Chapter 2

~o~

The low horn of a ship boomed low in the distance, breaking up the soft sounds of waves lapping against concrete. Ivan and his companion stood in front of the cargo crate along the abandoned dock, their breath puffing in the cold night air. "Eduard, идти," the Russian ordered, pushing his companion forward. Eduard pushed his square glasses up, a nervous habit, and slowly stepped towards a lone shipping container.

An eerie silence followed as Eduard held his breath. After a long tense moment, he spoke softly, "It's sa-"

A scream, like a banshee shriek, echoed from the container, so unworldly it could freeze blood. The doors slammed and rattled, bulges appearing in the metal as the monster within threw itself into the wall.

Eduard quickly fled back to Ivan's side, his racing heart not likely helping matters. Ivan heaved a long sigh into the pink scarf wrapped around his neck. "Not yet. Another veek. приехать, Eduard" He turned away from the cargo crate back to their car, ignoring the howls echoing behind them.

~o~

Arthur stared at his empty screen, trying to will the words to come to mind. Yet all he could think of was a certain blue-eyed blond. It had been an entire month since he laid eyes on Alfred. There was one brief call to establish life, but Alfred sounded so miserable that he didn't keep him for very long. Riddled with guilt, Arthur was driven to distraction. To the point that his publishers were getting quite annoyed at him for his lack of progress.

Tapping on the space key, he sighed and took a swig of wine. Alcohol was a lubricant for creativity, wasn't it? However, he found himself with an empty glass and a tapped out bottle. Growling, he tossed the bottle into the trash and mentally tried to file through the wines he still had in the house. That may have been his last one. He considered going down to the corner store to buy something cheap, but he'd be wandering about slightly tipsy in the middle of the day. That was no way to appear in public.

Did Alfred have anything? Arthur glanced down at the attic stairs. Surely, a boy such as himself would have something down there. Besides, shouldn't he dedicate himself to clean living once he returned from rehab? He was doing the boy a favour. Before he had fully decided on his course, he was already heading down the stairs. He did take pause in front of Alfred's door, realizing that perhaps this was a step too far.

Yet screaming over his conscience was his curiosity. How did the boy live down there? Was that where his own Alfred lived as well when he was in town? Were there pictures of the pair of them? Were he sober, he wouldn't dare think of going down, but he wasn't so...

Arthur pushed open the basement door and stumbled down the dark stairwell, fumbling for some lights. The fluorescent lamps flickered on overhead, casting the living area in an eerie blue glow over the small living space. It looked disappointingly sparse. IKEA furniture was a bit of a theme with a computer desk, couch and entertainment center. There was a miniscule area for cooking, just a sink and a tabletop kerosene stove. Honestly, how did he manage to cook anything on that? Did he just subsist on ramen or mac n' cheese? The fridge was a decent size and Arthur assumed there would be a stash of beer in there. Likely something horrible like Bud or PBR. A last resort then.

His green eyes swept over to the sleeping space. Just the twin bed tucked off in a spare closet of a room. Odd. Then perhaps his Alfred didn't live here? Unless that couch pulled out into a sleeper when he was in town? He crouched down by the sofa, tugging up cushions to see if he could find some sort of handle or hidden compartment. No, didn't look like it.

Another thing that struck him was the complete lack of personalization. Not a picture, not a poster. Not anything to indicate Alfred's interests. There were a couple game consoles though and a wide variety of video games and movies. At least Alfred was typical in that respect. Perhaps all his other interests were all on the computer, but even tipsy he knew that sneaking around on someone's desktop was a bit too far.

Inevitably, his eyes went to the bed again. Was that where Alfred took care of Francis? Was Francis the one who had dosed Alfred with whatever drug he was addicted to? The very thought made Arthur ill. The last he had heard, Francis had just gotten out of hospital. It seemed that all suspicions pointed to him. And here he was trying to nick some wine from his victim, some poor, hard-on-his-luck drug addict, who was his friend's son no less. Not for the first time, Arthur pondered his life decisions and found himself wanting.

Sinking to the floor, he sighed and looked over the small dwelling. He'd lived in places like this, back when he was a starving artist, young and irresponsible. To be honest, not a lot had changed since then. Now his carefree lifestyle had essentially ruined someone's life.

His eyes went to the bed again. Something niggled at the back of his mind, hazy drunken memory coming back from that party weeks ago. He remembered being wrapped up in desire, a warm body pressed up close against him. He remembered watching Alfred heading down some stairs with Francis hand-in-hand. Something about that thought triggered the nausea again, but then something new - no, something forgotten.

Sharp, blood-curdling jealousy.

The fuck-? Arthur wondered, even as his body shivered with the dark emotion. He crawled along the floor, coming closer to the bed, where the deed must have been done. The sensation was only getting stronger. Something about the smell...

But it didn't make any sense. He barely knew the boy. Was it that he looked so much like his Alfred? But they were not one in the same. Not to mention, the boy was nineteen for God's sake. Yet he couldn't shake off that sudden overwhelming want that was overrunning his senses. He pressed his nose against the side of the bed, breathing in and feeling his body growing warm. Christ, he was getting hard.

A crash sounded from above, making Arthur bolt up to his feet, heart pounding. A cat flitted past the window and Arthur rightly concluded that it must have knocked some trash can over. Nonetheless, it was enough to shake some sense into him. Arthur fled from the basement, deciding he had long outlived his welcome.

~o~

When Ivan sent word that Alfred was ready to come home, Arthur regarded the news with fresh relief and anxiety. He'd not been able to write a word since this entire mess started, but he didn't know how he would react to the boy's presence after his utterly moronic excursion to Alfred's living quarters. Yet after all his sufferings, Arthur thought he might give Alfred as warm a welcome as he could manage, laying out a spread of meat and cheese for Alfred to nibble if he wanted and a good bottle of wine.

The doctor brought back a shivering, pale figure to the house after the sun had set. Alfred looked like a shade of his former self, weak and jelly-legged, wrapped up in a thin blanket. He smiled thinly at Arthur as he stepped into the brownstone, muttering a small thanks to Ivan for delivering him home. Arthur stood anxiously by the door. He'd worried that he'd immediately want to pounce Alfred as soon as he came in, considering his reaction in Alfred's basement. However, he was relieved to find his body unresponsive to the huddled figure.

"Welcome back," he said quietly, putting a hand to Alfred's shoulder to guide him into the house. He wasn't expecting the boy to flinch and pull away.

Ivan stepped in after the boy, giving Arthur a cool look. "Leave him," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. His eyes impassively took in the small appetizers that Arthur had bought for the occasion. "He vill not be interested in zat." True to his words, Alfred only spared a small glance at the food before shuffling down the stairs to the basement. Arthur couldn't help but feel slighted for being ignored for all that he had worried.

Ivan, however, seemed perfectly content in helping himself. He tossed his coat onto one of the chairs and sat himself down on the couch, taking a swig straight from the bottle of wine. Arthur glared at him, but closed the door behind him. "Oh yes, make yourself at home," he muttered sarcastically. He stood above the slav, folding his arms over his chest. "So, is there anything I should know about him? I assume that the bill's already been taken care of."

The doctor waved a hand. "He vill pay, in time," he replied enigmatically.

Arthur didn't like the sound of that one bit. After his initial meeting with Ivan, his impression of the man hadn't changed at all. He strode over to his desk and pulled out his checkbook. "How much?" he demanded sharply. Ivan looked up at him in amusement. "I mean it," Arthur hissed, taking out his pen. "You won't have any hold over him. How much to make sure that you don't come near him again?"

A deep, dark laugh boomed from the slav. "You are very silly child," Ivan chuckled, taking another large chunk of cheddar to eat. "You have no idea vhat is going on. You should just go on vit your business and leave boy alone. You vill be better off."

"Do not presume to tell me what to do," Arthur snapped, his hackles raised. How dare this man tell him how he should treat his friend's son? And child? What the fuck.

"Silly, silly child," Ivan reiterated, finishing off the bottle. Dear God, how could he down such expensive wine so quickly? He was making fast work on all the food as well. "If you vant to help, you vill not have anozer party in zis house. It is not good for Alfred to be close to many people. He is... sensitive." Ivan seemed to find his own words amusing as he let out another sinister chuckle. The sound of it sent shivers down Arthur's spine.

"I wasn't planning on it," the Brit growled. After this past debacle, he didn't plan on inviting a single soul over. At least not without strip searching their person. "Will you at least tell me what the hell Alfred is addicted to?"

"You ask him yourself," Ivan replied. "I am doctor. I cannot say."

Arthur doubted that this man was in any way acting as a doctor above board. "Cannot or will not?" he demanded.

"Both," Ivan replied. He finished off the last of the meat and cheese, patting off his fingers as he got up from the sofa. "Now, I go. Have good night, Arzur. Don't let bed bug bite," he added with more mirth than Arthur thought the poor joke merited.

Arthur only relaxed when the man had finally departed from his home. His green eyes turned over to the basement door, worrying his lower lip. He knocked on the door. "Alfred?" he called out through the wood, "Is there anything you need?"

There were some shuffling sounds and a muffled and tired, "No."

Sighing, Arthur decided that he may as well follow a little of Ivan's advice and let the boy rest. He pulled a bottle of wine from the cabinets and headed upstairs to see if he could finally get back to writing. Staring at the moon through his little attic window, he found inspiration immediately in a glass of wine and the surreal brutishness of their guest.

~o~

Alfred,

I apologize for not having responded for so long. Things have gotten a bit hectic here, I will admit. I'm making short work of my new book thanks to a bit of a run in with some unsavoury character. I am calling my new character Doktor Vlad. A little cheesy, I will have to work on that.

On another note, I'm sorry to hear that you will be again delayed abroad. I think that it may be good for you to come home and visit your son as soon as possible. I understand that he's already of age and his own person, but he needs a parent in his life right now. I am not a good fit for that role, I assure you.

However, I am fit enough to try to befriend him. To that end, please let me know if there are any restaurants he enjoys. I think that he might appreciate a night out. I promise, I will handle him delicately. Honestly, I think that you just pretended to have all those ailments in proxy of your son. That sun allergy sounds brutal, poor boy. Not to mention he's a bit down from losing his job for being ill. He seems lonely.

Please, come back soon.

Yours,

Arthur

~o~

Arthur,

Thanks for all your concern. I really appreciate you looking out for Alfie like this. I know that you're not really the strings-attached type, no offense. Unfortunately, the company wants me in Estonia indefinitely, so I don't know when I'll be able to make it back. They've already given me relocation expenses. This is a really good opportunity in my career and I need the extra salary to support Alfie. Like you said, he's had it pretty hard since he can't find a good job with his allergy. I've been trying to encourage him to get an online degree, but do you know how hard it is to try to convince a kid to study from the next room, much less from across an ocean? lol

Anyway, you don't need to worry about him, Arthur. I think he might resent it if you try to fuss over him. If you really want to get in good with him, you can buy him a video game instead of dinner. He'd like that.

Yours,

Alfred

~o~

Thank you for the advice about the video game. He loved it. Are you sure that he wouldn't like to go to a restaurant?

Art, srsly, yru so hung up about food?

The boy never gets out and about. It's not good for him to be so cooped up. I've barely laid eyes on him for weeks.

HE HAS A SUN ALLERGY. Leave him alone.

How can I leave him alone? We're in the same bloody house. I'll do what I want to.

wtf, Art. Since when have you been so hung up on somebody before?

He's YOUR son. How am I not supposed to be concerned?

Awww, that's so cute, Artie. Are you going to tuck him into bed too? Sing him to sleep? Read him a bedtime story?

You unbelievably obnoxious git. I'm trying to be nice here!

Well DON'T. Seriously. Leave him alone.

One would think that you were leaving him out to dry. Are you trying to insinuate that I'm a bad influence on him? I know I can be a bit wild, but he's a grown man as you so often remind me. He can make his own decisions.

Jesus Christ, Art.

You can help or not. But you're over in fucking Estonia. There's not much that you can do from there. OR you can come back here and take care of your son.

With that final text, Arthur tossed his phone down onto the table and glared at his laptop screen as he fumed at how impossible his friend was being. They didn't argue that often, though they did have past disagreements on certain viewpoints. Alfred was quite a conservative fellow on a lot of matters, but not on the important ones. Such as when Arthur came out to him before any of his family members. Alfred had been nothing but supportive in Arthur's decision.

That thought made Arthur falter.

Wait. Surely, Alfred didn't... He wouldn't think that Arthur was a corrupting influence on his son, would he? Or that he was trying to get into the boy's pants? Dear God, the very thought made him sick to his stomach. Particularly because he did have a stray thought or two about the young man. But surely, Alfred would know that even he wouldn't go that far. Maybe he didn't. After all, Arthur tended to brag a bit about his conquests. But a friend's son was completely off-limits. Well... except for his old publisher's son, but that boy had an exceptionally fine ass. Granted the fallout was terrible, but...

Oh...

Oh lord. Arthur sank his head into his hands with a groan. No wonder Alfred was being so overprotective. Arthur would have been far less detailed in his messages to Alfred if the man hadn't omitted the fact that he had a son of his own. Well, perhaps not. But even so-! He had been perfectly well-behaved around the boy-Alfred-Alfie. Granted, he barely saw him, but he'd been a fairly decent tenant ever since that fateful party.

Sighing, Arthur gave up on his writing for the day and headed back downstairs from the attic. Much to his surprise, he found Alfred (he couldn't really think of him as an Alfie) up and about on the ground floor. The boy paled when he saw him, not a good look as he was so pale already. What on earth had his father been saying about him?

"Do you need some help with that?" the author asked, nodding to the large box in Alfred's hands.

"Ah, no! That's okay," Alfred said, a bit flustered. "Thanks. It's just groceries." Arthur gave the box a skeptical look. Groceries in a box? Likely ramen or kraft products as he suspected. Ugh, how did he used to be able to live off of that? (Though takeaway wasn't all that much better.) Still, surely, the boy could use a break from it.

"Why don't you put that away and come have dinner with me?" Arthur suggested, following through on his threat to his old friend. "You seem as though you could use a break. Perhaps we could go to the cinema afterwards and watch a film."

If anything, Alfred only seemed to grow paler. Did he have some sort of aversion to being outside or to crowds? It would certainly explain a few things. "N-no! That's okay. Sorry, I don't- It's not good for me," the boy stammered, looking ill. Arthur wondered if there was something else going on with the boy that neither Alfreds were telling him.

Baby steps then.

"Well, at least have some supper with me tonight," the older man replied, putting his hands on his hips. "I can order some pizza and we can watch a movie together here at home. I won't take no for an answer," he added sternly. If nothing else, he had to at least get Alfred out of that awful, dank basement. "I know you watch movies. I saw your collection downstairs. We can watch whatever you want."

However, from the horrified look on Alfred's face, only then did Arthur realize what he let slip. "Did you go down into my basement?!" Alfred demanded, no, screeched.

Panicking, Arthur held his hands out to try to placate the boy before he got too riled. "No, I just- I only ducked in for a moment! I didn't touch anything, I swear!" he promised. Well, except for the couch and the bed (ugh, the bed), but that hardly counted! Besides, what on earth was Alfred so worked up about? He didn't have anything incriminating down there! ...Or did he? "Alfred, don't tell me you have drugs down there," Arthur suddenly demanded, his mind whirling back to Alfred's stint in rehab. "You're not using again, are you?"

The utter astonishment and disbelief on the boy's face was so genuine that Arthur didn't have a problem believing Alfred when he spluttered, "Of course not! Are you crazy?! Don't tell me that's why you went downstairs!"

"It wasn't," Arthur promised, much more gently this time. He still held up his hands as though he were trying to defend himself against a feral animal. "I swear it. It was a mistake going down there, but I honestly didn't do anything. I'm sorry. It was a very stupid thing to do. I did not mean to violate your privacy."

Alfred only gripped his box tighter against himself, his eyes almost inhuman they were so livid, body trembling with barely restrained power. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, scarcely able to move under that gaze. Did Alfred have any idea how he looked when he was like that? Yet the author couldn't bring himself to move any closer and act on the urges suddenly afflicting him. His feet were frozen in place, even though every nerve ending was on fire.

Then just like that, like the flip of a switch, Alfred changed back to that lost and uncertain boy, eyes wide as he looked Arthur over. He quickly disappeared down into the basement stairs, leaving Arthur to finally breathe again once the door slammed behind him.

Trembling, Arthur slapped a hand against a wall to keep himself from tottering over. He suddenly felt as had been socked right in the solar plexus, all the wind knocked right out of him. Worse than that, he was still horribly aroused.

His mind instantly went back to his text message conversation with his Alfred and he could not help but give a mirthless laugh. It seemed that his friend had every right to be worried about his son getting jumped. What a fine example of right decent human behaviour he was. Utterly despicable. He should move out at earliest convenience and leave Alfred well enough alone. God knows that he had done enough damage already with his stupidity.

He nodded to himself. Right. That was what he would do. He would pack up his things and move into a hotel for the time being. Better that he inform Alfred as soon as he could.

~o~

"What? NO!"

Arthur did not expect such a vehement objection to say the least. His bags were already packed and by the door, reservations made at the mid-range hotel he planned to stay at whilst he looked for other lodgings. All that remained was to inform Alfred of his departure.

...Which Alfred wasn't taking too well.

"You can't go," the boy insisted, grabbing Arthur by the arm. "You're on lease for another four months!"

"Yes, but I violated the terms of the agreement not to go down into your quarters," Arthur said, trying to shake off Alfred's firm grip. He had a surprising amount of strength for such a sickly looking boy. "You have every right to kick me out early. Alfred, I had thought that you would want me to go, considering how turbulent our cohabitation has been."

"But..." Alfred's face pinched, as though he looked as though he were about to break into tears or maybe it was sheer desperation. "I'm not kicking you out, Arthur. So you can't go. I know I've been a terrible landlord, but maybe we can get past it, right? I promise, I'll do better."

This was really not what Arthur expected at all. He had the distinct feeling of imbalance from being caught flat footed. "You'll do better? What on earth did you do wrong?"

"Wh- but that whole rehab thing," Alfred stammered, his eyes filling with confusion. "I thought it was because you wouldn't want to be living with an addict." Well, normally that was true, Arthur would admit. However, looking over into Alfred's expression, Arthur knew that the boy was a very special case. Alfred looked so much like his father that it hurt. And he was such a sweet and shy boy.

"I can assure you, it's not because of that," Arthur replied, giving Alfred a faint smile. "Your father is concerned that I would be a destructive influence on you. I cannot bring myself to disagree, given what's happened. Moreover, I thought that you would want to get rid of a nosy, pushy old codger like myself."

Not that he was that old, mind you.

Alfred's head ducked down, his hands squeezing all the tighter around Arthur's forearm. He mumbled something under his breath, which made Arthur lean in to try to hear. "Say that again, love," he prompted gently.

The boy's cheeks inflamed at the pet name. Not a good look either. He looked sickly and feverish. However, Alfred picked his chin up and said in a tiny, humiliated voice, "You can't go because I need the money."

Arthur's eyes widened and his own face flushed in sympathy. Shame curdled in his stomach, feeling horrible for having made Alfred admit to such a thing. Yet he didn't realize that his friend and his son were so down on their luck. It explained why his friend was willing to sacrifice staying in bloody Estonia just for a pay bump. And he should have remembered that Alfred hadn't been able to pick up another night-job after his month-long stint in rehab. Oh God, how did he manage to keep mucking up everything?

"I... yes, of course," Arthur whispered hoarsely, feeling even more vile than before. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! he berated himself, shutting the door to the house and closing any more discussion on the matter. "I'll just take my things back upstairs. Say nothing more of it. I hadn't been looking forward to trying to find new lodgings in any case."

Alfred's tired, blue eyes looked to the bags. "Do you need help?" he asked quietly. He sounded downtrodden and miserable. It hurt to see him in such a state.

"No, I'm quite alright," Arthur assured him, giving the boy a tentative smile. "Although..." he added slowly, giving Alfred a speculative glance, "if you'd like to help patch things up, perhaps you would agree to Thursday night movies with me? At home, of course. Just to be social. Maybe all we need is to get to know each other better."

Alfred worried his lower lip, giving the author a well-deserved look of suspicion. "Alright," he agreed at last, letting the air from Arthur's lungs rush out in relief. "But I get to pick the movies," he stipulated.

"Half," Arthur countered, his lips quirking into a smile.

"Two-thirds."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "There's four Thursdays a month. How will that work?" He quite enjoyed this easy banter. Hopefully it was a sign that their future interactions would be far less volatile.

Alfred pouted. "Fine, three-quarters."

"Done." Arthur held out his hand. "Are we in accord?" Alfred rolled his eyes at Arthur's antiquated speech (or so he assumed), but stuck out his hand regardless. His palm was cool to the touch, sending a faint shiver down Arthur's skin.

"Deal."