Chapter 30
Arthur got ready for bed almost forgetting Alfred's promise to visit him. The photo shoot had been exhausting (both ridiculously fun when he was with Alfred, and strangely upsetting during his shoot with Kiku) and Arthur was quite glad to be taking a hot shower and concluding the day. He'd forgotten to turn the heater on in his room and so it was practically freezing—January pressed harshly against the big windows and leaked into the nooks and crannies of the spacious room. His skin chilled instantly upon stepping out of the shower, and instead of wrapping the towel around his waist, Arthur clutched it around his shoulders, already shivering. He padded out into the bedroom, no longer in the habit of bringing his clothing with him since he had lived alone for a month, and was unpleasantly surprised by the arms that wrapped around him from behind. He jumped in surprise, but Alfred's laughter set him at ease.
"Did I scare you?" Alfred asked.
"Bloody hell, of course you did! How did you even get in here?" Arthur asked. Alfred looked a little surprised.
"You left the door unlocked. I assumed you wanted me to come in," Alfred said. In truth, Arthur had just been careless.
"Oh…right," he said. His teeth were clattering, and Alfred frowned, turning Arthur in his arms and rubbing his towel-clad shoulders briskly to warm him up.
"You're shivering. How come the heater isn't on?" Alfred asked. Arthur frowned. That was a very good question. He'd turned it on before he hopped in the shower, so the room shouldn't have still felt like the arctic tundra.
"It must be out—I'm sure I turned it on," Arthur said. Alfred grinned.
"I guess I'll just have to keep you warm tonight…and you know what they say about that," Alfred said. Arthur frowned a bit in confusion. Alfred enlightened him. "Sharing body heat works best without clothes."
Arthur blushed, but he had no qualms with the idea. Out of the two of them, Alfred had always been the insecure one. Arthur knew his body wasn't perfect—some might even call him feminine—but he liked how he looked and he liked the way Arthur devoured his body with his eyes.
Besides, his towel now felt cold and damp. Surprising Alfred by his willingness, he dropped the towel off his shoulders and wrapped his arms around the taller boy instead, stealing the warmth off the soft pajamas he wore under his coat. Finding Arthur's lips, Alfred shrugged out of his jacket and began to unbutton his pajama top. It seemed silly to be bashful now—after all, they'd seen each other naked plenty of times before, and on one particularly memorable occasion had jerked off against each other's bellies.
Alfred's skin reacted to the cold temperature, and he began to shiver, too.
"Geez! Let's get under the covers already!" Alfred said, breaking the heated kiss in order to whine and rub at his arms. Arthur chuckled, slipping past him and dashing to the bed. He hopped on, quickly arranged the covers over himself, and snuggled down into the very center. His green eyes glittered mischievously over the top edge of the comforter.
"Oh, think you aren't going to share, do you?" Alfred said, hopping onto the bed and pressing his cold nose relentlessly against Arthur's cheeks and neck. Alfred's fingers began to tease Arthur's sides, tickling as best he could manage with the thick layers of blankets impeding him.
"I'll share…but first surrender your trousers, and pants, if you please," Arthur said, his voice muffled. Alfred laughed with boyish enthusiasm and ditched the pants and his boxers fairly quickly. Pathetic and shivering, Alfred begged entrance with impossibly blue puppy dog eyes. Faking reluctance, Arthur released his death grip on the covers and let Alfred climb in beside him.
"It's not true what they say—I'm still freezing my balls off," Arthur said, tucking himself up against Alfred's side.
"You gotta give it a minute. Or we could make-out. That'd probably warm us up really fast," Alfred suggested, biting his lip. Arthur grinned up at him in the darkness, and pressed a kiss blindly against the taller boy's chin. "You missed," Alfred replied, before scooting down further in the bed and slanting his mouth over Arthur's. Almost instantly, the American rolled on top of Arthur, his kisses forceful and hungry. He wasn't particularly skilled, but he made up for it with enthusiasm.
Besides, who wanted soft, hesitant kisses? Certainly not Arthur. He used a slender foot for leverage and switched their positions, deepening the kiss and exposing his shoulder blades to the icy air.
Alfred was getting excited against his thigh, his hips beginning to arch in little rolling motions. Arthur grunted in pleasure as Alfred's hands found his backside, probably by accident, but it was a sensitive area for him—especially his tailbone. Alfred's thumb brushed teasingly over the base of his spine once, twice, and then again, light as a feather, and Arthur growled. His own hand twined backwards to catch Alfred's and guide it to the little dip right above his arse.
"Harder," he begged, panting against Alfred's throat. Alfred's callused fingers obliged him, pressing and kneading roughly at the spot, occasionally spanning down to cup his arse and squeeze. Arthur was hard impossibly fast. He took his cock in hand and pumped it a few times, before a rather genius idea occurred to him and he slipped it between Alfred's slightly parted thighs, slick with sweat. The move trapped Alfred's erection between their stomachs, and Arthur rolled his hips so as to tease the other boy's leaking manhood with the clenched muscles of his abdomen. The sensation brought him nearly to completion, but it wasn't as satisfying to the boy beneath him.
"Fuck!" Alfred whispered, before rolling them once more. The room didn't feel cold anymore. Now Arthur wanted the covers off. He certainly didn't want to be trapped underneath all of Alfred's heat. Plus, the shift in position had caused him to lose the rhythm he'd been working on between Alfred's thighs. Alfred offered a hasty explanation—"I can't get there like that," he said, grinding his hips forcefully down to make his point. He was thrusting hard against the hollow groove of Arthur's hip, which seemed to be Alfred's new favorite spot on Arthur's body.
"You're too heavy," Arthur complained. He couldn't get his own hand around his cock for fear of it being crushed if he moved it from its trapped position between their bodies. "At least prop up on your arm or something!" Arthur hissed. Alfred apologized by way of a sloppy, wet kiss, as he shifted his weight onto his elbow and sucked hard on Arthur's tongue.
"Mmm—ghng!" Arthur half moaned, half grunted. The sounds of their kiss filled his ears and the rhythmic slapping noises of Alfred's hips against his body seemed to echo loudly. Alfred came after a few frenzied thrusts, soiling the sheets and managing to dirty Arthur at the same time. Arthur caught Alfred's hand and dragged it downwards, till it wrapped obligingly around his needy erection. Still panting against the side of Arthur's face, Alfred squeezed and stroked him, alternating between long tugs and short little forceful ones. It was how he jerked himself off, and Arthur seemed to appreciate the unpredictable, though slightly rough, pattern.
"Alfred…Alfred…" Arthur chanted, fisting his fingers in the sheets and arching upwards onto his curled toes as he came hard in Alfred's hand. Arthur collapsed against the sheets with a forceful exhale, his sweat instantly cooling on his rapidly chilling skin.
"Mmm, Artie…you're so sexy, baby," Alfred whispered gruffly against his ear. Arthur's cheeks tinged pink at the American term of endearment. The way Alfred said it was so deep and husky that it didn't make him feel nearly as ridiculous as it should have. He nuzzled his face against the other boy's chest, still hairless and soft as velvet.
"I need…to shower again," he said, with a huff of amusement. Alfred pressed a kiss to his sweaty hair. His fingers trailed downwards along Arthur's sternum, to the concave of his tummy, into the mess of their sex. Grinning wickedly, Alfred smeared the sticky substance like a kid playing with fingerpaint. He nibbled lightly on Arthur's ear, sucked hard on his jaw, laved his tongue over Arthur's throat like a puppy giving a kiss, and then disappeared under the blankets.
Arthur tangled his fingers in Alfred's hair and felt the other boy's course through his hands as Alfred navigated across his skin—over the valley of Arthur's collarbone, to the pebbled little rise of Arthur's nipple (and, oh, how amazing it felt for that hot tongue to lap over the cold metal of his piercing), down, down, down for ages, to the cavern of his belly button and the short, wayward little hairs of his happy trail.
Arthur moaned as Alfred's tongue (warm, sloppy, endearingly energetic) went about the task of sucking from his skin the last vestiges of soap, sweat and spunk.
It had been so hot, and more intimate than anything Arthur had ever experienced before. The realization that they hadn't even had sex yet left him feeling a little dumbstruck. His boy finally resurfaced, like a diver returning with the glee of sunken treasure dancing in his eyes.
"There's not much I can do about the sheets," Alfred said. Arthur grinned lazily.
"We've got a back up bed. Now won't that come in handy? How very thoughtful of the school," Arthur mused. Startling Arthur by his energy, Alfred pushed onto his hands and sat over Arthur's thighs, exposing Arthur's body to the air, appreciating the way his wet skin glistened. For a long, few moments, Alfred seemed content to stare at Arthur's body, idly tracing patterns on his skin with his fingertips.
"I probably should have told you this before, but I really love you, Arthur. You know that, right?" Alfred asked, hunching over Arthur like a sculpture, all toned, lean muscle and silky, smooth marble skin. Arthur reached up, barely able to muster the strength, and touched Alfred's lips, where such beautiful words had originated.
"You love me, huh?" he asked softly.
"More than anything," Alfred replied fiercely. He caught Arthur's hand and held it against the side of his own face, nuzzling against it like a pet seeking an affectionate pat. Arthur closed his eyes a moment in bliss, pure, absolute bliss. He felt precious and incredibly safe, there with Alfred inside their double-bed world, the borders of their kingdom stretching to the ends of the mattress, the geography of their land a tangle of sheets and blankets.
He wanted to rule there as Alfred's prince forever, and he wanted Alfred, always, as his ever-faithful knight.
USUK
Alfred and Arthur decided it was going to be impossible to hide their reunion from their closest friends. The morning after their little sleepover, they decided they would tell only their close friends, and worry about the rest of the world after their parents knew. Alfred's father was arriving in just three, short weeks, and if Arthur had thought they'd spend all their time as a new couple frotting away their time between classes, he was sadly disappointed.
Because Alfred was training for the last match of the rugby season like a madman, with anyone and everyone who would toss a ball for him.
"I really don't think this is a good idea…" Matthew said nervously, all but being dragged out onto the rugby field by a rather demanding Alfred. It was the third day of February, the game wasn't until the end of the month, and already Alfred had exhausted his benched rugby mates, and his usual training partner, Ivan, who was still recovering from his wound.
"I just need you to throw some passes, Mattie. I promise I won't tackle you or anything," Alfred said. He'd put a helmet on Matthew's head that was rather too big for him, as well as padding that hung off his slender shoulders rather pathetically. Matthew looked nervous, and kept glancing at the stadium seating in the hopes that Francis would realize he'd been abducted and would come rescue him.
"I'm telling you I can't throw to save my life," Matthew protested.
"Nonsense!" Alfred said, energetically pressing the ball into Matthew's chest. Matthew grunted, hunching over at the force, coughing in surprise. He'd never been athletic—and not in the way that Alfred was un-athletic (always screwing up at the last possible second); no, Matthew fell firmly in the camp of 'I'm-too-pretty-for-grass-stains,' run away from the ball before it impacts, and 'why doesn't everyone just do yoga?' sort of un-athletic.
"Please, Mattie? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? With sprinkles on top? I'll clean your room. I'll do your laundry! I'll shave Francis's head so you'll finally have the prettiest hair out of all of us!"
Matthew scowled under his rugby helmet, adjusting it slightly so it didn't dip over his eyes.
"If you laugh at me when I throw this ball, I swear to god…I won't be nice to you anymore," Matthew said bracingly. Alfred bit back a grin and nodded, holding up a little salute.
"I won't laugh—scout's honor," he promised. Alfred jauntily jogged down the field, an impossibly long distance. "Okay! Let her rip!"
Matthew screwed up his face in concentration. He cranked his arm back as far as he could manage, the ball balancing precariously in his grip. He channeled every ounce of his strength into the throw and sent it flying with all his might.
It arched beautifully through the air…and landed with a thud roughly ten feet down the field, bouncing weakly a few times before rolling to a stop. Nearly twenty-five yards down the field, Alfred's hands dropped to his sides. For a long moment, the two boys simply stood on the field. Matthew's cheeks flushed darkly with color.
A single snort of laughter escaped Alfred's mouth, though he furiously tried to block it with his hand.
"SCREW YOU, ALFRED! I DON'T EVEN LIKE RUGBY!" Matthew roared, running forward and awkwardly kicking the ball in his frustration. To add insult to injury, he missed, and slipped hard onto the field.
This was the scene Francis found as he walked onto the field, a concerned expression filling his eyes. Matthew's head craned backwards and he noticed his boyfriend—Francis's gaze sympathetic, his arms open and waiting. Sniffling (most certainly not crying, he just had grass allergies!) Matthew tore across the field towards the other boy and collided almost painfully with him. Alfred joined them reluctantly, both sheepish looking and disappointed.
"He put me in all this awful, stinky rugby gear, and I don't even know if it's been properly washed, and I told him I don't like playing sports and that Coach Carter lets me sit out like the girls who are on their periods because I have delicate wrists, but he didn't listen and he—he—made me throw the stupid ball and then he laughed at me. It was awful! Francis, where have you been?"
Francis freed Matthew from the stinky, too-big helmet and cradled the other boy against his chest, protectively petting him.
"Shh, there, there, mon cher. I am here now. I won't let him abuse you anymore," Francis said, glaring at Alfred over Matthew's sweaty curls. Matthew sniffled again, glaring at Alfred from the safety of Francis's arms like a sullen little boy. He completed the image by sticking out his tongue.
"Oh come on! Francis, please tell me you can throw. That's all I need!" Alfred begged, extending the ball hopefully. Francis sniffed disdainfully and guided Matthew off the field.
"You have a brand new boyfriend who is besotted with you, and what do you do? Spend all your time rolling around in the grass and traumatizing by darling Matthew. If you only need someone to throw a ball, why don't you throw your own damn ball and then run to catch it? Don't hurt anymore innocent bystanders!" Francis lectured sarcastically.
He should have known better to use sarcasm on Alfred. Just as Francis was reaching the edge of the field, Matthew glanced backwards.
"Oh lord," he said. There Alfred was, playing catch with himself…or at least trying to and failing spectacularly.
"Words fail me. Let us go quickly. I'll check you for bruising, mon cher," Francis promised. Feeling a little better (and not at all sympathetic for Alfred) Matthew was happily escorted off the field. They were passed by Arthur, who (much like Francis) had spent most of the afternoon trying to track down his missing boyfriend.
"He's on the football field, though if you know what's good for yourself, you'll leave him there," Matthew warned.
"He's practicing again? He stayed out here 'till nearly eleven last night with Berwald, till Timo came stomping out here in his pajamas and dragged Berwald off by his ear."
"Well, what can I say? Your honeymoon was cut short—courtesy of the rugby season," Francis jibed in a parting shot. Arthur scowled. He understood Alfred's desire to play well and win at least one game during the season, in front of his father, no less, but it was growing to the point of ridiculousness.
Arthur became more convinced of this theory when he saw just what Alfred was attempting to do on the field.
Arthur had so far avoided practicing with Alfred, though if he wanted to spend any time at all with the other boy, he ended up sitting on the cold bleachers for hours watching him train with his various friends. He must be getting desperate if he'd resorted to kidnapping Matthew. He walked out onto the field, shoving his cold hands deeply into the pockets of his new leather jacket. He'd needed a new jacket to keep him warm, considering Alfred kept him outdoors in the freezing cold far too often. Alfred had decorated the jacket with a hem of metal studs during his last craft club meeting, and now it was his favorite piece of clothing.
Alfred ran up to him after finally noticing his presence. Arthur frowned. Alfred smiled, no doubt in a way that he thought was charming. Arthur's scowl deepened.
"Did you bring me kisses?" Alfred asked in a ridiculous baby voice, turning the charm on high. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, arching a thick eyebrow.
"We stayed out here till nearly midnight last night. You promised you'd take today off," Arthur scolded. Alfred's despair shined in his damnable blue eyes and he suddenly made Arthur feel like he was being mean to a dog that had just been run over and left to whine on the street until he froze and died.
Alfred pathetically pushed the ball against Arthur's crossed arms, his bottom lip pushed out for maximum, pity-me effect.
"Please, honeybear?" Alfred asked. Arthur huffed irritably, but snatched at the ball after a long moment.
"Only if you quit calling me those ridiculous pet names! I'm not your baby, or your muffin, or god-only-knows-what-else. It is not cute, nor is it funny," Arthur said. Alfred flashed him a megawatt grin, and kissed the tip of his nose.
"M'kay, cupcake…that was the last one, I promise." Alfred was still talking in his baby voice, which Arthur loathed almost as much as he secretly loved it.
"Get your arse down the field, you bleeding sap," he barked.
Alfred swooped in and stole another kiss before jogging off, with a chipper cry of "Okay! Fire when ready!"
Arthur stared at Alfred, clearly unimpressed.
"Alfred…you're five yards away."
Alfred smiled at him, his head cocking to the side. "I know, kitten, but you and Matthew don't play sports, so I really shouldn't expect you to—"
Arthur had casually placed the ball on the ground, taken a few steps back, and after a light little jog, kicked the ball and sent it spiraling beautifully down the length of the field. Alfred watched it glide over his head like a comet, like a jet…like various other things that glided beautifully and perfectly across the sky.
The ball sailed neatly through the goal posts, nearly forty yards down the field.
"There you go, puppy. Now fetch," Arthur said with a saccharine sweet grin. Alfred's jaw hung open, and for the first time ever, the goofy, loud-mouthed, energetic boy was completely and totally speechless.
Arthur sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to kick it for you or not?"
Weakly closing his mouth, Alfred took off stumbling down the field after the ball, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. By the time he'd returned, his expression was hardened into skepticism.
"Do it again," he demanded, all joking gone from his tone. Arthur frowned primly, taking the ball from Alfred's hands and tossing it carelessly onto the middle of the field. He eyed the goal posts, did some quick mental calculations, took his few running steps and performed the kick again, just as effortlessly as he had before.
"How many times am I going to have to kick it before you tire yourself out chasing it?" Arthur asked a bit moodily. "I wanted to go see a movie or something tonight. I'd hoped we could go on a proper date."
"Arthur, forget that! Don't you realize what you can do? You're…that was…we gotta go get Berwald! And the coach!" Alfred insisted. Arthur was already shaking his head.
"What? No. Absolutely not. I will come to every game you play in, but I have no desire what-so-ever to—"
"Arthur, you could save our team. We could win a game because of you! Don't you get it? This is a miracle! It's a Christmas miracle!"
"You imbecile—Christmas was nearly a month ago," Arthur corrected, though his cheeks flushed with color. "And, as I just stated, I have no desire to play rugby. Fencing is much more to my liking. I don't like team sports and I refuse to play them."
"Arrrtthuuuurrrrrr!" Alfred whined, dropping down to his knees and startling Arthur by hugging his leg. "Arthur…if you kick the ball during our game with your beautiful, golden leg of awesome…I will suck your penis."
Arthur flushed with color and smacked Alfred hard upside his head.
"You'll do that anyway, you git, regardless of whether or not I join your silly rugby team." Alfred hugged his leg tighter, more desperately. He added the pout.
"But if you think it's so silly, why do you come to every game and practice?" Alfred demanded, thinking he'd finally trapped Arthur in their argument. The British boy just rolled his eyes in exasperation, and carded his fingers lovingly through Alfred's blond locks, damp with sweat.
"Because I like watching you do something you love, of course. I don't give a damn about the game. I barely even understand the rules, you foolish boy," Arthur said. Alfred stood, reclaiming the small amount of dignity he had left.
"Please, Arthur? I'll never ask you to play again, but just for this one game, when we're down so many players, and we've got next to no chance to win this thing…please? Do it for me?"
Arthur sighed, knowing he'd lost the battle as soon as Alfred had started batting those impossibly blue eyes at him.
"Oh…fine…but I want to go to the movies tonight and you're bloody well going to take me! And you'll pay for my ticket, and snog with me proper during the boring bits," Arthur demanded. After a moment's hesitation he added, with a cheeky grin, "And you can still suck me off. We can do that part now, actually. The movie doesn't start 'til eight."
Alfred swept Arthur up into his arms, laughing happily, spinning the shorter boy around before returning him to the field and peppering his lips with kisses. Finally, Arthur managed to push him off, though it was no easy task.
"Alright, alright! I get it—I've made you happy. You can stop slobbering all over me already!"
"Before the sucking off part, can we do just a few more passes?" Alfred asked sweetly. Arthur released a put-upon sigh but sent Alfred after the ball with a nod of his head and an expression that said 'I spoil you.'
USUK
Alfred couldn't stop talking about rugby all night. Even as they'd tumbled into Arthur's bed, with Arthur's pants crumpled around his ankles, Alfred was raving about averages and stats and plays that they would be able do now that the team hadn't been able to do before. Arthur "mm-hmm'd" and "ah-huh'd" as patiently as he could manage, finally getting some peace and quiet by putting Alfred's mouth to other uses. Alfred was enthusiastic with his mouth—almost as if he was going after whatever came near it with the gusto of eating a melting ice cream cone. It made for messy kissing, but rather fantastic oral.
Arthur shifted slightly, heat pooling in his cheeks, his head tipping upwards as Alfred rhythmically bobbed up and down on his shaft. The American took him in deeply, his tongue curling around and swirling over the head, pressing and flicking over all the right spots. Arthur was biting back a moan (pleased to note that he wasn't reaching climax quite so quickly anymore) when Alfred released him with a wet little plop noise.
"Do you think we'll win the game?" Alfred asked. Arthur groaned in frustration, his hand tangling in Alfred's hair and pushing him downwards again. Grinning, Alfred resisted the motion, and darted forward to kiss his piercing instead. "My jaw is tired!" he complained babyishly. Arthur pulled the other boy off his nipple and kissed him hotly before groping for his hand and tugging it towards his arousal.
"Finish what you started," Arthur chastised. Alfred obligingly pumped him, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry, and in fact, he seemed rather distracted.
"Think Berwald will still be up when we get back from the movie?" Alfred asked. Arthur opened his verdant eyes wide enough to glare at Alfred in annoyance.
"If you keep prattling on about…urgh!" Alfred had given Arthur a firmer squeeze that caused the British boy to arch his back. After riding the moment of pleasure, Arthur continued, "If you keep prattling about Berwald, I'm going to start saying his name instead of yours!" Arthur threatened with a baleful glare.
Alfred grinned, perhaps finally realizing just how much he was annoying Arthur by his inability to stay focused on the rather needy matter in hand. He stretched his jaw a bit, pecked Arthur swiftly on the lips, and returned to his original task. Little grunts and moans began spilling out of Arthur's mouth in an intoxicating rush. Alfred's body responded, his jeans tenting uncomfortably. He gave Arthur a particularly long, hard suck and the other boy came, with his boyfriend's name on his lips.
"Now I'm hard," Alfred complained, swallowing his mouthful and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Arthur glared at him weakly.
"You sucked me off was for this rugby game of yours. What do I get for going down on you?" Arthur asked, though his tone made it clear he was teasing. It was hard for him, though. After he came, all he wanted to do was melt into a puddle of goo and sleep for hours. Alfred, however, just got more energetic.
"I wanna try that thing you did the other night," Alfred said, already unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his hips.
"What thing?" Arthur asked. But Alfred didn't seem to need his permission as he all but lifted the boneless boy up and flipped him over, exposing his round little tush to Alfred's hungry eyes. "Alfred!" Arthur protested weakly, not sure what the other boy was intending to do. He began to the general idea, however, when Alfred tugged him onto his knees and thrust between his barely parted thighs. He played with Arthur's back and arse as he did so, alternating between squeezing and petting, and pressing kisses along the other boy's shoulder blades. Arthur pillowed his face on his arms and let his eyes drift shut, still feeling drained and sleepy. His eyes widened in slight alarm, however, when Alfred's thrusting shifted upwards slightly, and he felt the other boy brushing against his balls, against the cleft of his arse.
Arthur was curious about anal sex, of course, but at the same time, he had some pretty serious reservations. He'd poked around with his own fingers a bit and it hadn't exactly been a pleasurable experience—just a strange, heavy feeling that was more uncomfortable than anything else.
"Watch where you're aiming that thing," Arthur protested, rising up shakily on his elbow to toss a glare back at Alfred. Alfred, however, had his head tilted back and his eyes rolled upwards in bliss. His jaw hung open loosely and he gave Arthur's hips a squeeze that was hard enough to bruise as he came between the other boy's legs.
"Alfred! Couldn't you have grabbed the bloody towel? That's why we have it!" Arthur scolded, weakly tossing the towel at Alfred's face. The American boy chuckled, pulling it off, winding it up, and popping Arthur on the butt with it.
"What can I say? I like cumming on you so much more," Alfred said huskily, in a voice that was almost entirely different from his chipper, usual way of speaking. The voice he used when they were in bed was deeper, more confident and assertive. It told Arthur that he had to constantly be on guard with the other boy, or else Alfred was liable to take certain liberties without even asking. Arthur was learning that the other boy was ruthlessly energetic and forceful when he had a goal in mind and could manage to stay focused on it. While it was enjoyable to feel swept up for the ride, Arthur realized they'd probably have to discuss what had been happening between them soon, and establish some boundaries.
Arthur flipped himself over, cleaning up with the towel as best he could manage, scowling at Alfred the entire time (who just grinned at him, and played with himself with a proud little grin).
"At least warn me next time," Arthur said prissily. Alfred's cocky grin faded into a somewhat bashful smile.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, placing his hands on either side of Arthur's slender chest and kissing him sweetly. The kiss was incredibly restrained for Alfred, without tongue or teeth, just a gentle press of lips. When they parted, Arthur gave him a baleful glare.
"What did I tell you about those nicknames of yours?" Arthur said. Alfred, however, carefully stretched out on top of him, draping himself over Arthur like a warm, heavy blanket. Arthur reclined onto his pillow to ease the strain on his back that came from half-sitting up with the other boy's dead weight pressing him down.
"I won't use 'em anymore if you cuddle with me," Alfred requested, burrowing his face into Arthur's neck rather persuasively. Thankfully, the bigger boy rolled off to the side a bit, taking Arthur with him, cradling him in his arms like a child clutching a beloved stuffed bear.
"Alright, but just for a bit. I really do want to go on a date, Alfred," Arthur said. The other boy "mm'd" against Arthur's skin in what Arthur assumed was agreement.
"You smell good…like…like toast," Alfred said. Arthur's eyebrows hitched up at the bizarre statement.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"With butter," Alfred added, as if that made the statement more complimentary and less bizarre.
"If I smell like toast it's because you jazzed all over me—I was clean smelling before. Now I want to shower," Arthur grumbled.
"So…my jizz smells like toast? Awesome," Alfred decided, before burrowing his nose into Arthur's hair. "But…I didn't cum up here…and your hair definitely smells like toast…and a little like strawberries."
"That's my shampoo. I don't know where you're getting the toast from," Arthur replied. His eyes slid to the wall clock, which proclaimed the time to be nearly seven. "Are you done cuddling yet?" he asked, a bit impatiently. Alfred squeezed him, tickling his neck as he nuzzled against Arthur further. He seemed to think this was an acceptable answer, but Arthur began to wiggle out of his grasp.
"We're not going to have enough time. I want to see the previews," Arthur said, escaping Alfred's hold and darting into the bathroom for a quick rinse. Alfred pouted. Part of his reluctance to leave likely stemmed from the fact that he knew what movie Arthur was eyeing, and had absolutely no desire to see it.
It was a British film, for starters—one that didn't even have a clear plot and seemed to be mostly about the actors stumbling about in some big house, wearing strange clothes, and stammering awkwardly at each other before bouts of heavy kissing erupted at odd moments between unlikely couples.
With a groan, Alfred dragged himself out of bed and pulled up his jeans, rummaging around for his abandoned shirt. Arthur re-emerged just seconds later, wet and nude, and it made Alfred want to try once more to distract him from wanting to go to the movies. He'd barely reached for the other boy, however, when Arthur expertly smacked his hand away and proceeded to dress.
Alfred sighed. The movie it was, then.
USUK
"We could see—"
"I already told you what we're seeing, Alfred. I'm playing in your silly rugby match, remember? So I get to pick the movie," Arthur bossed, as they moved through the small line. It was a cold, rainy Thursday night, so the theater was fairly empty, which was why Arthur had wanted to go that evening instead of over the weekend. He'd glanced around to see if he spotted any of his classmates, but it was only the sleepy looking cinema workers, and a few older couples. They'd still made it a little early.
"Are you absolutely sure…because once these two hours of our lives are gone, we can't ever have them back," Alfred replied.
Arthur gave Alfred a pointed glare. It was their turn at the ticket window and Alfred pulled out his wallet.
"Two tickets for Mass Extinction," he said. Arthur scowled, and snatched Alfred's card out of his hand.
"He means to say we want tickets for Brighton House."
"Which is it going to be?" the ticket girl asked. Then she squinted as if she recognized one or both of them, but shook her head as if she were imagining things.
"Brighton House," Alfred said, with an exaggerated sigh. He reached for Arthur's hand, giving it a loving squeeze. Arthur smiled, his good mood restored. Alfred took back his card and tucked it away, still holding Arthur's hand as they entered the cinema.
"I need the loo. Get me something with chocolate," Arthur said. He started to tug away from Alfred, but the taller boy wouldn't release him just yet.
"Nu-uh. Tell me exactly what you want, 'cause otherwise you're just going to say that you wanted something different instead of what I get," Alfred said. Arthur smirked, knowing it was true enough.
"Fine…get me gummi bears," he said. Alfred rolled his eyes, but he was grinning.
"See? Those don't even have chocolate. How would I have ever guessed that?" But Arthur was already slipping into the restroom, chuckling at his plight all the way. Shaking his head, Alfred went to the concession stand and ordered his usual haul of two bags of popcorn (European portions were so small!), a large drink (bemoaning the lack of ice cubes), a box of gummi bears for Arthur, and a veritable rainbow of candy bars for himself. As an afterthought, he added another drink to the order for Arthur, even though he knew the other boy didn't care overly much for soda.
When Arthur returned from the restroom, he didn't even bat an eye at all the food Alfred had bought, and merely snagged his little box of gummi bears and the tickets. There were only three screens in the little cinema, but the movie theater was still very popular amongst the local students because it had low prices.
Alfred and Arthur sat in the balcony, and Alfred situated all his snacks. There weren't any cup holders, so most of it ended up piled precariously on top of their coats in the seat next to Alfred. The American boy munched a few handfuls of popcorn before faking a yawn and sliding his arm around Arthur's shoulders. The shorter boy just grinned, and shook his head in bemusement.
USUK
They returned from the movie cold and wet, both of them sleepy, and Ivan was already asleep when Alfred popped into their room to grab his night things. He left as soundlessly as he'd come, already thinking happy thoughts about a warm bed. The movie (as he'd expected) had been pretty terrible, but Arthur liked it. He claimed it had deeper meaning, and that it made sense, an opinion which Alfred dismissed as total bullshit. He kept that thought to himself, though, in a rare-moment of self-preservation.
Alfred changed in a split second, eager to be out of his damp clothes, and left them in a messy pile at the foot of the bed that Arthur would fret over in the morning. The other boy was in the bathroom, dutifully brushing his teeth.
When he finally emerged, Arthur slipped into bed and pulled his newest book off the nightstand. Alfred rolled over next to him, fiddling with his god-awful head gear. He popped a few rubber bands painfully against the inside of his mouth before he finally managed to get half of the contraption attached to his face. It was essentially a long metal bar with a padded little plastic piece that rested snugly against Alfred's forehead, and a piece that hugged his chin. The bands hooked from the brackets on the sides of Alfred's teeth to the metal bar, thus dramatically increasing how hard his teeth were tugged upon while he slept. He often woke up with headaches, and that was only if he was lucky and didn't roll over in the middle of the night, snapping the bands painfully as the headgear was knocked off.
Not to mention, it made it awfully difficult for Arthur to wake him up in the middle of the night with a sweet kiss, or to peck his lips affectionately in the morning.
"Alfred, why don't you skip it tonight?" Arthur asked, turning a page in his book. Alfred ignored him, and continued to fumble with the waxy little bands and the headgear. Arthur glanced at him, a brow raised in a familiar expression of fond exasperation. "I promise I'll love you even if your teeth stay a bit crooked," Arthur added.
The third band Alfred had tried snapped, cutting on a bit of metal that had been left too sharp inside the teen's mouth. Alfred huffed in irritation and pulled the torture device off his face.
"Screw it," he grumbled, passing it to Arthur. His boyfriend put it onto the nightstand, next to Alfred's glasses. Arthur was reclining against a pillow propped up rather comfortably against the headboard, using the lamp on the nightstand to read by. Alfred cuddled sweetly against Arthur's thigh. "Read to me?" he requested sleepily, a yawn escaping him. Arthur smiled, and shifted one knee up to support his book so he could stroke his fingers through Alfred's shower-dampened hair.
Arthur read a few chapters softly, absorbed in the story, not even noticing when Alfred drifted off into slumber beside him. Finally, when his eyes were aching from the strain, Arthur gently closed his book and returned it to the nightstand. Trying not to wake Alfred, he slipped down further under the covers. Alfred rolled onto his back, his breathing pattern changing subtly as he resettled. Arthur curled up on the other boy's chest, toying a bit with Alfred's night shirt before his own eyes drifted shut peacefully. It was wonderful, falling asleep in such a way, and Arthur didn't know how he'd ever managed to fall asleep in the empty, too-big bed before Alfred had begun to share it with him.
A/N: Six pages of porn, eight pages of fluff. I advanced one tiny, teeny little element of the plot in this chapter…and that was about it. Lol, I was feeling lazy. I tried to make up for Matthew and Francis not getting their photo shoot scene, though. Hopefully now you'll have a bit of a better understanding of how I write smexy stuff, and you can get some idea as to if it will be your cup of tea or not. Oh, and the pet names likely won't continue past this chapter, if they annoyed you. I just wanted to show how silly and sweet the two of them are at this stage in the game. They've been together all of three days, so of course, Alfred has to try and use every term of endearment on Arthur that he's ever heard anywhere at all.
And don't laugh at poor Matthew, with his grass allergies and his delicate wrists! * grin * It's just not allowed—Francis said so. :P