Chapter 22

Friday finished and Alfred all but sprinted out of science, before the final bell even rang. Mr. Allowick sighed heavily, glanced weightily at Arthur, and then clearly decided to let it go. The whispers broke out instantly. Arthur was trying not to pay them any mind as he put away his things, when suddenly a book bag dropped down heavily on the table beside him.

"You're a dick, you know that, right?" Michelle said by way of greeting. Arthur glanced at the aspiring model/artist warily. She was already in battle stance—hands on her hips and her eyebrows forked downwards in displeasure. Arthur knew that pose well enough from his mother. It was woman-speak for "trouble."

"Hullo, Michelle. I see you haven't overdosed yet. My sincerest congratulations," Arthur said in a mild, calm tone that belied the harshness of his words. Any other girl would have at least flinched, but Michelle was tougher than that. She sneered at him.

"You got hurt so you're hiding behind a wall of anger and lashing out at the people who love you most. Isn't that a little too…cliché…for a guy of your caliber, Arthur? It just seems so very common…your highness." Michelle finished this retort with a mocking little curtsey. She then sat down far too close and stared at him far too intensely. Arthur was the one who finally flinched.

"Just piss off, will you? Shouldn't you be draping yourself all over Alfred right about now? He's single now, or have your fancies already changed?"

"Yeah…see I'm trying to do this whole 'be the better person' thing. You're looking at the temporary president of the Hero Club."

Arthur had to bark out a laugh at that. "Excuse me?" he said. Michelle tossed her hair.

"Well, Alfred's working through some shit right now, and friends help each other out, right? So I'm filling in until Alfred feels like himself again. Oh, and you can dial back on the scorn, eyebrows. I can help people."

"Like you helped Alfred develop an eating disorder?" Arthur said scathingly.

"Like I'm helping you pull your head out of your ass," she hissed back. The bell rang finally, and students eagerly rushed out. Mr. Allowick approached them, and it was obvious he'd been eavesdropping.

"We talked about this, Michelle. You can't use intimidation to help others. Alfred's club is about being a positive influence on campus—"

"Well he's being a dick!" Michelle accused. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood with his bag.

"I don't have to listen to this. Stay away from me," Arthur spat angrily at the both of them. Mr. Allowick sighed and Michelle slapped her hand down hard on the desk. It made Arthur jump.

"You're not the only one who's been raped, okay? I know how damned helpless it makes you feel…how everything seems to just be fucked up beyond repair! Maybe…maybe I'm not just trying to help you. Maybe I need you to help me, too, okay?"

Arthur felt like he was really seeing someone for the first time since he'd left America. Michelle had that same cold, terrified, angry look he saw in the mirror all the time now. She didn't cry, she didn't beg, and she didn't break down. She just stared at him and let their shared experiences scream in the silence that filled the room.

Then, the look faded from her eyes. She took a deep, calming breath and picked up her school bag. She nodded briskly at Mr. Allowick and turned to leave. At the door, she hesitated just long enough to say, "The next Hero Club meeting will be here, Monday after school. 4:00. We're the only two members for now."

Alex shivered as the icy air hit him. Matthew exited the building right behind him and seemed unbothered by the cold—refreshed by it, even.

"Damn, socio, why can't hockey be a summer sport?" he complained. Despite the cold, Alex had come to every Saturday game—even the early ones that started at 8:00 AM. Matthew smiled and walked perhaps a little closer than was normal for best friends, but if Alex noticed, he didn't say anything. Maybe he was grateful for the added warmth.

"It'll be baseball season before you know it. Cheer up!" Matthew said brightly, his cheeks turning rosy in the cold.

"Yeah, yeah…so, hey, is Alfred coming? Not that I want to share the stands with him again and watch him slurp down hotdogs. I did let you know how that made me messed up in the head, right?"

"You mentioned it once or twenty times," Matthew replied with a grin.

"It was disturbing."

"Mm-hmm. You can say it, you know. You're worried about Alfred."

"I am not worried about that brainless, shallow…well, I guess I can't call him a jock anymore, can I?"

"Not these days, no."

"…fine. I'm concerned. For your sake. Is he coming out of fantasy land today?" Alex finally caved. Matthew frowned a bit and shook his head, causing a few wayward curls to bounce around his face.

"I don't think so. I invited him but he doesn't want to go anywhere anymore. He just wants to stay holed up with that Tony kid," Matthew said.

"It's not healthy for him," Alex muttered. He was lightly blushing, and it melted Matthew's heart and made him feel all warm and fuzzy, despite the freezing air.

"It's really not. Alfred's kind of like a chameleon. He tends to take on the qualities of whoever he hangs out with. I guess the official term would be 'impressionable.' I guess he just hasn't really figured himself out yet."

"What's to figure out? It's not like he's especially deep. We are still talking about Alfred Jones, right? Same guy who tweeted about football last summer that 'half the game was ninety percent mental'?"

Matthew winced and guiltily hid a smile. "Hey…why were you reading Alfred's tweets? Mr. I'm-too-cool-to-care-about-celebrities?"

"He was quoted in an article for dumb shit celebrities say. I didn't follow his tweets."

"Alright, whatever you say," Matthew pacified just as Michelle managed to catch up to them. She still dressed suggestively, and she still was a little too crass for Matthew's taste, but somehow he'd become responsible for her.

Matthew wouldn't say he was her friend. Friend was a strong word. It was more like…he acknowledged how hard she was trying. Maybe it was all the kind things Francis and Alfred had said about his character, but for whatever reason, Michelle had become like Matthew's shadow. Quite frankly, it surprised Matthew. He expected her to hang out with Francis, Antonio and Gilbert, even after she and Francis had broken up. She didn't, though. Matthew knew Francis treated Michelle like a big brother now, and as such, he refused to let her drink with him and his buddies. So he'd asked Matthew to keep an eye on her, and he'd used whatever strange power he had over Michelle to convince her that she had something to learn from Matthew.

"Hey guys!" she greeted with a big smile.

"Hey Michelle," Matthew greeted. Alex just smiled warmly at her. "Aren't you a little cold?" Matthew asked, his eyes dropping to her bare legs. She was wearing one of those ridiculous mini-skirt with huge furry boots combos. She had goosebumps all over her tan legs.

"Not at all," she lied. Her teeth were chattering. With a sigh, Matthew stripped off his outer jacket and tied it around her waist securely after zipping it up in the front. It looked odd, but he could see Michelle visibly relax into the warmth of her make-shift skirt.

"Next time, wear something more practical. Ladies don't wear hooker skirts in public," Matthew said pointedly. To soften the blow, he added, "I know they're fashionable right now, but you're beautiful in anything you wear. You can pull off a warmer look just as well as a sexy one, with the added bonus of not catching pneumonia," Matthew said.

"Yeah…I'll wear leggings next time. Just didn't think about it," she said demurely, almost sounding like a scolded little girl. Alex smiled against the collar of his jacket and Matthew seemed appeased for the moment.

"Let's get going. I'm going to be late at this rate," Matthew complained. Behind him, Alex and Michelle exchanged secret smiles over his motherly fussing.

The arena was pretty packed by the time the trio of friends arrived. Gilbert was armed with two hot dogs, while Antonio carried his own snacks and those of his fiery boyfriend. Romano had dated Antonio for almost a year now, but he hadn't softened at all. Francis could hardly stand the foul-mouthed firecracker, but Gilbert thought he was good for a laugh.

"This is not a fucking date. Dragging me to some gay-ass hockey game with your retarded friends is about as far from romantic as you can possibly fucking get. I don't know why I expected anything better from you, though. You have rotten tomatoes for brains. Don't eat my fucking nachos! Get your own!"

"Mi amor, don't you want to share?" Antonio asked innocently. Romano replied with a middle finger salute and then stomped his way down the bleachers, sitting as far from the group of hockey moms and tag-along little brothers and sisters as he possibly could. With a laugh, Antonio followed after him and Francis and Gilbert brought up the rear.

"Hey. Look," Gilbert said, all but punching Francis in the shoulder to draw his attention further down the stands. Francis scanned over the fans until his blue eyes landed on the pair.

"And your point? They are Matthew's closest friends these days, no? Why wouldn't they sit together?"

"They're sitting together again, like they've done every Saturday. Their thighs are touching. She totally wants his dick," Gilbert assessed.

"Michelle is not interested in the Cuban." Francis studied them a moment more as they all got seated, his eyes narrowing for a moment. Then he shook his head dismissively. "No. She would have told me."

"You just want to think she listened to you and is playing nice with Matthew. I'm telling you, she's only hanging around Matthew so much because she wants to fuck his new crush."

"Contrary to common belief, Michelle has higher goals in life than systematically ruining Matthew's relationships…at least, I think she does."

"What are you two idiots talking about? The slut and the fat kid? Of course she wants to fuck him. God, why don't you have smarter friends, Antonio? HEY! Give me back my god-damned nachos!" Ramano barked like an angry little dog.

"They seem like a sweet couple to me. What's the big deal?" Antonio asked innocently.

"Surely Matthew found out if he was gay or not before he let his crush grow, oui? Alex pretended they were dating. Everyone thinks he's gay," Francis mused. He was far more interested in this budding new romance than he was in the hockey game playing out on the ice.

At least, he was distracted by Alex and Michelle until he saw Matthew standing in the middle of the rink almost dumbly. He was staring straight at Alex and Michelle, who were wrapped up in their own little world. Alex laughed at something Michelle said, his attention focused on her so completely that he didn't even notice Matthew staring. A huge, burly player from the opposite team plowed Matthew down in his moment of inattentiveness, and Francis was up out of his seat before he even knew what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" Gilbert asked, but Francis was already running down the stands. The game had been stopped and the two-man medical team was skating out onto the ice. Slipping and sliding a bit, and ignoring the referee shouting at him to go back to the stands, Francis went skidding out to where Matthew had crumpled under the larger boy.

"Get his helmet off. Son, can you hear me?" the med squad member asked, peering into Matthew's confused expression.

"Huh? Where am I?" Matthew asked shakily. Francis appeared on Matthew's other side, and gently took his hand through the thick glove.

"Matthew? Are you alright?"

"Francis? What…how…why is everything spinning?" Matthew asked.

"Okay, get him on the stretcher. Everybody stand back," the burly medic said before he and his partner worked in tandem to clear Matthew off the ice. Francis stayed with them, until they were back in the locker room and Matthew had recovered a bit. He had a large bruise on his temple, where he'd taken a wayward blow from the other player's hockey stick through the guards on his helmet. Francis held the ice pack to Matthew's head, still comfortingly holding the other boy's hand. The medics had determined he was okay, just a little roughed up. They'd left Francis to sit with him in the dressing room and keep the ice on his head.

"Right before…before I got hit…did I see what I thought I saw?" Matthew asked, sounding very vulnerable. He was perched atop a big, stainless steel table, with his socked feet hanging off the side. It made him look younger. Francis sighed.

"A cheater, a stoner, and a straight guy. I've figured out your problem, Matthew. You have horrible taste in men," Francis joked weakly. Matthew's head dropped, however, and fat, salty tears spilled down over his cheeks.

"I thought it would be different with Alex. We're so close. I never even thought that he might really be into girls. How stupid can I be? Of course he's straight. This whole month I thought I was helping Michelle…and she's just been hanging around to get to my best friend. I was giving her advice, helping her with her homework…I bet they had a good laugh at my expense!"

"Matthew…I don't think she did it intentionally," Francis said quietly. Matthew shot him a dark, glowering look made all the worst by tears and a blackening eye. "At the very least, they would never laugh at you. Alex thinks the world of you. Michelle admires you—I know she does."

"Ugh, forget it! I'm just going to be alone forever! It's not worth it to keep getting my hopes up and then getting my heart stomped on over and over! If this is love then it sucks! I hate it!"

Francis couldn't help but smile. Matthew looked so completely pitiful and depressed that Francis reacted without thinking it through. He let the ice bag drop to the table that Matthew was sitting on top of and he moved forward, until he was standing between Matthew's knees. Smoothly, confidently, and with complete gentleness, he captured Matthew's lips in a sweet kiss.

Matthew didn't know how the kiss felt so soothing and wonderful when it should have made him furious, but it calmed him almost magically. The tension in his shoulders drained harmlessly away, and he wound his arms loosely around Francis's shoulders. When they parted, Francis whispered gently against his the curve of his ear.

"Don't ruin your friendship with Alex over a love he can't give you. Give me another chance. I've changed, Matthew. I promise I have."

Suddenly, Matthew's arms around his shoulders tightened almost desperately and Matthew was crying against his shoulder. Francis knew the tears were over Alex, but he also could tell Matthew had felt something when they kissed—something familiar and comforting, but different now somehow. Hopeful, perhaps very fragile, but it had definitely been something good between them once more.

"I'm not c-crying because of A-Alex. My h-head just really h-hurts!" Matthew sobbed. Smiling a bit, Francis let Matthew cry it out, gently carding his fingers through the other boy's sweaty curls and kissing over the part of his forehead that wasn't cut and bruised.

"There, there…everything will be okay now. You will see. Everything will work out alright in the end," Francis assured. And this time, he could almost believe that.

Arthur kept waiting for Alfred to come, all Friday night and even Saturday morning before he finally realized that Alfred wasn't coming.

It made no sense. It wasn't like his Alfred at all. His Alfred was clingy, and needy, and sensitive and too sweet-hearted to ever let a conflict go unresolved between them. When he was in the dog house, he bought flowers, and he serenaded him, and he slow danced with him to sappy songs. Arthur shut Alfred out quite frequently—sometimes he just needed alone time—but Alfred never shut out him. It was downright un-Alfred.

The question was…did Arthur care? After realizing he'd been pacing for almost an hour, it was quite obvious that he cared. The question was, then, what to do about it.

Quite suddenly, his door swung open. Arthur nearly shrieked, but he choked down his scream of surprise at the last second. It was Mike—the hallway security guard—with the key still in his hand.

"Hey, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I heard you pacing in here. You're setting me on edge! Is everything okay?" he asked. His expression as a whole seemed caring enough, but Arthur still felt violated by his unapproved entrance.

"My door was locked! You don't just barge in when someone's—"

"Arthur, I knocked. Loudly. For at least a couple minutes. I thought you might have had headphones on or something. Look, I won't unlock your door again. I was just worried."

Arthur felt the air rush out of his lungs. Had he really been so wrapped up in his own head he hadn't heard Mike's knocking? Arthur shook his head tiredly and sunk onto the edge of the mattress.

"No, I'm sorry I snapped. I haven't been myself lately. You were only concerned."

Mike came in looking a bit unsure, but advancing nevertheless. After a moment, he sat on the very edge of Arthur's bed, still giving him his space.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently. Arthur glanced up at him and blinked a bit in surprise before he swallowed thickly. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Not with Mike, not with Michelle, and not with Alfred.

"No. I don't."

"Oh…well, hey, it's a beautiful Saturday. My shift is almost over, but I have to do a sweep of the grounds first. Why don't you tag along with me?" Mike offered. Arthur started to turn him down, but at the last second, he caved. Why not? Maybe some fresh air would rid him of his obsessive worrying over the situation with Alfred.

"Alright. That sounds…nice," Arthur agreed. He liked the snow and the fresh air. He missed it, living in a room with no windows.

"Good. I think Lane is here now," Mike said, standing and stretching before returning to the hallway. He reported that there was no unusual activity to Lane, the older, gruffer woman that swapped guard duty with Mike, and then he told her Arthur was leaving with him. "Nobody gets in that room, right?" he said with a smile and a reassuring wink at Arthur.

Arthur appreciated their kindness, truly he did, but he just couldn't bring himself to act chipper about any of it. Lane seemed to understand. She nodded at him solemnly as he trailed off after Mike down the hallway.

"How are your classes?" Mike asked, once they were outside. Arthur breathed in a little sharply as the cold hit him and made the tip of his nose start stinging. He glanced at Mike's broad-shouldered back and scowled. He didn't want to make small talk. He only wanted to stretch his legs a bit.

"Could we just walk quietly? I'm sorry, but I have quite a bit on my mind," Arthur said. Mike glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Sure thing."

They walked over the grounds in a fairly predictable pattern. What was not predictable was that as they neared the cafeteria, Arthur realized it was dinner time, and who should come strolling out after eating his meal but none other than Alfred Jones. He was bundled up in a rather odd mash-up of clothing—nothing seemed to really match or fit quite right, but he looked deliciously warm and comfortable. He was listening (or pretending to listen—Arthur knew that look well) to the ramblings of the short, pale kid he walked beside. Arthur didn't know his name, only that he was one of the few "special education" students that attended World Academy. Arthur had heard he was some sort of science prodigy, but his grades didn't show it and he was highly anti-social.

Alfred's eyes met his and he stopped dead in his tracks. Tony continued speaking in his odd, unemotional monotone, before he realized Alfred was no longer beside him. He noticed Arthur next, and he gave Arthur a look of such pure, unbridled hatred that it shocked Arthur into a full stop. Suddenly, he heard the snarling voice of his attacker in his mind, and even though he knew it was impossible—his attacker had been a bigger fellow while Tony was stunted and scrawny—that look gave Arthur horrible feelings.

"Huh? Arthur, why'd you—oh. Uh…come on. I don't know what's wrong with that kid, but I know he's not all there…if you catch my drift," Mike gruffly whispered. As more students filed out of the cafeteria, the tense moment broke. Suddenly, Tony was screaming at him across the courtyard.

"STAY AWAY YOU FUCKING LIMEY! HE HATES YOU! HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! FUCK YOU!"

"Tony!" Alfred said in loud surprise. Some of Alfred's old football buddies began to laugh at the scene.

"Ha ha! Jones, your new little ass buddy is having a spazz attack. Better get him his meds, Jonesy!" They walked off in a group, still laughing over the odd bit of drama.

"That Tony kid is such a freak. Shame Jones went all special ed on us. He wasn't a bad guy for a queer."

It was all horrible, and embarrassing, and Arthur didn't know what to do besides throw his hood up to hide his dark blush and run…run from the mocking laughter…run from Alfred's big, shocked eyes…run from the strange boy's hatred-filled curses.

He didn't stop running until he was back in his room with no windows, locked inside, curled up against the door and crying harshly into his arms.

Alfred wanted to go after Arthur right away, he really did, but something was seriously wrong with Tony. After cursing Arthur out so violently, he dropped down into the snow and just started rocking, and clawing at his clothes, and even banging his head down against the hard packed snow a few times. Completely freaked out, Alfred stood frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Of all people, it was Patty that helped him out while everyone else just whispered and even laughed. She dropped down beside Tony and threw her big fluffy jacket around him. When he was completely encased, she wrapped her arms firmly around him and just sat like that with him in the snow, holding him in a firm embrace. Alfred wanted to run off like Arthur had—he was embarrassed too, damn it, but he was Tony's friend. He wouldn't just leave him like that.

"W-what do I do?" Alfred asked shakily.

"Help me get him to his feet. Come on, Tony. It's time to go back to your room."

Tony practically went limp in Patty's arms, and though he was tiny for his age, Patty was not strong at all. Using dormant muscles, Alfred easily hefted Tony into his arms.

"How romantic!" a jeering voice shouted. Surprisingly, it was Matthew that pushed through the crowd and shouted back.

"Shut up! How sick are you to make fun of someone in that kind of condition? Do you completely lack a soul? You're probably the same twisted sort of jerk that throws your empty beer cans at homeless people!"

"Easy, Matthew, easy!" Francis said, gently trying to redirect Matthew from chasing after the well-scolded teenager. Even though he already had a lump on his temple the size of a small golf ball, Matthew looked ready for round two.

"I can't believe him! People are such…such…meanies! Maple! Now my head really hurts!" Francis lovingly tucked Matthew into the curve of his arm and guided him away from the dispersing lunch crowd, and in the direction Alfred had gone.

"Come on. We'll check up on him and see if he's okay. I don't know if this hockey is really for you, Matthew. You are so violent now. Why not take up a calming hobby with me? We could do Vespa tours, or perhaps wine tasting."

"I like hockey. It doesn't make me violent," Matthew argued pettily. Knowing a losing battle when he saw one, Francis merely held Matthew a little closer and dropped the issue.

When the rag tag group reached Tony and Alfred's room, Patty calmly instructed Alfred to put Tony on his bed. Tony sat up, still clutching Patricia's jacket around his bony shoulders, and stared at Alfred's chin, since he was typically unable to make eye contact with people.

"Tony…buddy…what was that?" Alfred finally asked.

"I hate him. I hate him because now that he's back you're not going to be my friend anymore and you're the only friend I've ever had and that's why he's a stupid, fucking limey!"

"Woah! Easy! Tony…I'm not going to stop being your friend just because Arthur came back!" Alfred reassured. Tony scowled, and burrowed down deeper into the jacket, so only his dark, almost black eyes glared balefully out at Alfred.

"You have had sexual intercourse with him and that leads to an intense bonding experience. I read about it. We have not had this bonding experience."

Alfred blushed, and Patty coughed a bit awkwardly into her fist. In the doorway, Matthew and Francis exchanged unsure looks.

"Tony…I don't know what you want me to say. I mean, yeah, I care about Arthur a lot…love him, even…but you're my friend, too."

"If we sexually bonded, then he would not be competition for your resources."

Patty snorted at that, and Francis bit his lip to prevent laughing out loud. Alfred shook his head, and then crossed to the bed and sat beside Tony. Casually, he dropped his arm around his shorter friend and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"It doesn't work like that. Tony, we're bros. Like Captain Kirk and Spock. Like Chewbacca and Hans Solo. We already have a great bond just the way it is—no, err, sexual relations required. Do you understand?"

"No…but I find most typical human behaviors beyond my ability to comprehend. He may have one hour of your time every other day, pending he does not become irrational or too unpredictable. I will use this time to work on my research projects. You are not smart enough to comprehend them, and so it will be beneficial to me if you are gone during that time."

"Uh…" Alfred said rather dumbly.

"I think he's giving you permission to spend some time with Arthur…as long as you make it routine. I took a psychology class last summer. Asperger kids like routine, and I think it's safe to say Arthur just disrupted Tony's."

"Precisely. Finally, one amongst you shows a semblance to intelligent thinking," Tony said in his almost mechanical way of humming his words. Alfred glanced at Matthew a bit helplessly and finally just shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess that's sorted, then? So, you okay, Tony?"

"I am functioning at an acceptable level of performance. Take back your jacket. I no longer require it," Tony said flatly. Figuring that was as close to a "thanks" as she was going to get, Patricia accepted the return of her coat and offered Alfred a half-smile.

"It was good of you to stick around and help, Alfred. I'm glad…I'm glad deep down you haven't changed."

Alfred swallowed thickly at the words and his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

"Patty…what do you mean by that?" Alfred asked. Suddenly, Matthew and Francis felt like they were intruding. They stepped back into the hallway. Oblivious to social cues, Tony just stared at them unblinkingly.

Patty smiled, and it was warm and gently and all things good.

"Alfred…you're a good person, even when it's not easy to be good. That's enough, really. You don't have to be anything more than that."

"Oh," Alfred said. It was hard to read his tone. He seemed torn between let down and on the brink of understanding a profound insight into his own character.

"I've gotta get back to my room now. Bye Tony, bye Alfred. See ya around," Patty said softly. As she left, Matthew smiled at her in gratitude and Francis nodded his head.

"Thank you," Matthew said. "None of us knew what to do. We were lucky you were there."

"It's nothing really. Have a nice night," she said, and she left just as quietly as she'd arrived.

"Since it seems everything is okay, we're going to go, too. We need to talk sometimes soon, though, Alfred," Matthew said. Alfred glanced out in the hallway long enough to acknowledge them and say goodbye.

Then it was just himself and Tony.

"Now that the others are gone, do you want to sexually bond? All my research indicates it would greatly strengthen our alliance."

Alfred slumped comically against his bed and dropped his arm over his eyes. He needed to go check up on Arthur, but he was going to collect himself for a moment before he did. What a crazy day.

"Does your silence mean assent?"

"Does 'assent' mean yes?" Alfred asked, his words partially muffled by his arm.

"Yes."

"Then no," Alfred replied, just as bluntly as Tony himself liked to speak. Alfred could feel the weight of Tony's flat gaze on him, but he didn't move his arm or sit up just yet.

"Your decision is acceptable. I do not think it would be enjoyable to put my penis in your—"

"Tony! Jeez! Enough with the sex stuff!" Alfred complained.

"—in your butt hole. My research into the subject informs me that it is courteous to stretch one's partner before the act using fingers, but—"

"Urrghh!" Alfred moaned in embarrassment.

"—but I find the idea of putting a finger in your anal cavity unpleasant."

Alfred sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and landing with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped up on his hands. He smiled sweetly at Tony.

"Can I give you a tip, Tony? Next time, just say 'I'm straight.' It's a lot more direct that way. You like direct, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Right. Glad we had this talk, little buddy. I'm going to head out now, okay?"

"You have one hour for your sexual bonding. If you need less time, that is acceptable."

"This day has been embarrassing enough. Let's not add premature ejaculation on top of everything else, okay? I can handle an hour, alright? Geez!"

"My research indicates—"

"GAH! LEAVING NOW!" Alfred bellowed before sprinting out of their shared room and slamming the door shut behind himself.

Alone in the bedroom, Tony just smiled.

A/N: The whole last part of this chapter only happened because a reviewer mentioned that there are, in fact, AlfredTony shippers out there. Obviously, I'm not one of them…but the idea amused me greatly. Hope it amused you, too. I also just wanted to point out that Tony automatically assumes he'd be topping. Teehee. ^.^