to fall. We've made it far enough with you on your feet, you can manage for another hundred yards or so."
Arthur smothered a mix of astonishment and fondness as Alfred's arms began to wind around his waist for support, shackling their bodies together. His own body refused to move as Alfred molded to it, mumbling to himself as he went. He took a step forward to urge Arthur on, who started up without a word of protest.
The physical closeness warmed Arthur, pushing him to carry on into the pounding rain that seemed only to gain in its strength. He pulled Alfred along with him, the young man almost tripping them both when he tried to stride ahead. Arthur found himself distracted by every step the other man took, his bear-like hold on Arthur, how his head had come to rest on Arthur's shoulder, bumping and swaying with every step.
Despite being bogged down with the task of half dragging Alfred, a smile spilled across Arthur's lips as they reached the door, their journey having come to an end. He hesitated at the door, removing their coat cover and dipping a hand into his pocket to find his keys. Alfred's grasp stayed strong, his breathing labored and hot as it traveled along Arthur's jawline, unsettling the man.
"L-let go of me, you o-oaf," Arthur stammered, every breath that scattered across his neck detracting from his focus to get the door ajar.
Alfred slackened his grip, but refrained from completely releasing Arthur. Slick strands of hair plastered themselves along Arthur's skin as Alfred lowered his head to rest in the crook where shoulder and neck met, his breathing still deeply tenuous.
Arthur unlocked the door with ingrained movements, attempting to take Alfred with him while shouldering it open. He made to shut the door with a snap of his hip, as he always did when his arms were full, but the sucking of the wind slammed it for him.
The echoing noise stirred Alfred from his silence, and the man eased himself away from Arthur, yawning and stretching as he toed off his shoes. A scowl tweaked at Arthur's features as Alfred had pulled away, aware of how oddly comfortable it had been to feel the other so close to his body.
"Your hair is soaking," Arthur remarked with a certain casualness, not wanting to rip into the boy right off the bat.
Alfred gave his head a few pats before drawing his hand away and giving his palm a scrutinizing look. "Indeed it is," he remarked, a slightly bemused look drifting across his face.
Arthur touched his own hair, and felt a hint of smugness at the fact it was bone-dry, if not a little straw like. He removed his own shoes as Alfred peeled off waterlogged socks which he promptly inserted into his sneakers. "Don't do that." Arthur groaned. "Ring out your socks and hang them up, then stuff some wadded up newspaper into your shoes."
Alfred gave him a look that said, Truly, you ask too much of me.
"Fine. Leave them there. I hope they get moldy." Arthur's gaze slipped over Alfred's clothes, noticing wet splotches. Is this boy some kind of water magnet? he silently asked himself. "Go change into some dry pajamas."
"Don't got any."
Arthur stared at him, unamused. "What do you mean, 'don't got any'?"
"I mean, I don't have any spare clothes, only what I have on my back." Alfred frowned, his eyes holding a mix of emotions Arthur could not quite pinpoint.
Arthur closed his eyes and gave them a firm rub with the flats of his hands. "I can't deal with this," he wheezed.
He repressed a flinch as he felt Alfred's hands wrap around his wrists and begin to pull them away from his eyes, grip gentle, but with a certain firmness that told Arthur not to resist.
"Are you mad at me?" Alfred asked, his voice quiet in fear of the answer.
"No," Arthur assured him, unable to lash out at Alfred for the time being. "I'm not cross with anyone, only frustrated."
"With me?"
"Only a bit." He weaseled his wrists from Alfred's grip to give the other a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "Why don't we get you some clothes?"
Alfred's expression relaxed as he nodded in agreement. Arthur turned with a smile and made his way down the main corridor until he found himself in a spare room that had, over the years, gone in to a metamorphosis that left it as a cluttered storage area.
He rummaged through box after box, his hands sifting through a variety of objects, from thimbles to non-functioning kitchen appliances. A splash of red fabric caught his eye, and without a thought he began to tug upon the hem of the clothing. Soon, a long, plain red shirt emerged from the box.
"I think that'll fit," Alfred said, surprising Arthur with how close he was.
Arthur whirled around and shoved the shirt towards Alfred, keeping the other at arm's length. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Alfred momentarily refused to take the shirt from Arthur, instead opting to strip off the top he was presently wearing.
"S-stop that, I don't need you changing in front of me." Arthur ran the tip of his tongue over paling lips.
Alfred ignored Arthur's protests, struggling to pull his shirt over his head. Soon his arms had become tangled, locked in an upright position. He flailed about like a headless monster in his endeavor to change his top. Arthur reached out and steadied Alfred, his eyes rolling as he helped the other escape from the self imposed prison.
"Really now, you could at least wait until I'm in another room to change." Arthur shook his head, his eyes avoiding Alfred's bare torso as he continued to hold out the red top, but not quickly enough to register the smoothness of the other's stomach, how muscle rippled ever so slightly under his fair skin as he struggled.
"Pretend we're in a locker room." Alfred bent at the waist, his arms ahead of him in a manner reminiscent of Superman. "It's not so bad that way."
"What are you doing?" Arthur gaped at the ridiculous way Alfred was holding his body. Maybe the man was going to dive right into the wood paneling of the floor.
"Help me put the shirt on." Alfred wiggled his arms.
"And you claim to be an adult." Arthur helped Alfred put the spare shirt on without much fuss, doing his best to smooth the wrinkles that decorated the midsection of the fabric with firm strokes of his palm. Alfred, always a tad on the ticklish side, began to giggle. "Let's get you some bottoms now."
"I think I'll pass on the bottoms," Alfred said casually.
"And sleep in what you have on now?" Arthur's vision drifted downward to Alfred's jeans. The damp material had begun to cling even closer to Alfred's flesh now, forming itself to the curves of his skin, wrapped so tightly Arthur could nearly imagine the warmth that lay beneath it. Again his eyes caught on the large hole the marked the thigh of Alfred's jeans. His fingers twitched, still wanting to hook into the material and give it a hearty pull.
"I won't sleep in these, butter bean." Alfred was back to his peculiar drunken nicknames, fingers floundering about the copper button of his jeans.
"You certainly won't be sleeping without bottoms." Arthur considered ducking out of the room to avoid the embarrassment of watching Alfred's jeans come off, but noticed with a pang of irritation the man was taking up the whole of the doorway.
"Why not?" Alfred's hands had moved to take care of the zipper. "Feels good, man."
"Because it's lewd and generally inappropriate."
"It's not like─" Alfred began to struggle with sliding his jeans off, the wet material refusing to give in. "─I'm sleeping in your bed."
It dawned on Arthur that he had been assuming Alfred and him would be sharing a bed. He knew that once the thunder and lightning grew from the blowing storm outside, Alfred would be diving under the covers, a habit, or fear, really, that he had never been able to rid himself of.
"I think I need your help again." Alfred's brow was furrowed in concentration, a light glaze of sweat showing upon his face.
"I'm not taking your pants off of you."
"But then I won't be able to get them off," Alfred protested. "Just pull on the belt loops, I won't look."
"I'm not worried about you looking." Arthur took a step closer, though he was not entirely devoted to the act of pulling Alfred's clothes off. Wouldn't want him to be stuck in wet clothes now, he'd fetch himself a cold, he tried to convince himself.
"Okay, you don't have to look either." Alfred closed the distance that had kept him from Arthur, loosely draping his arms around the other's shoulders.
Arthur's fingers found themselves being wound into the loops of Alfred's jeans without any further need of provocation. He began to tug downwards in short bursts as Alfred continued to hold onto his neck, his skin almost burning against Arthur's own.
Arthur flushed, the heat itching as it scaled across his body. Alfred had begun to wriggle in an attempt to assist Arthur in getting his jeans off, but the more he moved, the more he seemed to slip against Arthur's body, his mouth drawing closer to the flesh of Arthur's neck with every spastic jerk, hips occasionally bumping against one another's. Arthur's heart thumped loudly in his chest, railing against his skin until he was petrified that Alfred would soon take notice of it.
Alfred made an animalistic growl as he continued in his backwards way to help Arthur, back arching inward to meet with Arthur's own body. Arthur gasped at the contact, his hands loosening from the belt loops of Alfred's jeans, moving of their own free will.
They traced fleetingly along Alfred's backside, moving beneath his shirt, calloused pads delighting in the smooth planes of Alfred's curved back, greedily taking in the ridges of scarred tissue from battles long ago won and lost.
In an instant Alfred had jerked himself away, Arthur's nails digging into his skin in an attempt hold him close. He turned away, nearly tumbling over his own feet in the process. A sneeze sounded in the room, Alfred's, compressed and squeaky, high within his chest.
The noise was loud enough to pull Arthur's common sense together again, to force him into the realisation of what he was doing. He gaped at Alfred, horrified with himself for attempting to touch the American in a manner beyond simple friendship, and while the other was drunk, at that.
To take advantage of someone in such a state, it was unforgivable in his own eyes, and as someone with a hero complex, Alfred was sure to share the same views regarding such actions.
"Oh God," Arthur gasped, "I didn't mean to, I really didn't─" In an instant he had darted for the blocked door, bowling Alfred over as he made his escape.
He ran to the master bedroom, sliding and slipping along the floor in his rush, banging against the walls and knocking over decorations. The moment he was within the the safety of his room, he locked the door. He yanked on the knob to check its strength before quickly maneuvering over to his writing desk, dragging a chair that sat in front of it to the door and propping it beneath the handle. There was no way he could face Alfred after what he had done.
A/N: Too lazy to fix the grammatical mistakes in this chapter, durdily dur.