Memory: First Blood (8 years previous to story)
After seven months of the team being together, Alfred had his first brush with death by a gun. Matthew was giving orders worthy of Assassin's Creed chase scenes, telling the American which roof to hop onto, fleeing from a gang that happened upon them while they were looking for the Designed. However the tactical genius didn't see far enough ahead as the gang ended up cornering Alfred on a building far too tall to even fathom jumping.
For all of his worth, Alfred did fight them back, rather well too. But over the coms the sound of a single gunshot rung. Fear and disbelief shot through the tactical genius' heart and he demanded Alfred to reply to him. He was waved off and Yao told him strictly not to call the ambulance. Alfred was in pain, he managed to fight off the last gang member but when Matthew asked him questions, trying to get eyes enough to see his field profiler, he was met with groans and half uttered words.
Ivan found him first. He told Matthew the damage and Yao voiced to pick the boy up, because that's what Alfred was, a nineteen year old boy. Ivan got him off the roof and to the car Yao picked up. Cloth was pressed to the wound and they returned to base camp. Along the way, Ivan fished the bullet out and sewed it up. The cloth was wrapped back up as they pulled in.
Yao opened the door and was followed by Ivan who went off in search for gauze to better cover Alfred's wound. The American himself was left to fend for his own way of walking. He was greeted shortly after closing the door by a rather troubled looking Matthew. The smaller blonde stormed right up to him, earning a perked brow from Yao. Without a word, Matthew lifted the jacket off the wound and placed a shaking hand over the tied cloth. To Alfred's credit he did nothing but tighten his jaw when the pressure was added. Periwinkle eyes stared at their own hand before following the wounded shoulder to a set of deep blue. The spark of panic was slowly dying in the waves of relief and Matthew let out the breath he knew fully well he was holding.
As Ivan returned with gauze, he and his boss was greeted with the sight of Matthew grabbing Alfred by the back of his neck and crashing their lips together. Almost instantly the older replied to the kiss, turning it into a dance that was as sloppy as they were young. Soft noises were excited from both of them and Matt's hand moved from the wounded shoulder to Alfred's hair. The two older men were left to shake their heads and comment silently as they saw this coming.
The make-out session somehow moved to the couch with Matthew beneath the injured Alfred. They only parted when their bodies realised that they needed oxygen, not the other's carbon dioxide. Even then their lips weren't far apart and as soon as the panting lessened they started again, hungry and without care.
It was actually only five minutes before they broke apart and settled with Matthew towards the front of the couch and Alfred behind him, his left and injured arm hanging loosely around Matt's middle. The smaller blonde turned sideways and he smacked Alfred on the side of his head. "Don't you ever get shot again, you fucknut."
"Only if you can promise I won't get kissed like this again. Because getting shot is worth this." Alfred replied cheekily, pressing a kiss to Matthew's exposed neck. He was smacked again and called an idiot. Still worth it.
Memory end.