When the Sun Sets 1/1
Alfred was certainly not stalking Arthur Kirkland. Really, he wasn’t.
He was walking along a shady looking street in an equally shady looking neighborhood, trying to tail after his wayward class president without being noticed and rationalizing why he had been following said class president for close to three hours now. But Alfred didn’t view it as stalking, as Matthew had told him that’s what he was doing; he viewed it as his heroic mission to bring down the tyrannical Arthur Kirkland and free their school from his evil clutches! It was his duty as the Hero of Hetalia Academy to find a way to bring an end to the persecution he and his fellow students suffered through on a daily basis at the hands of their Evil Warlord of a president. And to do that, Alfred needed to find some dirt on the senior, something to incriminate him and bring him down from his position of power!
And that meant following him for the past few weeks, no matter where he went. Unfortunately, it was also football season and as the star running back he did have to go to practice after school and there was only so much he could dig up during school hours when Arthur Kirkland was being his prissy, proper, rule-enforcing self. No, he’d come to the decision last week that if he was going to find anything worthy of blackmail material it was going to be after school hours. So that’s what he was doing and he wasn’t going to quit until he was successful! Alfred Jones never gave up!
But, perhaps we should start at the beginning because the reason for his not-stalking of Arthur Kirkland, the reason for Arthur Kirkland’s radical enforcement of rules, and the reasons for a good deal more all began when Alfred was 10 and Arthur 11 and best of friends. They had been thick as thieves and did everything together, but as with many young friendships, strains began as they got older. Different viewpoints developed, different things became important, and eventually the friendship that had weathered so much as children succumbed to the monster known as High School. And now, now they had grown into vastly different people: Alfred the star football player for the Academy who everybody loved and was annoyed with at the same time and Arthur, the strict student council president who lived and breathed rules-and woe befall anyone who broke them on his watch.
Now, even though they both stated they were no longer friends and despised the other, it was plain to everyone else that they both still held great affection for one another and their public feud, still going strong after four years, could be ended quickly if only they were honest with one another. In fact, there were several pools going on within the student body on just when and how they would finally ‘hook up.’ Of course, no one actually said any of that to either of them for fear of reprisal in some manner, so things were stuck as they were until one of them wised up. Which leads us to tonight and Alfred not-stalking Arthur.
Ever since the start of new school year, Arthur had been particularly vindictive in punishing any rule breakers, which generally happened to be Alfred and his group of friends, and ‘abusing’ his seat of power as the student body president that he’d inherited the previous year. Sending Gilbert to detention for chewing gum, assigning Francis to bathroom duty for ‘inappropriate foreign language,’ writing Alfred up for putting his feet on top of a desk to name a few and they were getting sick of it. Arthur was lording over them all like the prim, proper, English bloke he told everyone he was, but Alfred knew, KNEW Arthur wasn’t as proper as everyone believed. And all he needed to do was prove it, prove that Arthur did bad things just like everyone else and then it was as simple as blackmailing the jerk for the rest of the year until he graduated.
It was perfect and heroic, his two favorite things to be.
Alfred had followed Arthur around all afternoon today, skiving off practice with the excuse that he had to take his little brother Matthew to the doctors, and watched as the Briton yelled at other members of the council, hand out detentions to a bunch of freshmen for coloring on their desks in the study hall, and generally be a pain in the ass. But, sadly, he didn’t break a single rule nor did anything more than swear under his breath, which wasn’t nearly enough for blackmail. He carried himself like a perfectly responsible young man and it made Alfred want to tear his hair out. When they’d been younger, Alfred may have been more rambunctious but it had been Arthur who was the more mischievous of the two; he just knew he could catch him doing something!
Arthur left the school at 4:30 that afternoon and Alfred had followed after him in his own car, careful to not drive right behind him because when you were on a secret mission, you didn’t want to be obvious about it. Arthur had not headed home, which Alfred had expected, but the next hour or so was mainly Alfred following Arthur run his errands; it wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for. But he remained alert and vigilant and had followed him all around until he parked his car a little bit behind Arthur’s in a parallel spot alongside the sidewalk, exiting his car in time with his prey and starting off after him. Arthur had a paper bag in his hand as he bobbed and weaved through the crowded street with the familiarity of someone who was used to it-Alfred was able to follow easily due to the high street traffic.
The sun was beginning to set when the president had suddenly turned onto a street littered with bars and ‘pubs’ and shady characters who were obviously drunk and walked into one called ‘The Surly Wench’ without a hint of hesitation. Alfred gave himself a mental high-five at his good luck and hurried over to the bar, hanging behind a building corner so as not to draw attention to himself. He adjusted his glasses and peered up at the neon, blinking sign of the seedy bar, wondering how Arthur had been able to get in if he was underage and smiling in victory-surely, sneaking into bars was enough to get him to lay-off for the year! It was just further proof that his mission was just and he was way more awesome than stupid Arthur Kirkland.
Neither of the bouncers were paying that much attention to who was going in and out and when both hurried inside to pull apart a drunken fight, Alfred made his move. He snuck in, like a ninja, and settled himself against the back wall of the joint, glancing around in the dim light for a glimpse of his wayward president, pulling out his camera phone with an eager smile. It was hard to see but most of the people in the bar were either very hairy or very large and none too attractive so Alfred wasn’t worried about being able to single out Arthur too much. However, after a few minutes of ‘discreet’ searching and still no sign of Arthur, Alfred couldn’t help the frown that formed in between his eyes and on his lips. He’d seen Arthur walk in here, he knew it, but where had he disappeared off to?
Alfred sat down heavily on a bar stool and pouted at the dirty floor, wondering if Arthur had caught on to his tailing and had cut through the bar and exited out a back door or something-he was totally sneaky like that. He glanced around the bar again, taking in the weird looking stuff on the wall, the chandelier on the roof that had what looked like panties and bras on it, and the dark stains of what he hoped was spilled beer littering the floor before he decided it was probably best he head out now before he got Hepatitis or something. Arthur probably wasn’t even here anyway, Alfred would have found him by this time-he’d just have to try and catch Arthur at something the next day. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and got up from the stool and started to make his way back towards the door when movement caught his eyes.
The bar had a small, elevated stage and there were a few people milling around it, obviously excited about something and after watching for a few moments, Alfred saw a few guys not much older than him walk out, all dressed up in tight pants, studded belts and ripped up shirts. They had a small set up of a drum, bass and guitar but Alfred really wasn’t paying attention to them. Because, you see, Alfred had been staring at the fourth member of the little band the entire time, at the whipcord slender body dressed in the tightest black jeans Alfred had ever seen walk out and stand in front of the microphone. Watched as a graceful hand wrapped around a small glass and a distracting mouth downed a shot of amber liquid, green eyes lidded and alive with energy. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt was ripped and he had heavy boots on-but Alfred stared at Arthur Kirkland and wondered what the hell had happened and that he should really be taking a picture or something.
Alfred had expected he’d catch Arthur drinking or spraying graffiti or smoking-he hadn’t expected this exactly. Some of the patrons shouted out requests and then the music started and Alfred found himself unable to move. He’d heard Arthur sing before when they were kids and had always thought he was good bit this-this was different. This was like some weird alter-ego that looked and moved like Arthur but defied anything Alfred had conceived Arthur to be. He found it hard not to stare and felt an even stranger feeling of warmth spread through his ski as Arthur turned toward the microphone and smirked out at the crowd; his fingers curled around the base of the microphone and gripped tight, his smirk nearly going feral as his other band-mates played their song.
The music was loud and harsh and not really something Alfred liked to listen to but then Arthur started to sing and it really didn’t matter anymore. If we’re being completely honest here, Alfred knew he harbored a bit of a torch for Arthur and had so for awhile but had mostly learned to ignore it because Arthur was such an ass. It was easier to not think about how they went from being so close to hating each other if he didn’t have to think about how he sorta-kinda-liked the stuffy senior. Easier to pass off how he was always drawn to Arthur was just because he liked to bug the jerk and not because he’d never figured out how to stop liking him. But staring at Arthur sing in those tight, radically different clothing, watching him sway and move in time with the music, watching how his green eyes alit with fire and stared out in challenge at everyone, all that was suddenly smacking him in the face again and he couldn’t find it within him to push it aside.
Alfred didn’t recognize the song but he did recognize that words about anarchy, anger and ‘fuck you’ were something Arthur Kirkland would normally never be caught dead singing-it was perfect blackmail material but Alfred was too mesmerized; he was unable to look away from the whole different creature Arthur had transformed into. Like the sun setting had awakened all the things Arthur would never let anyone see, all his inhibitions brought to life in a sensuous, guttural, embodiment of defiance and rebellion. Yeah, blackmail didn’t seem as important any more, especially when Alfred wasn’t sure that any pictures he took he’d be willing to share with anyone else anyways.
Alfred watched Arthur sing three more songs from where he stood frozen near the bar before he felt his feet begin to move, take him closer to Arthur as if he was caught in a trance. Arthur’s deep, hoarse voice alternated from singing to screaming out lyrics and his head tipped back exposing a long column of his neck, his eyes fluttering open and close and in a break between words, he took a drag of the cigarette belonging to the drummer, blowing out the smoke from behind a wild grin as he began to sing again. Alfred felt a similar smile overtake his face at the sight, at how unrestricted Arthur looked and acted on that stage. He felt a flash of something bubble up in his chest, a desire to see this side of Arthur more often, to jump up onto the stage and press his lips to the neck free of a tie and jacket, and to feel those hips swivel against his.
Alfred blushed and looked away but couldn’t quite get rid of the smile and found that looking away didn’t do anything to the sudden feelings except make him want to look back, drink more of Arthur in. So he did, but this time those green eyes were staring back at him, wide and shocked, not at all filled with the raw freedom that had been there before. Alfred met the stare and felt more color warm his cheeks at having been caught, at having forced himself onto Arthur’s secret-he hated the guilty feeling that erupted under the accusing glare, it wasn’t heroic at all. Some of the patrons were looking a little confused, wondering why Arthur had stopped singing no doubt, but the guitarist had taken over with a small glare, his voice deeper and not nearly as nice sounding as Arthur’s.
Arthur grit his teeth and jumped off the stage, stomping over to Alfred, his expression thunderous in a mixture of anger, embarrassment and maybe even fear. His large eyebrows were furrowed something fierce and he snatched a handle of Alfred’s shirt above his heart, dragging him away from the stage to a secluded corner of the bar. Alfred knew he probably should’ve felt some kind of worry at how angry Arthur looked but he couldn’t seem to find it; all he could think to feel was how he could practically feel the heat of Arthur’s fingers through his shirt and what it would feel like to run his fingers through his tawny, mussed hair. But he wisely kept those thoughts to himself because while he may not have been worried, he certainly wasn’t stupid, no matter what some people thought.
Arthur came to a halt and whirled around, slightly breathless and tinged all over in red. Alfred got an even better look at how well the clothes he was wearing molded to every curve of his body, every sharp angle and dip, and exposed a small strip of his navel from where his shirt didn’t quite meet the top of his jeans. Alfred had always thought Arthur was pretty attractive, even if other people were too blind to see past the attitude and eyebrows (which Alfred liked to be honest) but now Arthur looked…hot. Sexy, fuckable, and dominating all at once; Arthur really should dress like this more often. Arthur looked like he wanted to start yelling, but every time he tried to come up with something to say, all that escaped was a frustrated huff or an angry hiss. Alfred could hear what he wanted to say though, the words that were choked in Arthur’s throat from shame or dread.
What the bloody, fucking hell was he doing here? Or maybe…why the hell are you here, you sodding wanker?! Or even a threat of some kind like, if you dare tell anyone anything you’ve seen tonight I WILL make sure you’re unable to have children in the future. Something along those lines.
Alfred knew that he had accomplished what he had wanted to accomplish; he had followed Arthur and caught him doing something against the rules. He’d caught Arthur drinking in a bar, wearing clothing he’d likely call obscene if he was at school, smoking, and singing songs that raged against ‘the Man’ and encouraged rule-breaking. It was everything he needed to blackmail the student body president, always so prim and proper and stuck up at school, into leaving Alfred and his friends alone all year. And he could see that Arthur knew that too. But-but if he blackmailed Arthur, he might never come back here again. He might never wear those boots, these clothes, muss his hair like he had, or pour himself so fully into something he obviously loved.
And Alfred certainly couldn’t have that.
So, instead of accusing Arthur and snapping pictures with his phone, instead of trying to corner him and make fun of him and how he’d ‘won,’ instead of ruining the wonderfully intoxicating person Arthur transformed into when the sun set, Alfred threw caution and his possible health to the wind and leaned down, kissing Arthur squarely on the lips. Arthur tasted like whatever alcohol he’d been drinking and nicotine obviously, but he also tasted like something else, something Alfred decided he could never, ever, get enough of. Something that was inherently Arthur, which was silly really because how could someone have an actual flavor, but there it was. The kiss was brief and Alfred moved back before Arthur had much of a chance to respond, blinking down at the shorter senior in nervousness, wondering if he had in fact done the correct thing in kissing him or if he was about to have one of his kneecaps shattered.
Arthur, to his credit, did not flounder or make much of a fuss, but he did stare up at Alfred with blatant confusion, his eyes probing and not intent to just let Alfred off with the excuse of momentary insanity. His brows were furrowed but not in anger and his cheeks were flushed in something other than embarrassment and he hadn’t removed his hand from Alfred’s arm, where it had come to rest when he’d been kissed. Alfred bit his bottom lip and looked at Arthur from beneath his bangs, a slow, shy smile upturning the corners of his lips until he had to free it from his teeth. Arthur hadn’t started attacking him and didn’t look angry anymore; that had to have been a good sign! Slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure of it himself, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t getting upset with Alfred for following him or why they weren’t yelling at each other, Arthur gave a small smile back, the first he’d given to Alfred in years.
The loud music was still paying in the air around them and one particularly loud scream from the guitarist jolted them out of their moment and Arthur began to bluster and scold as normal and Alfred began to tease Arthur about how he moonlighted as the lead singer of a punk band. Arthur accused Alfred of stalking him and Alfred denied it, stating he had been on a heroic mission to get Arthur to lighten up (he really didn’t need to know the real reason after all and his initial mission would have got Arthur to lighten up in a roundabout way) so it couldn’t have been something as lame as stalking. Arthur smacked his shoulder and Alfred flicked him on the forehead and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were back to normal.
But there was a difference though you see, a difference in the words and the space between them and they both still felt it hum around them as they settled back into familiar, comfortable roles. True, nothing was really settled and they still had a great deal to talk about which would probably take them many long, uncomfortable nights to get through, but the difference was there all the same. And perhaps for the moment, that was enough for them both. They had a pair of smiles, a kiss and the promise of something more and understanding, which was certainly much more than what either of them had before tonight.
And maybe with a bit of luck and perseverance, they’d evolve into something stronger and Alfred would stop getting so many detentions and Arthur would learn that it was all right to let go of all the rules with a ‘someone’ and not just a bar full of drunks and the rest of the student body would finally get to collect on those betting pools. We can certainly hope, can’t we?
And between you and me, I certainly wouldn’t be fool enough to bet against them.
He was walking along a shady looking street in an equally shady looking neighborhood, trying to tail after his wayward class president without being noticed and rationalizing why he had been following said class president for close to three hours now. But Alfred didn’t view it as stalking, as Matthew had told him that’s what he was doing; he viewed it as his heroic mission to bring down the tyrannical Arthur Kirkland and free their school from his evil clutches! It was his duty as the Hero of Hetalia Academy to find a way to bring an end to the persecution he and his fellow students suffered through on a daily basis at the hands of their Evil Warlord of a president. And to do that, Alfred needed to find some dirt on the senior, something to incriminate him and bring him down from his position of power!
And that meant following him for the past few weeks, no matter where he went. Unfortunately, it was also football season and as the star running back he did have to go to practice after school and there was only so much he could dig up during school hours when Arthur Kirkland was being his prissy, proper, rule-enforcing self. No, he’d come to the decision last week that if he was going to find anything worthy of blackmail material it was going to be after school hours. So that’s what he was doing and he wasn’t going to quit until he was successful! Alfred Jones never gave up!
But, perhaps we should start at the beginning because the reason for his not-stalking of Arthur Kirkland, the reason for Arthur Kirkland’s radical enforcement of rules, and the reasons for a good deal more all began when Alfred was 10 and Arthur 11 and best of friends. They had been thick as thieves and did everything together, but as with many young friendships, strains began as they got older. Different viewpoints developed, different things became important, and eventually the friendship that had weathered so much as children succumbed to the monster known as High School. And now, now they had grown into vastly different people: Alfred the star football player for the Academy who everybody loved and was annoyed with at the same time and Arthur, the strict student council president who lived and breathed rules-and woe befall anyone who broke them on his watch.
Now, even though they both stated they were no longer friends and despised the other, it was plain to everyone else that they both still held great affection for one another and their public feud, still going strong after four years, could be ended quickly if only they were honest with one another. In fact, there were several pools going on within the student body on just when and how they would finally ‘hook up.’ Of course, no one actually said any of that to either of them for fear of reprisal in some manner, so things were stuck as they were until one of them wised up. Which leads us to tonight and Alfred not-stalking Arthur.
Ever since the start of new school year, Arthur had been particularly vindictive in punishing any rule breakers, which generally happened to be Alfred and his group of friends, and ‘abusing’ his seat of power as the student body president that he’d inherited the previous year. Sending Gilbert to detention for chewing gum, assigning Francis to bathroom duty for ‘inappropriate foreign language,’ writing Alfred up for putting his feet on top of a desk to name a few and they were getting sick of it. Arthur was lording over them all like the prim, proper, English bloke he told everyone he was, but Alfred knew, KNEW Arthur wasn’t as proper as everyone believed. And all he needed to do was prove it, prove that Arthur did bad things just like everyone else and then it was as simple as blackmailing the jerk for the rest of the year until he graduated.
It was perfect and heroic, his two favorite things to be.
Alfred had followed Arthur around all afternoon today, skiving off practice with the excuse that he had to take his little brother Matthew to the doctors, and watched as the Briton yelled at other members of the council, hand out detentions to a bunch of freshmen for coloring on their desks in the study hall, and generally be a pain in the ass. But, sadly, he didn’t break a single rule nor did anything more than swear under his breath, which wasn’t nearly enough for blackmail. He carried himself like a perfectly responsible young man and it made Alfred want to tear his hair out. When they’d been younger, Alfred may have been more rambunctious but it had been Arthur who was the more mischievous of the two; he just knew he could catch him doing something!
Arthur left the school at 4:30 that afternoon and Alfred had followed after him in his own car, careful to not drive right behind him because when you were on a secret mission, you didn’t want to be obvious about it. Arthur had not headed home, which Alfred had expected, but the next hour or so was mainly Alfred following Arthur run his errands; it wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for. But he remained alert and vigilant and had followed him all around until he parked his car a little bit behind Arthur’s in a parallel spot alongside the sidewalk, exiting his car in time with his prey and starting off after him. Arthur had a paper bag in his hand as he bobbed and weaved through the crowded street with the familiarity of someone who was used to it-Alfred was able to follow easily due to the high street traffic.
The sun was beginning to set when the president had suddenly turned onto a street littered with bars and ‘pubs’ and shady characters who were obviously drunk and walked into one called ‘The Surly Wench’ without a hint of hesitation. Alfred gave himself a mental high-five at his good luck and hurried over to the bar, hanging behind a building corner so as not to draw attention to himself. He adjusted his glasses and peered up at the neon, blinking sign of the seedy bar, wondering how Arthur had been able to get in if he was underage and smiling in victory-surely, sneaking into bars was enough to get him to lay-off for the year! It was just further proof that his mission was just and he was way more awesome than stupid Arthur Kirkland.
Neither of the bouncers were paying that much attention to who was going in and out and when both hurried inside to pull apart a drunken fight, Alfred made his move. He snuck in, like a ninja, and settled himself against the back wall of the joint, glancing around in the dim light for a glimpse of his wayward president, pulling out his camera phone with an eager smile. It was hard to see but most of the people in the bar were either very hairy or very large and none too attractive so Alfred wasn’t worried about being able to single out Arthur too much. However, after a few minutes of ‘discreet’ searching and still no sign of Arthur, Alfred couldn’t help the frown that formed in between his eyes and on his lips. He’d seen Arthur walk in here, he knew it, but where had he disappeared off to?
Alfred sat down heavily on a bar stool and pouted at the dirty floor, wondering if Arthur had caught on to his tailing and had cut through the bar and exited out a back door or something-he was totally sneaky like that. He glanced around the bar again, taking in the weird looking stuff on the wall, the chandelier on the roof that had what looked like panties and bras on it, and the dark stains of what he hoped was spilled beer littering the floor before he decided it was probably best he head out now before he got Hepatitis or something. Arthur probably wasn’t even here anyway, Alfred would have found him by this time-he’d just have to try and catch Arthur at something the next day. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and got up from the stool and started to make his way back towards the door when movement caught his eyes.
The bar had a small, elevated stage and there were a few people milling around it, obviously excited about something and after watching for a few moments, Alfred saw a few guys not much older than him walk out, all dressed up in tight pants, studded belts and ripped up shirts. They had a small set up of a drum, bass and guitar but Alfred really wasn’t paying attention to them. Because, you see, Alfred had been staring at the fourth member of the little band the entire time, at the whipcord slender body dressed in the tightest black jeans Alfred had ever seen walk out and stand in front of the microphone. Watched as a graceful hand wrapped around a small glass and a distracting mouth downed a shot of amber liquid, green eyes lidded and alive with energy. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt was ripped and he had heavy boots on-but Alfred stared at Arthur Kirkland and wondered what the hell had happened and that he should really be taking a picture or something.
Alfred had expected he’d catch Arthur drinking or spraying graffiti or smoking-he hadn’t expected this exactly. Some of the patrons shouted out requests and then the music started and Alfred found himself unable to move. He’d heard Arthur sing before when they were kids and had always thought he was good bit this-this was different. This was like some weird alter-ego that looked and moved like Arthur but defied anything Alfred had conceived Arthur to be. He found it hard not to stare and felt an even stranger feeling of warmth spread through his ski as Arthur turned toward the microphone and smirked out at the crowd; his fingers curled around the base of the microphone and gripped tight, his smirk nearly going feral as his other band-mates played their song.
The music was loud and harsh and not really something Alfred liked to listen to but then Arthur started to sing and it really didn’t matter anymore. If we’re being completely honest here, Alfred knew he harbored a bit of a torch for Arthur and had so for awhile but had mostly learned to ignore it because Arthur was such an ass. It was easier to not think about how they went from being so close to hating each other if he didn’t have to think about how he sorta-kinda-liked the stuffy senior. Easier to pass off how he was always drawn to Arthur was just because he liked to bug the jerk and not because he’d never figured out how to stop liking him. But staring at Arthur sing in those tight, radically different clothing, watching him sway and move in time with the music, watching how his green eyes alit with fire and stared out in challenge at everyone, all that was suddenly smacking him in the face again and he couldn’t find it within him to push it aside.
Alfred didn’t recognize the song but he did recognize that words about anarchy, anger and ‘fuck you’ were something Arthur Kirkland would normally never be caught dead singing-it was perfect blackmail material but Alfred was too mesmerized; he was unable to look away from the whole different creature Arthur had transformed into. Like the sun setting had awakened all the things Arthur would never let anyone see, all his inhibitions brought to life in a sensuous, guttural, embodiment of defiance and rebellion. Yeah, blackmail didn’t seem as important any more, especially when Alfred wasn’t sure that any pictures he took he’d be willing to share with anyone else anyways.
Alfred watched Arthur sing three more songs from where he stood frozen near the bar before he felt his feet begin to move, take him closer to Arthur as if he was caught in a trance. Arthur’s deep, hoarse voice alternated from singing to screaming out lyrics and his head tipped back exposing a long column of his neck, his eyes fluttering open and close and in a break between words, he took a drag of the cigarette belonging to the drummer, blowing out the smoke from behind a wild grin as he began to sing again. Alfred felt a similar smile overtake his face at the sight, at how unrestricted Arthur looked and acted on that stage. He felt a flash of something bubble up in his chest, a desire to see this side of Arthur more often, to jump up onto the stage and press his lips to the neck free of a tie and jacket, and to feel those hips swivel against his.
Alfred blushed and looked away but couldn’t quite get rid of the smile and found that looking away didn’t do anything to the sudden feelings except make him want to look back, drink more of Arthur in. So he did, but this time those green eyes were staring back at him, wide and shocked, not at all filled with the raw freedom that had been there before. Alfred met the stare and felt more color warm his cheeks at having been caught, at having forced himself onto Arthur’s secret-he hated the guilty feeling that erupted under the accusing glare, it wasn’t heroic at all. Some of the patrons were looking a little confused, wondering why Arthur had stopped singing no doubt, but the guitarist had taken over with a small glare, his voice deeper and not nearly as nice sounding as Arthur’s.
Arthur grit his teeth and jumped off the stage, stomping over to Alfred, his expression thunderous in a mixture of anger, embarrassment and maybe even fear. His large eyebrows were furrowed something fierce and he snatched a handle of Alfred’s shirt above his heart, dragging him away from the stage to a secluded corner of the bar. Alfred knew he probably should’ve felt some kind of worry at how angry Arthur looked but he couldn’t seem to find it; all he could think to feel was how he could practically feel the heat of Arthur’s fingers through his shirt and what it would feel like to run his fingers through his tawny, mussed hair. But he wisely kept those thoughts to himself because while he may not have been worried, he certainly wasn’t stupid, no matter what some people thought.
Arthur came to a halt and whirled around, slightly breathless and tinged all over in red. Alfred got an even better look at how well the clothes he was wearing molded to every curve of his body, every sharp angle and dip, and exposed a small strip of his navel from where his shirt didn’t quite meet the top of his jeans. Alfred had always thought Arthur was pretty attractive, even if other people were too blind to see past the attitude and eyebrows (which Alfred liked to be honest) but now Arthur looked…hot. Sexy, fuckable, and dominating all at once; Arthur really should dress like this more often. Arthur looked like he wanted to start yelling, but every time he tried to come up with something to say, all that escaped was a frustrated huff or an angry hiss. Alfred could hear what he wanted to say though, the words that were choked in Arthur’s throat from shame or dread.
What the bloody, fucking hell was he doing here? Or maybe…why the hell are you here, you sodding wanker?! Or even a threat of some kind like, if you dare tell anyone anything you’ve seen tonight I WILL make sure you’re unable to have children in the future. Something along those lines.
Alfred knew that he had accomplished what he had wanted to accomplish; he had followed Arthur and caught him doing something against the rules. He’d caught Arthur drinking in a bar, wearing clothing he’d likely call obscene if he was at school, smoking, and singing songs that raged against ‘the Man’ and encouraged rule-breaking. It was everything he needed to blackmail the student body president, always so prim and proper and stuck up at school, into leaving Alfred and his friends alone all year. And he could see that Arthur knew that too. But-but if he blackmailed Arthur, he might never come back here again. He might never wear those boots, these clothes, muss his hair like he had, or pour himself so fully into something he obviously loved.
And Alfred certainly couldn’t have that.
So, instead of accusing Arthur and snapping pictures with his phone, instead of trying to corner him and make fun of him and how he’d ‘won,’ instead of ruining the wonderfully intoxicating person Arthur transformed into when the sun set, Alfred threw caution and his possible health to the wind and leaned down, kissing Arthur squarely on the lips. Arthur tasted like whatever alcohol he’d been drinking and nicotine obviously, but he also tasted like something else, something Alfred decided he could never, ever, get enough of. Something that was inherently Arthur, which was silly really because how could someone have an actual flavor, but there it was. The kiss was brief and Alfred moved back before Arthur had much of a chance to respond, blinking down at the shorter senior in nervousness, wondering if he had in fact done the correct thing in kissing him or if he was about to have one of his kneecaps shattered.
Arthur, to his credit, did not flounder or make much of a fuss, but he did stare up at Alfred with blatant confusion, his eyes probing and not intent to just let Alfred off with the excuse of momentary insanity. His brows were furrowed but not in anger and his cheeks were flushed in something other than embarrassment and he hadn’t removed his hand from Alfred’s arm, where it had come to rest when he’d been kissed. Alfred bit his bottom lip and looked at Arthur from beneath his bangs, a slow, shy smile upturning the corners of his lips until he had to free it from his teeth. Arthur hadn’t started attacking him and didn’t look angry anymore; that had to have been a good sign! Slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure of it himself, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t getting upset with Alfred for following him or why they weren’t yelling at each other, Arthur gave a small smile back, the first he’d given to Alfred in years.
The loud music was still paying in the air around them and one particularly loud scream from the guitarist jolted them out of their moment and Arthur began to bluster and scold as normal and Alfred began to tease Arthur about how he moonlighted as the lead singer of a punk band. Arthur accused Alfred of stalking him and Alfred denied it, stating he had been on a heroic mission to get Arthur to lighten up (he really didn’t need to know the real reason after all and his initial mission would have got Arthur to lighten up in a roundabout way) so it couldn’t have been something as lame as stalking. Arthur smacked his shoulder and Alfred flicked him on the forehead and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were back to normal.
But there was a difference though you see, a difference in the words and the space between them and they both still felt it hum around them as they settled back into familiar, comfortable roles. True, nothing was really settled and they still had a great deal to talk about which would probably take them many long, uncomfortable nights to get through, but the difference was there all the same. And perhaps for the moment, that was enough for them both. They had a pair of smiles, a kiss and the promise of something more and understanding, which was certainly much more than what either of them had before tonight.
And maybe with a bit of luck and perseverance, they’d evolve into something stronger and Alfred would stop getting so many detentions and Arthur would learn that it was all right to let go of all the rules with a ‘someone’ and not just a bar full of drunks and the rest of the student body would finally get to collect on those betting pools. We can certainly hope, can’t we?
And between you and me, I certainly wouldn’t be fool enough to bet against them.