Chapter 24
"It's badass looking, man," Alfred said admiringly. Ivan carefully replaced the bandage, a proud smirk on his face.
"So are you going to tell me why your shit is in my room?" Ivan asked, still smirking. Alfred shrugged.
"Do you care that I'm here?" he asked. Ivan shook his head.
"No, but if I bring someone here, you better find somewhere else to be, da?"
"Sure," Alfred replied easily. "What's your rehab like?"
"Just walking with the crutches for another two weeks, and then I can do some mild exercise. The doctor I saw this morning gave me some stretches I can do," Ivan said.
"I bet Yao is pretty shook up," Alfred said. Ivan's rather cheerful look darkened.
"…da," he finally said, in a voice that implied it was worse than that.
"You aren't gonna ask about Arthur and me?" Alfred said after a few moments. Ivan flashed him a cheerful smile.
"I don't really give a fuck," Ivan said. "Unless you want to beat the crap out of him for cheating on you," Ivan said. Alfred scowled.
"He didn't cheat on me—we weren't even together. Why do you assume he'd cheat on me?" Alfred asked, flushing with color in embarrassment. It was something he had thought likely, too, but he just didn't want to admit it.
"Because you don't know what your dick is for. You're always crying and whining," Ivan pitched his voice higher, obviously imitating Alfred, "I don't know who I am. I don't know whether I want to fuck my mommy or my roommate." His voice dropped to its normal register, "Just fuck someone and you'd be a lot better off," Ivan advised with a cheerful wink. Surprisingly, Alfred chuckled reluctantly and tossed his pillow at Ivan, who swatted it away playfully.
"You're such an ass, you know that?"
"Da…but you and me will have fun, no? We can get drunk and cause trouble."
Alfred grinned at his rebellious friend, finding his coarseness refreshing after feeling so vulnerable and emotional all break.
"Well, you got the alcohol?" Alfred asked challengingly. Ivan chuckled.
"Something's different about you. Why do you want to get wasted at four in the afternoon?" Ivan asked. Alfred frowned.
"What? Don't think you can handle it with that bum leg of yours?" Alfred asked. Ivan's teasing grin faded.
"You're serious, aren't you? Well…a Russian never turns down a drinking challenge. Da. Let's get plastered. We haven't seen each other in two weeks. I got shot. I killed a man. I'll fucking drink to that," Ivan said. He pointed Alfred towards the bag that had his alcohol stash.
"Are you worried about the police?" Alfred asked. "I mean, it was in self-defense, but if they catch you…"
"They won't catch me. My uncle knows how to make a corpse disappear. I have to say, though…I thought you would be pissed at me, or scared, or both…like Yao," Ivan said darkly. Alfred met his eyes squarely, determined to show no fear.
"You did what you had to do, Ivan," Alfred said. Ivan took a swig of the alcohol Alfred passed him.
"And if I enjoyed it?" he asked. Alfred took the bottle, matching him swallow for swallow.
"That's a little fucked up," Alfred said. Ivan took the bottle.
"But you'll drink with me anyway?" Ivan confirmed with a smirk. Alfred nodded, a new, reckless look in his vibrant blue eyes.
"My parents don't want me to be your friend, but I want to be less…less…"
"Less of a pussy?" Ivan suggested, chuckling. Alfred rolled his eyes.
"I want to be my own man," he said. "So here's to that," he added, taking a bitter swallow. Ivan smiled, always finding Alfred intriguing and endlessly entertaining. He took another swig.
"You need to get laid," Ivan assessed.
"Yeah," Alfred agreed.
"And all that metal mess in your mouth makes you look like you swallowed a fucking bear trap."
"Brave enough to stick your cock in?" Alfred shot back. Ivan laughed, long and hard.
"I have a feeling…that this is going to be a bad semester, my friend."
"Yep," Alfred agreed, before tilting the bottle back once more. "Your turn…if you can keep up, that is," Alfred said. Ivan grinned, and took the now half-empty bottle.
"You better fucking believe it," Ivan replied.
USUK
Matthew unpacked the last of his clothing into the dresser, glancing out the window as he did so.
"Want to go for a walk?" Francis asked knowingly. Matthew tore his eyes away from Gilbert and Mogens, who were passing by the dorm, likely on their way out to the woods.
"No…I did a little too much walking over the break. I just want to stay here with you…especially now that your mother isn't in the room next door," Matthew said, turning to face Francis and grinning rather seductively. Francis tossed aside the magazine he'd been perusing and leaned back on his bed, tossing his hair out of his eyes.
"Oh yeah?" he asked. Matthew crossed the room, until he stood at the edge of Francis's bed. He pulled off his shirt slowly, letting the garment hang on the crook of his finger a moment before it dropped to the floor. Francis let out an appreciative wolf whistle, causing Matthew to grin—an intoxicating mixture of shy and sultry.
"Mmhmm…I want you, Francis," Mathew said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he surveyed Francis's partially open shirt. His boyfriend teasingly undid a button, and then another. Matthew leaned forward, planting his hands on Francis's thighs. "That looks like hard work. Why don't you let me help you?" Matthew offered. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of Francis's throat and dragged his tongue in little swirly patterns downwards, until his teeth bumped against the next button.
"C-careful of the fabric…this is a designer—" Francis's words fell short as he heard the distinct sound of a button being ripped. "Matthew!" he exclaimed in surprise. His previously bashful boyfriend grinned up at him mischievously.
"Oops," he said, in a tone that suggested it was entirely on purpose. Francis shook his head in amusement and surprise.
"You're being very naughty, mon cher. I don't know what's gotten in to you, all the sudden, but you should be careful, or you'll earn yourself some punishment," Francis replied. Matthew glanced at him almost challengingly from beneath his pretty lashes.
"Is that a promise?"
"Fuck," Francis grunted, finishing the job Matthew had started by ripping the last two buttons in his haste to remove his shirt.
"I was rather hoping you would," Matthew replied, dropping the seductive act as Francis swooped him onto the bed, giggling as his boyfriend sucked on his chest and tickled his sides. Matthew let out a needy moan as Francis's lips trailed down his abs, working their way past the button of his jeans, and below the elastic band of his briefs. Matthew's arms stretched above his head, tangling in the sheets, his eyes rolling backwards in pleasure. It was good to be home again.
USUK
Arthur hit replay on his iPod, escaping into the opening chords of a heavy, riot drumbeat. He'd loaded the CDs Patrick had gotten him for Christmas onto his music player and had listened to them obsessively since his falling out with Alfred. He'd never felt so messy inside, like all the cards he's spent years neatly stacking in his head had just exploded into confetti.
He was angry, because it was easier to be angry instead of heartbroken. The lyrics began and Arthur sang with them, getting so into the music that he rolled out of bed and jumped around like a mad man. The volume was cranked to its loudest, and it still wasn't loud enough. Arthur wanted to drown in it. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to explode.
Forgotten under Alfred's abandoned bed, Pinky was a silent audience to Arthur's one-man concert.
So absorbed in the music, Arthur didn't hear the loud pounding on his door. The knocker must have realized his predicament, because he decided to just open the door and let himself in. He was a tall boy, with mocha colored skin and silky chocolate hair, slicked back away from his face with a little gel. His smile was pearly white and his eyes were a seductive shade of hazel. He was a junior, from Portugal.
He tapped on Arthur's shoulder, already grinning. Spinning wildly, Arthur yanked his earbuds out and prepared to rip the stranger a new one for daring to intrude uninvited, but the Portuguese boy pressed a finger to his lips.
"Save your shouting for the microphone. I want you to sing a few songs for some of my friends. Do you have some free time?" he asked charmingly. Arthur blinked, startled, and stepped backwards to put some space between them again.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked. The older boy smiled and extended his hand.
"My name's Celio. No need to introduce yourself—I already know who you are. But who'd have thought the prim and proper little prince could sing like that?" Celio asked, with over-exaggerated surprise. Arthur frowned, but his cheeks reddened slightly.
"I wasn't singing…I was just…err…venting," Arthur finished lamely. Celio arched a slender brow.
"Well, come vent some more. Me and my band are meeting up in the music room in a half hour. I've seen you hanging around with the music club in there before, so you know the place. We've just lost our singer…but I rather like the idea of you replacing him."
"What? Me?" Arthur asked. Celio smiled at him, and not-so-subtly eyed him up and down.
"Mmm, I think you're just what we've been looking for. So save your voice and come, okay?" Celio requested, heading back to the door. Arthur felt himself nod, though he wasn't sure if he'd just actually agreed to the unexpected request. His earbuds continued to blast the music that had soothed his pain and anxiety the last week, and Arthur absently plugged them back into his ears.
Sure, he loved music—he'd played classical piano practically all his life—but he'd never fancied himself a singer. His first impulse was to find Alfred, and see what he thought of the idea, but he firmly rebuked himself. His friendship with Alfred was over, and his love for the other boy was over, too.
Deciding to fling caution to the wind, Arthur hastily threw some of his piano compositions into his backpack, as well as some of his favorite CDs. What could it hurt to go talk with them about music and hear their band play? It wasn't as if he had Alfred around anymore to kill free time. He slung the bag over his shoulder and left his room, locking the door behind him. Some new, older and more mature friends were just what he needed.
When he entered the music room, Roderich was already there, as if he'd never left. Arthur greeted him.
"Have a nice break?" he asked. The Austrian boy shrugged.
"It was boring for the most part. I would have rather been here," Roderich said. "You?"
"I wish it had been boring, but it was a little too stressful," Arthur said. Roderich's lips tilted into a knowing smile.
"Come for some therapy, then?" he asked, indicating the impressive and beautiful baby grand piano in the center of the room with a small flourish of his hand. Arthur shook his head.
"Actually, a boy named Celio overheard me…err…singing a bit in my dorm, and he told me he and his band would be meeting up here." Roderich's eyes lit up in recognition.
"Yes, they play in the back practice room sometimes—the big one with the drum kit. You've met one of their guitarists. He's that rather friendly boy from Brazil that helped us put away all those music stands when the orchestra left them in here after their practice."
"Really? I didn't know he played guitar. I thought he was in the orchestra," Arthur said absently, recalling the image of the other boy.
"I think he is, likely plays bass there, too."
"Interesting. What type of music do they play?" Arthur asked. Roderich sniffed a little disdainfully. He was firmly dedicated to classical music and didn't think much of modern pieces.
"From what little I've heard, it seems pretty random. They mostly just perform songs they like, and not always very well, I might add. You might want to be careful, though. There's a reason they keep cycling through singers," Roderich said, as he unpacked his own sheet music. Arthur quirked a brow up in curiosity. Roderich huffed. "Well, isn't it obvious? Celio keeps sleeping with them all and they keep running off. I hear them squabbling about it in the hallways—it's highly distracting when one is trying to compose seriously."
Arthur snorted a bit in amused surprise. So this Celio chap thought of himself as a Cassanova, did he? That made a little more sense. Arthur knew he had a decent voice, but it wasn't anything to write home about.
"Thanks for the warning, Roderich," Arthur said, as the door opened and Celio himself entered. Arthur gave him a look that said 'I'm-on-to-you-now.' Celio just smiled charmingly.
"You decided to come. Fantástico—I'll introduce you to my band members," Celio said. He nodded to Roderich in greeting, flashing him a saucy little grin, but the rather stuffy pianist just rolled his eyes and went to his piano.
"My friend Roderich says you go through singers quite regularly," Arthur accused lightly. Celio just grinned.
"Not too regularly. I only audition the sexiest singers in the school," Celio replied smoothly. Arthur reddened.
"He also says your band kind of sucks," Arthur shot back. Roderich grinned.
"Maybe, but we have a hell of a good time. Arthur, meet my band," Celio said with a heart-stopping grin, opening the door to practice room 5 with a dramatic motion. The band members inside glanced up at him, grinned knowingly, and said hello amidst setting up their instruments and equipment. "Now, see? What did I tell you all? I would find us a new singer even better than the ones before. It's no coincidence that my name means heaven—I am good at finding boys who can sing like angels."
"Oh lord, that was awful, even for you. How about we keep him and kick you out?" the Brazilian boy Arthur vaguely remembered said with a smile. Arthur grinned, finding that he rather liked him. He extended his hand, and the Brazilian shook it warmly. "I'm Gabriel, and that's Antonio on drums."
Arthur smiled politely and nodded his head towards the curly-haired drummer.
"And what type of band are you, exactly?" Arthur asked. Celio started to answer, but Gabriel cut him off.
"We started out playing traditional fado—but then I switched to bass guitar and Antonio joined. We don't really have a style now. We just like playing. This one though, will tell you we play whatever you like if it gets him in your pants," Gabriel said, smirking. Celio pretended to be hurt as he picked up his guitar and tested the tuning with a few skillful strums.
"Well…what can I say? It's true enough. So what do you want me to play for you, meu príncipe? If you do not want to sing for me, I will sing for you," Celio flirted. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Just so you know, I don't think this act of yours is cute, and I'm not buying it for a second," Arthur grumbled. Gabriel and Antonio chuckled, and Gabriel patted him heartily on the back.
"Good for you. You're the first. Let us play something for you, though. I've heard you practicing piano. You are very talented," Gabriel praised. Arthur blushed slightly, about to brush off the praise, but Gabriel continued, "But there is something…restrained…about your music. You never break any rules when you play," Gabriel said. Celio shot him a playful little grin.
"Arthur is ready to start coming out of his shell, no?" The Portuguese boy started a lilting, complex guitar melody. Antonio added a slow, whispering drumbeat, and Celio began to sing. His voice was deep, and unlike when he was speaking, his song sounded so sad and mournful that it instantly grabbed at Arthur by the heart and reminded him of Alfred. He swallowed thickly, responding on an instinctual level to the longing in Celio's smooth, sultry Portuguese.
Gabriel smirked at him knowingly. "That is fado. Celio is amazing." He picked up his own guitar, adding a lower contrast to Celio's lilting guitar. Arthur sunk into a nearby chair, not staring at anything in particular, simply letting the emotion in the song give a voice to his own sadness. When the song ended, Arthur blinked, startled out of his trance.
"That was…quite beautiful," he praised. His musical ear had picked up plenty of mistakes—wrong notes and awkward rhythms, but the three of them played with a natural, organic harmony.
"Thank you," Celio said sincerely, his smile a little more genuine. His hazel eyes were warm and naturally flirtatious. It made Arthur a little flustered to stare at him too intently.
"I think, though, that your band is perfect with you as the singer. You don't have any need for me," Arthur said, and it was a bit of an understatement. Celio had a voice like melted chocolate, rich, dark and sensual, and if his attitude was anything to judge by, Celio knew it.
'His confidence is refreshing after…well…it's just refreshing,' Arthur thought. Celio shrugged in response to Arthur's praise and smiled casually.
"Fair enough. You should still come listen to us practice, though. And maybe…I could take you to a concert you like sometime?" Celio asked casually, still plucking at the strings of his guitar absently. Arthur blushed, very aware that Gabriel was smiling knowingly and Antonio acted as if he'd seen this same routine hundreds of times.
"I…I don't think so. I need to be going. Thank you, though, for playing a song for me," Arthur said. He left feeling flustered, and still very heartbroken, trying to get Celio's soft hazel eyes out of his mind. In the practice room, Celio smirked and picked up Arthur's book bag.
"I think he likes me," Celio teased roguishly. Gabriel and Antonio shared long-suffering smiles.
"You're a dog, Celio. You should leave the innocent little freshmen alone," Antonio rebuked. Celio just grinned, and began rifling through Arthur's bag, mischief dancing in his hazel eyes.
USUK
Alfred dragged himself to class on Monday morning despite every muscle in his body protesting. He and Ivan had drank way too much, played card games until Alfred had lost all his money, and then they'd clambered up to the roof sometime around one in the morning and pissed off the side of the building, trying to spell curse words in the snow three stories below.
None of that was conducive to a clear head for learning at 8:30 the next morning. What was worse, he had the class with Arthur. Alfred entered looking as bad as he felt, his clothing disheveled and his hair a mess. Usually it was Arthur that insisted on ironing their uniforms, and chastised Alfred to comb his hair.
Alfred had, of course, sat by Arthur in the previous term. Remembering Arthur's anger towards him with a bitter frown, Alfred returned once again to his seat in the back of the class. Arthur watched him pointedly, an obvious look of disapproval on his face.
Gilbert, of course, picked up on the tension immediately.
"Ha! Look at braceface! Sad because your boyfriend dumped you once you plastered your jacked up teeth with metal?" Gilbert joked crudely. Feeling reckless, Alfred turned around and shoved the other boy—hard. Gilbert went toppling out of his seat, cursing all the way down. Arthur watched the fight with wide, startled green eyes. Alfred didn't start fist fights—at least, not the Alfred he knew.
"Keep your mouth shut, you stupid stoner, or I'll shut it for you," Alfred threatened. Arthur was shocked further when Alfred finished the attack by upturning Gilbert's desk on him as well. The entire class was stunned. Gilbert had talked smack all year, especially to Alfred. The sweet, bumbling American boy had never snapped back at him. His pride wounded, Gilbert stood up, adjusting his ripped and altered uniform.
"What the hell man? Gonna snap and go postal on the school now or something?" Gilbert accused with a huff. The teacher entered, and instantly knew something had happened. He gave a long sigh, eyeing Alfred and Gilbert, but went to the board resignedly and began the lesson.
Of course, the incident spread like wildfire. Ivan overheard classmates talking about it in the hallway—how Alfred Jones had snapped and threatened that he was going to bring a gun to school—and how he'd punched Gilbert in the face. Shaking his head in disbelief, Ivan finally tracked down Alfred back up on the roof of their dorm again, his arms huddled around his knees. With a sigh, he dropped down beside the other boy.
"He had it coming, whatever you did," Ivan said. Alfred just shrugged.
"I hate this school," Alfred finally blurted, making sure to conceal his braces carefully with his lips when he spoke. Ivan's cheery grin faded and he leaned back against his hands.
"You know, it is not exactly easy getting up all those fucking stairs with a bullet wound. I know we raced last night, but that was pretty stupid of me. My leg hurts like a mother fucker today. Next time go to the dorm room." Ivan peered with mild interest over the edge. "Tch…new snow fell. You can't even see our art anymore," he said.
"Arthur looked like nothing had happened. He looked good—like he didn't even care," Alfred grumbled. Ivan sighed, clearly annoyed by his whining.
"Yao has been avoiding me ever since we came back. I've had to start stalking him, like some kind of pathetic creeper. I took a bullet for him and he hates me now," Ivan said. Alfred glanced at him with an apologetic expression.
"Yikes. You win in the pity contest. Sorry, man. That's harsh."
"Fucking school and fucking boys that are too pretty for their own damn good," Ivan said, spitting off to the side as if disgusted with the whole situation. Alfred nodded his head in agreement.
"I don't want to stick around here. They're just gonna call me into the office for a gun threat anyway—which I didn't even make. Let's go see a movie or something," Alfred said. Ivan nodded, easy to convince.
"Da, sounds good. I want to see the one about the boxer—"
"Where he gets all messed up and the preview shows him fighting like eight punks in an alley? Hell yeah. Let's go," Alfred said, extending his hand to Ivan to help him up. The husky Russian winced at the motion, but accepted his other crutch when Alfred handed it to him.
"We aren't getting shitfaced again until my leg is healed. I think I tore out my stitches last night," Ivan grunted in annoyance. Alfred glanced at him sheepishly.
"Sorry, man. If it makes you feel any better, I got really confused last night and pissed all over my clothes in the dirty laundry hamper."
Ivan chuckled in dark amusement, "That does make me feel better—stupid American," Ivan grunted, struggling a bit to get through the door with his crutches. Alfred helped him out, grinning.
"Yeah, I know. 'Course, now that I room with you, it's technically our bathroom that's gonna smell like old piss whenever we go back."
"Damn," Ivan said, trying to playfully trip up Alfred with one of his crutches. "Don't piss in my room anymore!" Ivan rebuked. He succeeded in his mission and Alfred tripped down a few stairs, though he laughed the whole way and managed to catch himself on the handrail.
They managed to sneak off campus without being stopped, and took a cab to the closest movie theater. It was an old building, with smaller screens, and it offered more seats by having a balcony in each crowded little theater.
"Of course you want to sit in the balcony. What part of me having fucking crutches do you not understand?" Ivan asked. Still, the bigger boy hobbled up the stairs fairly easily and dropped carefully into a stained, slightly ripped seat. Alfred had bought two bags of large popcorn and four candy bars…none of which he planned to share with Ivan.
"Did you notice this place is only playing American movies? It's because British movies, like British princes, suck balls," Alfred said pettily. Ivan rolled his eyes.
"So what did you really do to the stoner to show off in front of Arthur?" Ivan asked. Alfred stuffed his mouth with popcorn, but spoke anyway. Both of them rested their snowy, muddy shoes on the back of the seats in front of them. The theater was empty except for the two of them.
"I wasn't showing off in front of Arthur. He called me braceface. I pushed him and told him to shut his mouth or I'd shut it for him. He was the one that made the comment about me going postal on the school."
"Well…if you need a gun…"
"Shut the hell up, Ivan. No wonder my parents want me to stay away from you. You're a bad fucking influence," Alfred said. Despite his words, he didn't seem to care overly much about what sort of influence Ivan had over him. Ivan chuckled.
"It was just a friendly offer, from one delinquent to another," Ivan said with a wolfish grin. Alfred grinned back and chunked a handful of popcorn at the other boy.
"You're the delinquent. I'm gonna be president some day, or like, a fucking astronaut."
"You can barely tie your own shoes. If you managed to land on the moon, I'd suck the Headmaster's slimy asshole."
"Groooosss," Alfred replied, his expression morphing from a twisted look of disgust to a boyish grin. The previews began, and both boys lapsed into a comfortable silence, disturbed only by Alfred's crunching of his popcorn.
A/N: lol, no love for Russia and America? Ha, okay okay…maybe I won't go there. :P Honestly, Russia isn't who you need to worry about. It's that smooth talking Portugal that's going to stir up trouble. But I wanted to address a few reader concerns:
1. Arthur going all dramatic/emo punk—not so much. He is going to get into the music scene much more this term, and hang out more with Gabriel and Celio. His style might change a bit, but I'm not going to overdo it. I just wanted to use his growing interest in music as something he had in common with Celio.
2. Arthur as uke always, no exception. Nope! I haven't really gotten to a sex scene with any of the characters yet, but I like to be creative and as realistic as possible, which means once the boys are a little older, they're gonna start doing it in all sorts of fun combinations and positions. I do love reading a sexy uke!Arthur, but as one reviewer pointed out, he's a little too sassy to be a meek little bottom all the time. No worries—I'll do my best to keep it fresh and different.