We've officially passed the halfway point on this fic! Thank you all so much for all your favorites, reviews, etcetera - truly, they mean the world to me.
And, let's just say that I've been waiting to write this particular chapter for quite a while. :3
In Brief: The departure for London is fast approaching. So are some surprises - for both our heroes. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what do they know, anyways?
AN ANNOUNCEMENT: So…some of my so-called friends convinced me to get a tumblr despite my deep-running fear of blogging. Therefore, if any of you feel so compelled:
worldaccordingtofangirls . tumblr. com
(Just take out the spaces, of course.)
As of right now, I reblog Hetalia shit and post selections from my travels through the internet and my considerable collection of USUK pictures, but since I am indeed going to stick around the (English-speaking) USUK fandom for as long as it lives, perhaps you all would be interested in notices about updates and little snippets of writing that aren't good enough to actually publish.
I DON'T KNOW THOUGH. I'M STILL VERY TUMBLR-INSECURE. Actually, I'm still altogether internet-insecure in general. I get nervous about leaving reviews and PMs, worrying that I'll annoy people or something…T_T
But I would be thrilled to get to know you.
*anxiety*
(I'm only halfway joking about the anxiety thing)
XD
I hope you enjoy. ^^
Arthur didn't keep very good track of the days leading to Alfred's departure. He knew that they did a lot of filming, and a lot of editing, and of course a lot of rehearsing. In addition to this, he vaguely remembered what must have been a thousand costume changes and set alterations and petty workplace dramas, and remembered pondering that before, such occurrences as these would irk him to no end, but nowadays he merely watched them with raised eyebrows, and why was that exactly? Perhaps it could be explained by the number of times he and Alfred had been surprised in the elevator (several) or in the stairwell (more than they could count), or by how often they went out for drinks after work and stayed at the bar counter long into the night, just talking and laughing, before Alfred walked Arthur home (as had suddenly become their tradition) and kissed him in front of his door until they were both delirious and could barely stammer out their goodnights, or perhaps it could be explained most of all by the fleeting moments when Alfred would catch Arthur's eye from across the studio and wink or grin and Arthur would unthinkingly smile back only to turn pink and glare when Francis snorted or Elizaveta had to stifle a squeal against the back of her hand.
Whichever way, the days bled into each other, and when Arthur woke up on Friday morning and registered the date, he found that he was suddenly very unwilling to get out of bed and therefore allow the day to begin, because if this morning was Friday morning then the next morning was Saturday morning, meaning tomorrow Alfred would be taking a plane to London to stay there for an entire week before he returned to Los Angeles, a prospect which didn't sit terribly well with Arthur despite his lack of choice in the matter.
Arthur sighed, closed his eyes for a moment, and then forced himself to get up and put the kettle on, prodding Francis with his foot as he went. He felt stubble on his jaw and shuffled to the bathroom while he waited for the water to boil, gazing into the mirror with bleary eyes before he recalled his original purpose and picked up a razor and the shaving cream. Halfway down his left cheek, he saw that the razor belonged to Francis, and groaned, making a face and accidentally nicking himself on the cheek in doing so. Cursing, he rinsed the cut off in the sink and wadded up a tissue to stem the bleeding before he made his way back to their kitchenette, still mumbling angrily to himself, and poured the boiling water into a mug, sighing as he felt the stem waft up to soothe his raw cheeks.
Francis was slicing an orange and had one wedge balanced between his teeth when he leaned back to tell Arthur good morning; Arthur merely grunted in response and went to the fridge in search of milk only to find that they were fresh out.
"Bloody fantastic," he groaned, and drank the tea straight.
Even Francis knew better than to pester him at this point, and thus they ate and freshened up for work in silence that was only occasionally broken when Arthur cursed because he had tripped over one of Francis' suitcases, which were all lying open across their already cluttered floor, clothes and toiletries spilling onto the rug around them, serving both as hazards and unwelcome reminders of the impending departure.
As per usual, they took the bus into work, rode the elevator to the floor of the current set they were occupying, and there dispersed to attend to their various tasks. Arthur had contentedly situated himself in a chair off to the side and was busy both with flipping through the scene they were going to film that day and awarding anyone who strayed too close to him his finest venomous glare when he felt arms unexpectedly wind around his stomach from behind and was forced to turn around and smack Alfred several times with the rolled-up script before he would release him.
"We're in public!" he hissed when Alfred had laughingly backed away.
"We're in the studio," said Alfred through his grin, as though that somehow changed everything, and reached out to hang his arm across Arthur's shoulder. Arthur brandished the script at him warningly.
"Alfred F. Jones, don't you dare make me repeat myself," he glared, thoroughly unimpressed. "I'm having a rather awful morning and I would very much appreciate it if you'd - "
The grin melted into a smirk and suddenly Alfred was very close to him, very close indeed, though not quite touching him, more of crowding into his space so that their chests and foreheads nearly bumped together. Arthur drew in a short breath of surprise and exasperation and fearlessly met Alfred's self-assured gaze.
"I've already told you," he hissed. "My morning has been a fucking wreck and I'm not in the mood to put up with your antics."
Entirely undeterred, Alfred merely shrugged and grabbed his hand, and before he could protest or even react Arthur found himself bundled behind a plywood set and wrapped up into the smell of cigarette smoke and leather bomber jacket and the warmth of Alfred's arms; he huffed softly and, because at least they were where nobody could see them, allowed himself to press his nose into the crook of Alfred's neck and shoulder.
Alfred chuckled and Arthur got an arm free to punch him gently in the stomach; Alfred grunted softly in complaint before he leaned back and patted Arthur's cheek with the flat of his palm affectionately.
"Alfred, don't patronize me," muttered Arthur, trapping his hand in his to get him to stop. "I told you, I've had a positively horrendous -"
"I know," Alfred smiled and maneuvered their hands so that he could kiss the backs of Arthur's fingers. "Your morning sucked some serious balls. But hey," he winked. "What worth am I if I can't improve it?"
Arthur laughed shortly.
"Oh, boy, Alfred, where should I begin -"
Alfred answered him with a kiss, and Arthur smiled against his mouth, reaching up and cradling the back of his head in one hand so that he could maintain some control while he intertwined his unoccupied fingers with Alfred's and let their arms fall to their sides. For a long moment he thought of nothing but the lovely feel of Alfred, then he abruptly and unpleasantly remembered that he would soon be deprived of that feeling for an entire week, and broke the kiss with a gasp, lowering his chin so that his forehead was level with Alfred's nose.
He soon felt Alfred hook his finger beneath his chin, trying to tilt his face upwards. Arthur resisted and eventually Alfred's palm curved upwards to rest on the swell of his cheek.
"Something wrong?"
Arthur shook his head, running his hand absently across the nape of Alfred's neck.
"It's nothing," he bit down on his lower lip. "Just…a really, really terrible morning."
Alfred was silent for a moment, presumably considering.
"So even my awesomeness didn't make it better?"
It was now Arthur's turn to pat Alfred's cheek as if he were a child, though he still didn't meet his gaze.
"I'll admit you were somewhat of a help," he murmured, and kissed him briefly before attempting to free himself from his arms. Alfred didn't budge; Arthur glared at him.
"Stop being a romantic fool; it's time we got to work."
Now Alfred was grinning again. Arthur rolled his eyes and settled in for an extensive argument.
"I think I know why your morning sucks." Alfred said this as though he had gained some grand victory in doing so, and Arthur quirked an eyebrow, still fighting against Alfred's elbows, which were now clamped at his sides in veritable vice grips.
"Oh really?" he hissed in frustration as he pushed ineffectually against Alfred's forearm. "Do tell."
Alfred's eyes glinted and suddenly Arthur was all wrapped up in him again, the flats of his palms tight and strong against his back, effectively trapping him in the embrace.
"You're going to miss me," Alfred whispered in his ear, and even at such a subdued tone Arthur could hear that insipid grin saturate his voice.
"I'm going to - what are you…" Arthur paused, pretending to consider something. "Oh!" he cried eventually, smirking up at Alfred. "That's right! Tomorrow, you, London. Funny, I had nearly forgotten."
Alfred chuckled, merely pressing him closer. "That's a cute act, Artie."
Arthur dug his hands into the back of his jacket solely for the sake of gaining more balance in this whole unfortunate situation.
"That's not my name," he muttered. "Now, I positively demand that you release me."
"But I haven't gotten to the best part yet!"
"Oh dear, this whole ordeal comes in parts?"
"You betcha," said Alfred with a snigger; by then he had transitioned to tracing circles on Arthur's back with his palms. "Wanna hear it?"
"Have I any choice in the matter?"
"Nope."
"Then, I think, after many long, hard hours spent on this very serious decision…I'm going to opt to remain in ignorance." Arthur blinked up at Alfred primly. "Now let me go."
Alfred merely kissed his forehead.
"We're going out tonight."
Arthur furrowed his brow. "We always go out."
"But tonight is gonna be different."
"How so?"
"Well geez, man, you don't have to sound so incredulous about it."
"Alfred."
"Right. Sorry. You did sound kind of incredulous, though. I mean, come on, give me some credit. But anyways," Alfred grinned at him. "It's gonna be different because it's gonna be special."
"Special," Arthur repeated dubiously. "What's going to be so special about it?"
Alfred's lips were back at Arthur's forehead; he spoke against the vein thrumming in his temple.
"Just special. That's all I'm gonna say."
"Alfred - " For an instant Alfred's lips were against his, then they heard Elizaveta shouting his name and he was gone, mouth, hands, limbs, eyes, hair, everything, scampering out from behind the set with a facetious little salute, hand titled downwards, obviously designated for Arthur. Smiling wryly, Arthur lifted his hand to his forehead and saluted him back, British-style with his palm facing up, even though Alfred likely couldn't see him do so from behind the plywood wall.
Special, eh? Arthur made sure to give the situation a few minutes to look less suspicious and to fix his hair and tie before he stepped out from behind the set.
If Alfred wasn't careful he would leave Arthur glad to be able to drop him in London's hands for a while.
Arthur was surprised that he neither encountered Alfred in the hallways, nor on the stairs, nor in the elevator; what was stranger still was that he was neither assaulted nor conspicuously whispered at whilst he attempted to traverse the lobby of World Series Entertainment. In fact, he stepped outside into the heady late-summer heat and distractedly gave his goodbyes to Francis with no trouble at all. Arthur stood on the curb for a moment, thoroughly confused and almost forlorn, before he heard an almost familiarly obnoxious honk from behind him and turned to see Alfred leaning out from the window of a gleaming red Mustang, the engine sputtering softly behind him as he pulled the car to a stop directly in front of Arthur.
"Hop in, sweetheart!" he grinned as per usual, his hair shifting slightly in the thick breeze that crept along the Los Angeles streets. Arthur blinked and remembered to close his gaping mouth.
"W-what…"
"Isn't she sexy?" Alfred patted the side of the car affectionately, leaving a faint handprint on the otherwise flawless red exterior. His grin deepened. "Though not as sexy as you, of course, Artie."
"S-sod off," choked Arthur. "We're in public, and even if that weren't the case…well, that would still be a positively revolting line." He raised a dubious eyebrow at the car. "Don't tell me that this is what's so special about tonight."
Alfred chuckled. "Nope, I bought this baby a couple days ago. My one grand indulgence, and she's a beauty, that's for sure," he ran his fingers along the edge of the windowsill reverently, then glanced up and winked. "Come on, Artie, hop in."
Arthur sighed, glanced down at Alfred, blinked into his unreasonably handsome smile, his gleaming gaze, his expression, flushed with childish excitement, and grudgingly wrenched open the door, contradicting this action by slipping daintily into the leather passenger seat and crossing one leg over another as he primly folded his fingers together on his lap.
Alfred snorted as he pressed the gas pedal. "You're such a fruit, man."
Arthur shot him a long look, wincing as they nearly ran a red light and resisting the temptation to snatch the wheel from Alfred's hands.
"So says the boyfriend of the so-called fruit."
They were silent for a moment while Arthur realized what he had just accidentally said. He glanced nervously at Alfred to find him glancing right back, a tentative smile toying with the bow of his lips and the faintest blush visible at the tips of his ears and across his nose. Arthur swallowed and mustered a glare.
"What, no devastating comeback today?"
Alfred blinked, took one hand off the steering wheel, reached across the seat, fought with Arthur's intertwined fingers for a moment, then finally succeeded in capturing one of his hands and wrapping it in his own, after which he turned his attention back to the road without a word. With a little effort, Arthur managed to maneuver his hand into a position where he could tentatively wind their fingers together. He felt Alfred squeeze gently and he focused determinedly on his shoes.
"I suppose it is a rather nice car," he muttered to his lap. Alfred smirked.
"Not as nice as you, Artie."
"Must you ruin every kind gesture I try to make you?" replied Arthur dryly, but a smile touched his lips all the same. Alfred feigned a frown.
"I gotta say, man, this lady," he patted the steering wheel, indicating that by lady he was referring to car. "…has started to give you some serious competition, seeing as how she can't really complain at me and stuff, after all."
Arthur chuckled. "But Alfred, you seem to forget," he slyly unwound their fingers and ran his palm up Alfred's arm, curling his hand around his neck. "She also can't do this." They were pulling to a stop in front of a red light and so Arthur leaned over the seat and pressed his mouth only slightly to Alfred's, scarcely allowing their lips to touch, more of breathing on him than kissing him at all, really. Alfred, never one for subtleties, pressed forwards eagerly, foolishly lifting both his hands from the wheel in an attempt to hold him in place, and Arthur immediately snapped backwards, smirking at the dejected expression he was met with as the light turned and Alfred had to return his hands to the business of driving.
"You play dirty," he muttered, cutting around a corner with a rather vindictive speed.
"Mm, indeed. I don't know how you survive, you poor, poor dear," murmured Arthur absently. "Perhaps, and I do mean perhaps, I will reward you if you tell me where on earth you are taking me," he craned his neck to get a better view of the streets and buildings surrounding them. "I daresay I don't recognize anything about this place."
Alfred tilted his head to the side, his lower lip jutting out slightly in an absolutely adorable fashion, though Arthur would die before he admitted to such a thing. "Aw," he was whining. "I had really hoped you would remember!"
Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Remember what, pray tell?"
"We were around here on the night of our day off, right? We went to that Italian place and then to that movie that scared the shit out of me. You crashed…er, were forced to crash…at my apartment afterwards. Dude, I can't believe you don't remember!"
"No, Alfred," Arthur squinted out the window. "That can't be right; we're at least six or seven blocks from there. In fact, I'm almost positive that I've never been here."
Alfred shrugged. "But you were near here."
Arthur sighed heavily.
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
"At least…" Arthur paused. "Well, it's certainly never boring."
Alfred laughed and thumped him on the shoulder before returning his attention to the road. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"If you're quite done stalling, I might like to know to where I'm being sequestered off, exactly. That is, unless you don't want your reward."
Alfred seemed to debate with himself for a moment.
"We're going to the store," he finally said.
"The store? What kind of store?" When he received no answer: "Alright then, can you tell me why?"
To his credit, Alfred looked genuinely torn, but eventually shook his head decidedly, biting down on his lower lip. Arthur huffed exasperatedly, crossed his arms over his chess, and looked fixedly out the window.
"Sorry, Artie!" Alfred cried, sounding almost distraught. "But it's gotta be a surprise!"
Arthur was silent; because he made sure keep his face turned away, Alfred couldn't see the fond smile playing across his mouth.
"Arthur…"
Still he said nothing, though now he was experiencing some difficulties with suppressing his laughter.
"So does this mean I don't get my reward?"
Arthur finally broke and snorted, turning and patting Alfred affectionately on the cheek before he leaned up and pressed his lips to his chin, though he frowned as soon as he had pulled back.
"You haven't really told me anything," he told him tartly. "So that is all. You should consider yourself lucky."
Alfred winked at him.
"I always do."
Apparently, Alfred had intended that his use of the phrase the store be interpreted as it usually was in casual conversation; thirty minutes after fighting their way through a city parking lot that was as overcrowded as it was overpriced, adventuring through the aisles of the nearest outlet of a supermarket chain, purchasing various food items, the purpose of which Alfred refused to explain, and repeating the journey back to the parking lot, Arthur found himself once again sitting in the passenger side of Alfred's car, though by then dusk had begun to fall despite the long summer days and the lights of the city had gradually begun to twinkle to life behind them.
"Alfred," asked Arthur in a dangerously low voice as they paid far too much for their parking. "Don't tell me that the sole purpose of driving out here was to visit the nearest supermarket in order to purchase some apparently very specific groceries."
Alfred nodded, his tongue jammed between his teeth in concentration as he tried to navigate his way back onto the city street. Arthur arched a brow.
"Dare I ask why?"
"I'm telling you, Artie," Alfred slammed on the brakes and flipped the bird to the driver in front of them, who had somewhat wisely slowed to a stop before a yellow light that they could perhaps have made if they had been allowed to attack the intersection at an especially dangerous speed. "You'll see."
When Arthur sighed doubtfully, Alfred nudged their shoulders together gently.
"It's gonna be special, I promise."
"So you have," murmured Arthur. "Many times."
"Just trust me!"
"Seems I've hardly got a choice."
Alfred chuckled. "That's the spirit, Artie."
Arthur considered correcting him for the umpteenth time before he decided that to do so would be too much effort, seeing as it would come to no avail anyways, and instead merely rested his cheek on the back of his hand, focusing on watching the streets of Los Angeles blur together across their window, one enormous smudge of concrete and asphalt and dirt and the tainted glow of streetlamps and neon. Gradually, however, as the evening deepened into night and they drove further, the light began to fade, soften, and Arthur realized that they were pulling towards the already near-deserted area of the city, where the only light was produced by the flickering streetlamps and the occasional glow of apartment windows, sliding through the windows of the car in large square panels of yellow, slipping over the frames of Alfred's glasses and casting strange shadows across their faces.
Arthur lifted his face from his hand when he recognized the street they were coasting down as the once-grand boulevard of movie sets and studios; craning his neck out the window to look behind them he could see the faint glow from where the movie business was still being somewhat-successfully run, and when he turned his gaze ahead of them, the street swallowed by darkness except for the periodic glows of the streetlamps. He blinked upwards and realized he could see the moon and stars more crisply, that the fabric of the night seemed blacker, and smiled faintly despite his confusion.
When Alfred turned the car to pull up a familiar byway, Arthur began to develop an inkling regarding where they might be headed, though he still couldn't hope to understand why. Sure enough, however, Alfred eased to a stop in the crumbling parking lot of Hollywood's oldest and finest movie studio, turning the ignition and getting out of the car to survey her remains briefly, a soft smile on his face, before he circled the car and opened the passenger side for Arthur.
"Alfred," began Arthur immediately upon emerging from the car. "What on earth is the meaning of this?"
Alfred suddenly bent down and kissed him, leaning back with a smile.
"Wait just a little longer," he murmured, and shut Arthur's door behind him before walking to the back of the car and opening the trunk, pulling out the bags of groceries. Arthur joined him, gazed into the trunk, and raised an eyebrow when his eyes fell on the tangled pile of electrical cords and blankets inside.
"Are you out of your mind?" he wondered aloud, though mainly for his own benefit, as he lifted a thick flannel quilt from the trunk and turned the fabric in his hands. He glanced back into the trunk and grew yet more confused when he saw that by removing the blanket he had revealed some sort of electronic device and a handful of what looked like DVD cases. Alfred made a clucking noise and stood up from sorting through the groceries to shoo Arthur away from the trunk.
"Just give me a minute and go look at the view or something!" was his advice, and Arthur, too perplexed to put up an argument or protest against being ordered around so blatantly, did as he was told and walked aimlessly towards the lip of the hill, gazing down at Los Angeles to find that she winked back up at him, a tapestry of light and sound laid like a jewel against the velvet bustier of night.
Perhaps she was tired, perhaps she was fading, but nevertheless at that moment she was a lovely thing to behold, a gleaming golden structure tucked away in the darker fabric of the California hills, alive with the undertone of voices and laughter and the wailing of the highways and the clatter of high heels against sidewalks. The night was clear and warm and a slight breeze rustled the trees around Arthur while the moonlight, a cleaner contrast to the mechanical glow of the city, fell amply across the abandoned studio, bending her fallen structure into strange but not necessarily unpleasant shapes and lightening the darkness a shade. This, combined with the intrusion of the city lights, seemed to catch Arthur and Alfred in a world of a grey, indistinct form, soft about the edges but sharply defined in certain places where the moonlight fell thin and silver like a needle.
Arthur was snapped from his reverie as Alfred wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his lips into his hair.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" He spoke as softly as the breeze.
"From here, at least," murmured Arthur honestly, his irritation forgotten as he allowed himself to lean back into Alfred, who chuckled quietly and kissed the top of his head.
"I'll tell you why tonight's gonna be special now, if you like," he said eventually.
Arthur shrugged.
"That's alright. I can go without knowing," he teased, managing to elbow Alfred gently in the ribs. He received another chuckle for his trouble and was suddenly turned around to face Alfred while arms again wound securely around his waist. Over Alfred's shoulder he could see the old studio, and realized eventually that the blankets from the trunk had been spread out across her overgrown lawn and that the electronic device, now recognizable as a projector, was casting a long panel of pale light across the surface of the front of the studio, whirring softly in the still air.
"I told you," Alfred was whispering in his ear, "That you haven't seen this city until you've seen it through my eyes." Arthur found himself being led towards the blankets that were spread out on the grass, then Alfred went to the projector and began to fiddle with it, gesturing for Arthur to sit down as he did so. Rendered mute by surprise, Arthur obeyed, testing the ground beneath him and finding it to be surprisingly supple, even comfortable with the addition of the soft flannel quilts. Eventually Alfred joined him, a small remote clutched in one hand as the other reached up to brush a thumb across Arthur's cheek.
"But Alfred…" murmured Arthur, thoroughly confused. "You've already -"
"Nope, Arthur," Alfred grinned and kissed him briefly. "I'm not quite done showing you yet," he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before he began again. "You've seen the city like she is now, through my eyes, but…" his smile softened. "You haven't seen her like she used to be, and I wanted you to understand, you know, why I loved her so much when I was a kid…why…why the spirit will never exactly die out of her all the way…so I decided to show you."
Arthur smiled incredulously. "And how, exactly, are you going to do that?" he glanced around them. "I don't see a time machine anywhere, do you?"
Alfred snorted. "Christ, I've said it before and I'll say it again - you're such a cynic, Artie. I mean, please, I don't need a time machine to bring back the spirit of cinema. After all," his eyes sparkled in the darkness. "It's not gone yet, not really. Therefore…all it takes to bring it back is the push…" his thumb came down on the remote. "…of a button."
The previously still image projected on the front of the studio suddenly crackled to life, and Arthur jumped in surprise as he recognized the opening sequence of Vertigo abruptly appear, framed against the ivy that arched its way up the crumbled façade of the building. There was sound, too, he realized, and quickly pinpointed the source as the little speaker nestled into the ground not far from the projector. He turned to Alfred to question him but found that he was back to rifling through the grocery bags, and when he finally emerged with his arms filled with cases of cheap supermarket wine, processed popcorn, and several enormous sacks of assorted candies, all Arthur could manage to ask him was how he had kept those purchases a secret from him.
"The other groceries served as cover-ups," Alfred said with a grin that glinted in the dark. "Besides, I needed all that bread and milk for home anyways."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "The milk will have spoiled by the time you're back from London, you fool."
Alfred made a face. "Let's not think about that, okay?" And then he was back beside Arthur on the blanket, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him flush against his side while the other arm dealt with freeing their prepackaged plastic wine glasses from their cardboard cages. He eventually handed one to Arthur and watched amusedly as he gingerly stripped off the foil seal with a little sigh of distaste.
"Besides the obvious offense of grocery store wine," Alfred winked as he gently tapped the rims of their glasses together. "What do you think?"
Arthur sighed, taking a sip from his glass and wrinkling his nose at the taste as he leaned back against Alfred's arm, drawing his knees to his chest and focusing on the movie projected onto the face of the old studio. Scarcely ten years ago, the establishment had been churning out films of its own at a breathtaking rate, broadcasting little pieces, tiny golden shining nuggets, of America to every corner of the world, and at one point the place had probably glowed more brightly in the dark than any building that could be seen below in the massive framework of Los Angeles. Alfred had neither restored this glory nor conjured some cheap imitation of it, no, rather he had made a tribute to what was now almost entirely lost, and in doing so had allowed Arthur to draw in his mind a sketch of the beauty and culture that must have bathed this place back before America took her fateful stumble, before the gold had been tarnished, before those various corners of the world had gradually begun to realize that they no longer appreciated the presence of such a second-rate metal in their living rooms and television channels. Yes, Alfred had paid his homage simply, honestly, genuinely, very much in accordance with his general manner of doing things, and Arthur found it to be very beautiful and very, very special indeed.
"It's…" he faltered. "It's…well, it's lovely, Alfred. I think…I think I can maybe see a little better now," he stared down into his wine glass, twirling the plastic stem between his fingers. "Thank you…for trying to help a cynic as hopeless as I, that is."
Even though he didn't look up at him, Arthur knew Alfred was grinning from the way he spoke.
"Shucks, Artie. I'm glad you like it," his voice fell a decibel and Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. "Do I get a reward for my trouble?"
Still refusing to meet his eyes, Arthur sighed and gently set his glass on the grass beside the blanket before he turned and dug his fingers into Alfred's collar, pulling him down slightly so that when he craned his neck a little he could reach his mouth without trouble. He parted his lips and tasted the wine on Alfred's breath, sighing into the kiss and reaching up to wrap an arm around Alfred's neck as arms tangled around his waist and Alfred leaned into him, the force of his weight causing him to fall onto his back on the blanket with Alfred lying halfway across his chest, elevated slightly on one elbow, having not broken the kiss all the while. When they finally pulled away from each other they were both breathing perhaps a little harder than either would like to admit, and Arthur could see the high color in Alfred's cheeks even in the darkness as he ran a hand slowly through his ruffled hair, brushing the locks that had fallen across his face back into place and straightening his lopsided glasses so that he could appreciate the smile he was being awarded, the twinkle behind the ever-smudged lenses.
"Is that enough for you?" he breathed eventually, cradling Alfred's cheek in his palm. Alfred's smile deepened and he leaned into Arthur's touch as he bent down so that their noses brushed together.
"I'm afraid I'll never be quite satisfied," he said lowly as he pressed their mouths together again, hot and open and tasting of that dreadful wine.
"Mm," Arthur pulled away with a chuckle, tilting his chin upwards so that Alfred was nestled at his throat; he could feel his breath come and go against his jugular. "Damn Americans. So greedy."
"We can't help it," murmured Alfred, his voice vibrating against Arthur's throat as he kissed his Adam's apple slowly, gently, and as his hand reached up to tangle in his hair. "Not when there's something we want." He nipped gently at the skin and though Arthur didn't quite moan he did sigh rather deeply and decided to relent and allow Alfred another real kiss; this one lasted for quite some time and when it's end finally arrived Alfred was more of entirely on top of Arthur and their legs were somewhat entwined and it was a good thing they both knew the movie well already because they really weren't following the plot.
Alfred balanced himself on his elbows and grinned down at Arthur, who tentatively attempted to return such a lovely smile as he ran his thumb across Alfred's face, along the line of his jaw and over the swell of his cheeks, tracing the indentations of his cheekbones and eventually sinking back into his hair, rhythmically stroking it from his forehead.
"You look like a fool," he murmured eventually, because it was true; Alfred was positively mooning at him and though in truth it made Arthur's heart flutter he didn't allow this to bias his previous statement.
"A fool for you, maybe," whispered Alfred.
"Shut the fuck up."
"Psh, I see right through you, Artie, and you love it."
Arthur shrugged, reminded Alfred yet again that he didn't like to be called that, and leaned upwards, wrapping both arms around Alfred's neck and kissing him thoroughly, though he eventually shifted to trail his lips across his face and to his ear, down his cheekbones to rest at the soft patch of skin at the conjunction between his neck and the line of his jaw, where he tried to control his breathing and smelled what he had grown to recognize as distinctly Alfred, cigarette smoke and inoffensive musk and on that particular night a touch of chocolate, perhaps.
After a little longer of this new embrace, Alfred sat up, pulling Arthur with him, before he rolled them over, rearranging their arms and legs so that they could comfortably watch the movie while Arthur was still cradled in the crook of his arm with one hand on his chest and their legs still somewhat intertwined, though not to the same distracting extent as before. Arthur allowed himself to be repositioned, too warm and comfortable and happy to be near Alfred to really protest against it, and finished the dregs of the terrible wine as Alfred cracked open the popcorn and candy, which together were evidently designed to be the meal of the evening. Still Arthur didn't complain; by then he had remembered that this would be his last night with Alfred for an entire week and suddenly that seemed like not just an unpleasantly, but an excruciatingly, long time to go without being surrounded by such warmth, however obnoxious it may be, and the smell of leather bomber jacket.
"Man, Arthur," sighed Alfred eventually. "I wish I could take you with me. To London, that is."
Arthur felt his face warm in spite of himself; Alfred seemed to have tuned into his thoughts.
"I…er…well," he stammered. "I wish that too. A week…" he sighed. "A week is starting to seem terribly long."
Alfred groaned softly. "Tell me about it," he pressed Arthur closer as if he could secure his place there with the gesture. "I'm going to miss you like crazy."
Arthur was silent for a moment, biting his lower lip and fighting against that swelling sensation that pressed against his ribs in a way that wasn't quite uncomfortable.
"I…" he faltered. "I'll…well, it's possible that…maybe, I mean…I might just…"
Alfred snickered. "Miss me too?"
"That's the phrase," said Arthur weakly. "Sorry."
Alfred laughed again and turned his nose into his hair.
"S'all right, Arthur," he murmured. "If you can't always say what you're thinking, you don't have to worry. I'll help you translate."
Oh, what a lovely thing to say. It belonged in a script, really, one that Arthur would immediately judge as sappy and unrealistic. How could he possibly respond to such a line?
"D-don't say such silly things," he managed, turning his face to the side to hide his embarrassment.
"But it's true," said Alfred. "Which totally reminds me - do you have a word for me yet? To describe the message in the script of Keep Dreaming, that is."
Arthur blinked incredulously. "You're asking me about something like that at a time like this?"
"You know it, sweetheart."
Arthur rolled his eyes but, as always, gave Alfred's question a moment of consideration, burying his nose in his shoulder as he thought.
"Lonely," he finally said, without lifting his face from Alfred's shirt. "The world as my script sees it is lonely."
"Bullshit," said Alfred immediately. "To be alive is to be lonely at one point or another. That can't be the theme of your script; it's too easy and has absolutely nothing to do with America and even less to do with the American dream. I mean, come on, even when we were isolationist we were never lonely, and unless you're making some point about the irony there is in that immigrants who pursued the American dream ended up lonely in a foreign country, it makes no sense. And besides," he lifted a finger towards the sky to illustrate his point. "Immigrants weren't that lonely. They all clumped together and stuff. And otherwise the American dream totally preached togetherness. So there."
"But what if the togetherness the American dream preached was never achieved?"
Alfred shrugged. "So what? People are lonely everywhere, not just in America. That has nothing to do with anything. You totally made up that crap answer on the spot."
"Well of course, Alfred. I hardly have much spare thinking time to devote to your ridiculous antics, you know."
"Mm." And suddenly Alfred had drawn in close again, his arms around Arthur's waist and their lips nearly touching. "Yet you seem to make time for this."
"But you see, Alfred," smirked Arthur, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck so that he could maintain a little control over the situation. "In this particular circumstance, there's something for me to gain, too."
"Oh?" Alfred was smirking now, too. "And what's that?"
Arthur leaned up and showed him, and the movie had long come to an end before either of them noticed that the projector had fallen still, the image on the face of the studio had faded, and they were enveloped together in the semidarkness, fractured by the ample moon and the lights of the city, of Alfred's resurrected Hollywood summer.
This time when they fell to the floor of Alfred's apartment there was no Matthew to cough and interrupt them and end it, and their shoes and jackets and ties were lost somewhere in the hallway far behind them, and Arthur's oxford was again hanging from his shoulders by a thread while his hands were jammed up beneath Alfred's t-shirt and running up and down his sides until they eventually managed to work the fabric up over his head with a considerable combined effort; this finally achieved, Arthur leaned back down over Alfred and caught his face in his hands, kissing him mercilessly until he drew his chin back to gasp in air, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright.
"Arthur," he panted, hands reaching up to wind into his hair. "Are we going to…I mean, tonight…"
Arthur ran his thumb across his cheek tenderly. "Do you want to?"
Alfred actually laughed.
"Christ, Arthur, yes."
Arthur smirked and craned his neck so that their lips scarcely brushed together, shifting his hands from Alfred's cheeks to run down his neck and across his shoulders and collarbone, not missing the little shiver that went through his body.
"Let's get to it, then, eh?" he whispered, and pressed his open mouth to Alfred's relentlessly as he straddled his torso, trying to gain better leverage, and balanced his hands on his shoulders. Alfred was helpless against the kiss, though his fingers still fumbled with the last of Arthur's buttons and eventually Arthur felt his shirt fall away from his body and searing palms run up his hips, his stomach, the small muscles in his chest before traveling behind and softly tracing up the line of his spine.
It was a long moment before Arthur cared to recall their current situation - straddling each other in Alfred's living room in the middle of a floor that must be rather uncomfortable for Alfred to be spread out on, surrounded by teetering piles of movies that could easily be toppled by a stray foot or arm - and grumblingly admitted to himself that it would probably be best if they stopped what they were doing for the few seconds it would take to transition to Alfred's bedroom and presumably his much softer and cleaner and more comfortable bed.
"Alfred," he managed by tilting his chin to the side and letting Alfred explore up and down his neck. "N-not here, I don't think…it's not…"
"Not a very good idea?" breathed Alfred against his throat, sitting up suddenly and pulling a somewhat-disgruntled Arthur onto his lap. He glanced around them, chest heaving. "Yeah, I can agree with that. This floor kind of hurts my ass."
Arthur wanted to laugh and tell him that, depending on the angle he ended up with, what they were about to do could hurt a lot more than some silly floor, but refrained and instead tried to get up from his lap without success - Alfred immediately trapped him in his arms, pressing his mouth to his forehead.
"Alfred," Arthur sighed testily. "If we're going to move, I have to get up."
"But I don't wanna!" whined Alfred, trying to kiss him again. Arthur lifted his chin to avoid him and instead felt lips press against his jugular, open-mouthed, hot and wet.
"Argh, Alfred, I'm rather impatient and don't have time for your games!"
"Impatient, you say?" Alfred lifted his head to look at him, blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Shut it, you, and I can see this," he somehow managed to press his knee into Alfred's crotch despite his unfavorable position, causing him to pitch forwards slightly with a low hiss. "So don't try to pretend you're not the same. Now let's go, if you please."
Arthur was allowed to unwind himself and stand up, though when he offered Alfred a hand he was immediately dragged into a long kiss that would have resulted in their falling back to the floor and starting all over again had Arthur not turned his face away at the last moment and playfully pushed Alfred from him before turning and grabbing his hand to lead him towards his own bedroom. Only when he had closed the door behind them did he step back, running his gaze over Alfred as he turned from the doorknob, smiling almost tentatively.
Arthur would never tell him so, but he was a lovely sight to behold, hair mussed across his forehead and sticking up in places with sweat, eyes sparkling behind very smudged and very lopsided glasses, standing there almost sheepishly in his trousers and socks and not a stitch more, the gentle curve of his broad shoulders slipping suddenly into the lean muscles of his chest and stomach, then into the narrow line of his waist and the soft pockets of his lingering baby fat, the skin flushed and bare except for the downy golden line of hair that extended down from his navel to disappear below his waistband. Arthur felt his breath catch; he was no sap and no tittering schoolgirl, but Alfred was very, very handsome, especially when he was grinning almost shyly at him all of a sudden and was flushed with exertion and arousal and they were about to fall into his bed together. In this one situation, even Arthur's formidable pride buckled, forcing him to admit all of this to himself, though of course he expressed none of these thoughts to Alfred, merely took a step forward, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed that adorable grin from his mouth, struggling to lead the dance over to the edge of the bed as Alfred's arms wound tightly around his waist and one of his hands wandered to his behind, testing the swell gently and making Arthur want to wrap his legs around his waist then and there and probably forego all chances of reaching their destination in doing so.
He resisted and they eventually fell onto the bed, Arthur on top of Alfred (at least for the moment) as they kissed over and over again while Arthur's nimble fingers traveled downwards to fumble with the buttons of Alfred's trousers. He had finally gotten them undone and was going for the zipper when Alfred abruptly broke their kiss and leaned back, panting and flushed, to catch Arthur's hand in his own, a glimmer of what looked like hesitation in his eyes. Arthur released his zipper immediately and sat back, heart pounding, suddenly terrified. Had he gone too fast? Alfred had said that he wanted this, right? Had he changed his mind? Arthur certainly hoped not.
"Alfred, is something wrong?" he reached for his hand and took it. "I mean, did I -"
Alfred shook his head vigorously. "No, no, Arthur, it's not you, I promise." He paused, biting at his lower lip. "I just…I feel like I should tell you something, first."
Arthur swallowed, unsure as to whether he was relieved to hear this, and squeezed Alfred's hand.
"Of course, love. Anything."
Alfred fidgeted for a moment, lifted and hand to the back of his neck sheepishly, sighed, and lowered his eyes to the sheets.
"I'm kind of…er…new at this," he faltered. "Completely new, actually."
Arthur blinked; this was rather unexpected. Alfred had never shown the faintest sign of hesitation before, but rather had been so sure of himself that Arthur would never have dreamt of such a thing.
"With a man?" he asked quietly. Alfred swallowed audibly.
"With anyone, actually," he murmured after a moment. "You see…it hasn't been very long since I figured myself out, and before then I never did it with girls because I couldn't…well, y'know," he gestured downwards sheepishly. "I've dated a few guys before but…never like this, never like it is with you. It wasn't that I didn't think about having sex with them or anything, we just never really got around to it. But…with you…well…it's different. A lot different. And I want to, don't get me wrong. More than anything. I just…" he trailed off for a moment. "I just need to make sure that you're okay with this. With…me."
Arthur sighed and pressed Alfred's hand.
"Oh, you silly boy," he murmured almost incredulously. "You wonderful, wonderful fool. How on earth could you imagine that I wouldn't be okay with this, with you? Jesus, it's not even a question of how I feel," he paused, squeezing Alfred's fingers more tightly and inching towards him across the sheets to cup his cheek in his other palm, forcing him to meet his gaze – it was so uncharacteristic of Alfred to turn away, and Arthur found that he couldn't stand it.
"You're the one giving this to me," he told him softly. "I should be the one asking you if you're alright, not the other way around, and…and even though I want this too…" his voice fell quieter still. "…more than anything…you mustn't do anything you're uncomfortable with. I have no expectations of you, Alfred, I just…" he was nearly whispering now. "I just want to be with you."
Alfred blinked, leaned forwards, and kissed Arthur softly on the mouth, insisting until he responded, hesitantly but hopefully, and when he pulled back, his eyes were twinkling again.
"I'm not uncomfortable, Arthur, not with you, not when I want this so badly," he whispered. "And besides, it was going to have to go sometime, and I can think of no one I'd rather…leave it behind with, so to speak." He smiled cautiously and Arthur returned the expression. "Still, I…uh…" he blushed faintly. "I'm not entirely sure what to do, so I think it might be better if you were to…"
Arthur nodded. "I understand. Although…" he hesitated. "I should warn you, Alfred. In a way, I'm new at this as well. You see," he looked down into his lap. "I've fucked a million times before, but…I've never made love, so to speak. I mean, sex for me has always been more of a means of release, not a…not a…an expression of…feelings, for lack of better word, but this…well, as you've said, this is different. So…you must forgive me if I don't quite…live up to what expectations you may have. But…you're, well, you're different, Alfred, and I'll try my best to make it good for you."
Alfred kissed his hand gently. "You're ridiculous, Arthur, you know that? You don't have any expectations of me, so of course I'm not going to have any of you. I just want to be with you, too," and then he smirked. "It doesn't have to come straight out of a Hollywood romance."
Arthur laughed appreciatively and leaned forwards on the palms of his hands, reaching for the button of Alfred's trousers again.
"I didn't bring any candles or rose petals anyways," he murmured, pressing his mouth against the shell of Alfred's ear. "So I suppose we'll start here."
Alfred flushed and nodded before they kissed and he allowed Arthur to slip his hands beneath his waistband, lifting his legs obediently so that he could get the trousers off and throw them to the floor without breaking the kiss. Alfred tried to say something against his mouth and leaned forwards, reaching for Arthur's zipper and clumsily undoing it so that his slacks fell to his knees; Arthur pulled away for a moment to kick them to the floor and felt Alfred wrap around him from behind, his lips drawing feathery trails across his neck and shoulders while his palm inched up his bare thigh. Arthur sighed and swatted him away before he turned and straddled his hips, pushing him gently back against the pillows.
"B-boxers next, right?" stammered Alfred as he took in their new position. Arthur nodded bemusedly.
"That would probably make things easier," he chuckled, and hooked his thumbs beneath Alfred's waistband, thoroughly enjoying his audible intake of breath, before he remembered something rather important and sat up on his stomach again, ignoring his little cry of complaint. "Alfred…before we get much farther…do you have, er…well, you have you got something to help us along, so to speak? I mean…well, you know what I mean."
Alfred nodded, the color in his cheeks darkening.
"I…er, well, I was kind of hoping this would happen, so…" he faltered. "In the bedside table."
Arthur nodded briskly. "Alright then, let's get on with it." A moment later he realized how businesslike he sounded and reached down to pat Alfred's cheek tenderly. "You're doing fine, love," he whispered, silencing whatever reply Alfred might have had against his mouth. Alfred pulled him down flush to his chest, palms running up and down his back as they kissed and their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. Eventually Arthur leaned back and shifted so that he was perched between Alfred's legs, deftly shedding his boxers and reaching for Alfred's waistband again, encouraging him to lift his hips so that he could get them off as quickly as possible and toss them to the floor with the rest of their clothing. They were both entirely naked now and Alfred blushed darker; Arthur had to resist a chuckle as he leaned forwards again to kiss him briefly before he went to the bedside table and found what they needed. Never would he have guessed that obnoxious, loud, swaggering Alfred F. Jones would be rendered so bashful and clueless without his clothing, and to be honest it was entirely endearing, everything, from his flushed cheeks to his panting breath to the uncertainty with which he spoke, soft and tentative as if he were afraid that his words would be caught between the sheets and linger there forever. He moved with sudden care, the passage of his hands over Arthur's body cautious, almost lost, exploring him warily, shyly.
"Are you ready, love?" whispered Arthur, running his fingers gently up and down his cheek, pressing his mouth against the curve of his neck over and over again between the words.
Alfred nodded, smiling reassuringly even though when Arthur began to prepare him he gasped and his fingers tangled almost painfully in Arthur's hair, his eyes widening and his mouth falling slack in surprise. Arthur stilled, clucked his tongue comfortingly, and whispered softly in his ear that it wouldn't hurt so much forever, though he didn't move for a long moment before he even began to consider starting again, and waited until Alfred loosed his hold on his hair considerably before he added a second finger. Had Alfred not told Arthur he was a virgin before, by then it would have been obvious; he squirmed and bucked almost confusedly beneath him, and it took a considerable while before Arthur deemed that he could possibly be ready and withdrew his fingers, kissing Alfred in what he hoped was a soothing fashion as he briskly prepared himself.
"Alfred, love," he breathed into his ear as he positioned himself between his legs, spread wide apart with knees bent at sharp angles, vulnerable. "Just tell me when you're ready."
Alfred nodded almost imperceptibly, snaked his arms up beneath Arthur's shoulders, breathed in long and deep, and whispered his consent. Arthur swallowed and began, making sure he could see Alfred's face so that he could stop immediately at the slightest hint of discomfort or pain. The process was excruciatingly long and required an exhausting degree of self-control, but eventually Alfred sighed and nodded against the crook of Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur tentatively began to move, slowly, cautiously at first, not speeding up until they had found a rhythm and he knew Alfred was enjoying it as well from the way he gasped and moaned and scrabbled against his back helplessly, his heels occasionally bumping against Arthur's hips and his fingers lacing into his hair, turning his face so that he could press their mouths together again and again, open and hot and demanding.
Previously Arthur had known and enjoyed sex like an old friend, but now he was almost irritated; clearly this old friend of his had been keeping secrets from him for quite some time now. Alfred was unsure and inexperienced and a little clumsy, but he made such an effort to meet Arthur halfway in each thrust, and took such pains to lean up and kiss him and to whisper and moan things in his ear while his hands inched over his body so tenderly, so almost-reverently, that just the slightest brush of a finger sent a thrill up Arthur's spine, that, well…Arthur knew pleasure, he knew it in an almost excruciating way, as something that was achieved, won, a victory of sorts, but now his perception was being shaken, changed, and amidst the sweat and heat and the soft background noises of sex he began to see things differently. Alfred was honest in love, he truly wanted nothing from Arthur but to be with him (that much was evident in his gasps and his touches and the garbled sentences he tried to whisper in his ear) and suddenly sex was no longer a sport where there was a triumph waiting to be gained, but rather…well, Arthur wasn't sure exactly what, but he was very sure indeed that he was comfortable and happy as well as positively thrumming with arousal, and he had never known it could be like this and he was somewhat irked that he had never been told so before.
He quietly groaned Alfred's name, the sound tangled up along with some sort of endearment, and Alfred tipped his head back and gasped, his fingertips digging into Arthur's shoulders and back, arching upwards against him and coming with his own little cries of Arthur, Arthur, the strangled sounds pushing Arthur to the end as Alfred sunk back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around him in a vice grip, their chests heaving against each other, still maintaining their rhythm as they rode out their orgasms together.
Once his breathing had somewhat slowed, Arthur slipped from Alfred and got up, ignoring the little moan of protest he received in favor of going to the bathroom and wetting a washcloth. He sat back on the bed and cleaned them both off before returning the cloth to the sink and slipping back between the sheets. Alfred grinned dopily at him and reached towards him to wrap his arms around his torso. Arthur smiled softy and turned in his embrace to brush his thumb across his still-flushed cheek.
"Was it alright, Alfred?" he asked softly. Alfred opened his eyes, adjusting his hopelessly lopsided glasses, and his grin deepened.
"Best I've ever had," he winked. Arthur shoved him gently on the shoulder and Alfred pulled him closer, burying his nose in his hair.
"Thank you, Arthur," he murmured against his temple. Arthur felt heat rise in his neck and face again and pushed at Alfred ineffectually.
"What on earth for, you enormous fool?" he stammered.
"Just…" He felt Alfred's lips curve against his forehead. "Thank you."
"Strange boy," whispered Arthur, burying his face in the crook of Alfred's shoulder. He hesitated for a moment, and then: "Nonetheless, I'm going to miss you terribly much come tomorrow."
He felt Alfred's palm curve across his cheek and tilt his face upwards so that their eyes met; there was a mischievous glimmer in Alfred's expression and Arthur quirked an eyebrow questioningly.
"Is there something funny?" he asked archly. "If so, do explain."
Alfred shook his head, eyes still twinkling.
"It's just…Artie…to be honest I don't see why."
Arthur blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, why would you miss me when I'm not gonna miss you?"
Arthur examined Alfred's face for a moment, found his expression to be very amused but nonetheless completely honest, and noticeably flinched, trying to unwind himself from his arms as his mouth went dry and his heart thudded unpleasantly in his chest.
"Noooo, Artie, stop!" Alfred was chuckling as he reached for him, catching his hand and pulling him back against his chest. "I wasn't finished!"
"I don't see how there's anything much to finish, Alfred," Arthur snapped, struggling to disguise how hurt he really was.
"No, you don't get it, Artie," Alfred leaned back, though he kept a firm grip on Arthur's hand, and began to rummage around in the drawer of his bedside table. "I have a surprise for you." He returned and triumphantly handed what looked to be a slip of paper to Arthur. "I can't believe I almost forgot. I'm not going to miss you because of, well…this!"
Arthur blinked down and turned the paper over in his hands, raising an eyebrow dubiously before he began to recognize the white and blue design, the little printed words, the complicated series of numbers arranged in little rows across the bottom. He clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Alfred, you didn't!"
It was a ticket.
"Oh, but I did."
To London.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Alfred was rambling in the background, his chin balanced on the backs of his hands. "But I only found out that I had managed to get you a seat yesterday, and I thought it might be interesting to have a little fun with you, y'know, see if you would finally admit that you were going to miss me," he winked. "Which you totally did, by the way, so I definitely win, whatever it is that I'm winning, I'm not really sure…but I should definitely get something. What do you think I deserve, Artie?"
"Alfred," Arthur sighed, lifting a hand to his temple. "It's…you've…I mean…" he sighed. "I can't possibly accept this."
Alfred frowned. "What are you talking about? Of course you can."
"No, it's too much, I could never…" Arthur gazed down incredulously at the ticket, running his thumb over it reverently as though it would dissipate between his fingers. "I simply can't."
"Is it because it's expensive?"
"Yes," admitted Arthur. "I know you have money now, Alfred, but you mustn't forget that your money came from a contract you signed with me, and that we're business partners on top of being…" he gestured helplessly to the clothes strewn about the room and the rumpled sheets and the sweat glistening on their bodies. "…this…and so I can't…it wouldn't be…"
"Would it make you feel better if I told you Elizaveta and Francis chipped in too?"
Arthur looked up at him sharply. "They did?"
Alfred nodded. "You've gotta understand, Arthur, filming in Paris was amazing, really it was, but without you…well, it just wasn't the same. It was like…like there was a piece missing, like something we absolutely couldn't do without was gone, and even though we filmed some awesome scenes, there wasn't…I mean…we didn't…well, we missed you, Arthur, more than you can ever know. You wouldn't believe us if we tried to tell you how much, you'd shake us off and call us silly, but that's the truth. I didn't buy this because of some selfish need for you…though not having to go without you now that we're together is a serious plus," he winked and took Arthur's unoccupied hand, his expression turning serious again. "We bought this together, because you're not just our screenwriter or my boyfriend…you're our friend, and we don't want to go anywhere without you again. So please, Arthur," he pressed Arthur's fingers firmly, gazing up at him with uncharacteristically solemn eyes. "Accept it."
Arthur suddenly found that he couldn't speak, that the swelling sensation that usually stayed confined in his chest had transitioned to his throat, so instead he leaned across the pillows, balanced one hand on Alfred's shoulder, and kissed him in the hopes of expressing his gratitude, his happiness, his relief, his pride at having such colleagues and lovers and friends as he did. Alfred responded with his usual eagerness, one hand going up to cradle the back of Arthur's head, his thumb stroking softly up and down his neck, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss.
Arthur pulled aware when he was sure he had found his voice and pressed their foreheads together, the hand that was not holding the ticket running through Alfred's hair.
"Thank you, Alfred," he whispered, rather hoarsely despite himself. "For everything."
Alfred smiled and kissed him tenderly on the nose. "It was nothing, Artie."
Arthur carefully tucked the ticket away into the pocket of his crumpled trousers before he found his boxers and put them back on while Alfred did the same; they slipped back between the sheets as Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, arranging him so that he was splayed out across his chest, elbows folded so that the backs of his hands brushed his stomach. Arthur hid his smirk - only minutes ago, Alfred had been so uncertain, so vulnerable, and now he was positioning Arthur in the crook of his arm with complete ease and dominance - in Alfred's shoulder, breathing in the heavy scent of sweat and sex and that faint but persistent taste of cigarette smoke that surrounded them.
Just as Alfred's eyes began to close, Arthur sighed and tried to squirm from his embrace.
"Stop that, I just remembered," he said sharply when Alfred grabbed him around the waist and caused him to unceremoniously collapse back into his lap. "I have to pack for tomorrow; I haven't got a thing ready. There's no way I can sleep here tonight."
"No, Artie," moaned Alfred, trying to press him against his chest again. "You can pack in the morning!"
"In case you've forgotten, we're hopping on a bloody plane in the morning."
Alfred was silent for a moment, considering.
"You can buy all new stuff when we get there!" he finally proclaimed. "Now come back to bed."
Arthur sighed, trying to unlatch Alfred's hands from his waist. "No, Alfred, the ticket itself is too much as it is. I simply won't permit any more extravagances."
Alfred ignored this entirely, balancing his chin on Arthur's shoulder. With a heavy sigh, Arthur gave up his efforts at escape in favor of curling his hands into fists at his sides.
"We can go shopping together," implored Alfred. "Come on, it'll be fun!"
"It'll be expensive, that's what. And even if I did allow this, what would I wear on the plane tomorrow?"
Alfred shrugged. "Somethin' of mine."
"Nothing of yours fits me, lest you should forget."
"Only cause' my physique is so sexy," grinned Alfred, running his hands up and down Arthur's arms. "Don't try to deny it; I've caught you staring at my ass plenty of times."
Arthur flushed. "Utter bollocks!"
Alfred made a low noise of skepticism and pressed his mouth to the back of Arthur's neck. "C'mon, Arthur. We'll figure it out." His lips lingered at the curve of his shoulder. "Now come back to bed. Please?" And when Arthur turned he was making such an adorable expression, blue eyes wide and lip jutted out slightly and his cheek balanced in the palm of his hand, face still flushed and hair still damp with sweat from before, that he found he could do nothing but sigh and sink grouchily back into Alfred's arm as the idiot grinned with the thrill of his victory and pulled the sheets around them before securing Arthur to his chest.
"Your glasses," reminded Arthur, slipping a hand up his cheek to tap against the lopsided frames. Alfred thanked him and Arthur didn't take his hand away from his face even once he had put the glasses on the bedside table, instead curving his palm so that Alfred's cheek filled his fingers perfectly, brushing a thumb rhythmically across the gentle slope of bone. Alfred smiled and kissed him softly on the mouth before pulling him closer and resting his chin on the top of his head. Arthur let his cheek fall on Alfred's chest as their legs wound together beneath the sheets, and he thought that with the heat and the sweat considered, the position could have perhaps been uncomfortable if it weren't for the simple feeling of correctness there was to it all.
"Goodnight, Alfred," he murmured, so quietly he wondered if Alfred had heard at all. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, and then:
"Goodnight, Arthur." A pause. "See you in the morning."
That last addition was so childish that Arthur had to resist a laugh; it was more like something a parent might promise their child before they turned out the light than what lovers murmured to each other between the sheets, but nevertheless it was endearing, even reassuring, reminding Arthur that no longer was there a weeklong chasm stretching between that morning and the next, that he would accompany the arms wrapped around him now wherever they might go, at least for the moment. Indeed, it was a great comfort, and Arthur sighed in contentment as he closed his eyes and drowsily murmured to Alfred that for once he was right, they would without a doubt see each other again come the morning.
Ugh. So romantic.
AH, SO ROMANTIC! *dies*
Humor me, please. And I advise that you brush your teeth after reading to avoid cavities from all the fluff I've shoved down your throats. XD
Yes, you did read correctly - Alfred is the uke. At least for now.
Vertigo is another Alfred Hitchcock movie; I thought we'd continue the trend established in the second chapter.
Fun Fact: Alfred drives a red Mustang because that's what my friend decided he would drive when I asked her to pick a car. We still like to reminisce on our days in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom (pre-yaoi, ahaha), so we find this very amusing (and kind of super hot).
The next two chapters are set in London and will boast similar quantities of fluff, not to mention perhaps even a dash of angst in the form of flashbacks.
P.S. – That was the first sexytiem I've ever written in English. o.O If anyone's wondering, there is indeed a lot of vocabulary that they don't teach you in Spanish class…still, I have found that I can be much classier when I'm working with my native language. XD
As always, thank you, I love you all dearly, and until the next chapter!