Their breaths and breathing melded, from deep and slow to short and sharp as the kisses grew more intense. Arthur fulfilled his wish to kiss Alfred’s cheeks, his eyelids, his mouth. He licked below Alfred’s earlobe and there, he'd found a sensitive spot: he was pressed so close he could feel the shudders that radiated throughout Alfred’s body and through his hands where he grasped Arthur's hips. He indulged many things he'd imagined in the quiet of his bedroom, some innocent, like brushing his fingers through the soft hair above Alfred’s ears. Others, well -- the throb in his belly had grown raucous and insistent, and he was hard, harder than he'd been in a long time.
Forget eleven; Alfred cranked his knobs to thirteen, at least. Arthur wanted more, all of it. He wanted to conquer the world. He slid his mouth across Alfred's cheek to nibble at his earlobe again, a fine cheat.
“Alfred?” he whispered.
“Y—yeah?” came the stilted breath in his ear.
"I do like you."
"Hah. And I promise I respect you."
"Hmm." He swirled his tongue in Alfred’s ear, a line of direct attack. “You said you wanted a quick fuck. How about a regular one, instead?”
“Uhhh,” Alfred moaned. His hands clenched on Arthur's ribs. "About time."
“You'll bottom for me, won't you?”
Alfred squeezed harder. “God, yes.”
Arthur caught the breath that had been trying to elude him. “Good lad,” he whispered.
He sat back on Alfred's thighs and began to unbutton Alfred's shirt with fingers that wibbled only slightly. Alfred's skin was lovely and warm and Arthur bent to kiss each square inch as it was exposed.
"Have you before?" he asked Alfred's breastbone.
"Yeah ... it's been a long time. Uhh," Alfred moaned as Arthur slid his palm inside his shirt and discovered a tiny ring of metal through one of Alfred's nipples.
"What is this?" Arthur asked.
"Hah. Memento of my -- of a party I went to a long time ago." Alfred had leaned his head back on the sofa to allow Arthur access, good boy.
"Silly thing." Arthur discovered that was a sensitive spot, too, as he took it in his mouth and clinked it gently between his tongue and teeth: Alfred's chest heaved with a gasp.
"Ah-- God, that feels good but not here--"
"Hmm?"
"This couch. It's ... I don't want it anymore. I'm sending it over. So I want to but-- not here."
Arthur unfolded himself and backed off the sofa. "Your bedroom, then?"
"My bedroom. Yeah." Alfred placed an odd emphasis on the "my." His blue gaze up at Arthur was unfocused.
Arthur felt very focused and impatient. But he could hardly heave Alfred over his shoulder and carry him off, so he pulled him up from the couch and then trailed him down the hallway. Alfred's bedroom was darker, less ascetic, his bed strewn with colorful patchwork quilts. There was a -- for heaven's sake, it was a Captain America poster, stuck crookedly to a closet door like it'd been put up quickly and without thought.
"An audience?" Arthur nodded at the poster.
"He's an okay guy. What, you don't have Rick Springfield posters all over your bedroom?"
"Not since I was thirteen, I fear."
Alfred smiled down at him, looking almost shy. Curse his height. "I like it when you talk to me like a person and not a ... business entity."
"You mean a client? For that is what you were."
"But not anymore."
"No, not anymore."
"Huh." Alfred shuffled his feet.
Curse more this awkward chatter: Arthur's insides constricted with some unrecognizable emotion. With wanting wanted to fuck Alfred more senseless than he already was, this silly man with more charisma than anyone had a right to possess. With many things, some more urgent than others. "I move that we table this discussion," he said.
Arthur took a step forward and they came together as if for the first and last time, a mess of lips and hot breath and hands digging under clothing to find each others' naked skin. At some point Arthur pulled off his shirt and shoved his hand down the back of Alfred's jeans to squeeze his bare ass; at another he shucked his jeans, remembering to dig out the little twin-pack of lubricant and condom he'd oh-so-hopefully moved there from his wallet when he'd visited the loo earlier. And bugger it if he wouldn't fuck him with his socks still on: he unrolled Alfred onto the bed like spreading an erotic scroll.
He kissed Alfred again, deep and hard, felt his cock pulsing against the soft skin at Alfred's hip. He had a vague impression of fingers running along his spine, counting him up and down. When he slid a slick finger between Alfred's ass-cheeks, circling the tight opening, Alfred arched against him with a gasp.
Arthur brushed Alfred's hair from his sticky forehead, kissed the sweat-salty skin there.
"I'll be okay," Alfred breathed.
"I know," Arthur said. He lifted Alfred's thighs over his shoulders and sucked his cock, probing inside him with his slicked finger, pressing until-- ah, there -- until Alfred shuddered and clenched his fingers in Arthur's hair.
"God, Arthur, you're amazing," Alfred huffed. He was watching, his neck bent against the headboard, his cheeks at least as flushed as Arthur's had ever been. To speak of amazing. "I can't hardly bear to look at you. Wait-- ah, wait, I'm going to--"
Arthur sucked him off, relentless and merciless to Alfred's moans of protest, until Alfred came, crying out, his body clenching tightly around Arthur's finger. He was relaxed, lord, at last. Arthur drooled his mouthful of semen onto Alfred's belly and spread it onto his fingers, feeling desperate and messy, and the sight of his own fingers on Al's quivering stomach was painfully erotic.
"Over," he said, and when Alfred, still knackered from his orgasm, only wrinkled his forehead, Arthur spun his finger. "Roll over, m'dear."
Alfred grinned, lopsided, at him. "You're so sweet to me, Arthur," he said.
Still, he obediently flopped over onto his stomach and pushed to his knees, so Arthur was inclined to be agreeable. "Shut it, you," he said, pulling on the condom. Ah-- ah-- he took a deep breath to calm the racing of his heart and the acute throb in his cock, which was threatening at the lightest touch to end his adventure prematurely. He swiped his lubricant-and-semen-coated fingers between Alfred's rounded ass-cheeks, greasing him up, guiding himself inside.
"Nnnn," moaned Alfred. He was tensed, his head hanging nearly to the bed.
"You may as well breathe," Arthur instructed. "There..."
It had already taken far too long -- minutes? Hours? Weeks? Since he'd first met Alfred Jones, anyway -- but still he tried to be gentle at first. He swirled his hips, he swirled his fingers in the sweat rivulets on Alfred's spine, nudging forward until he was throbbing bollocks-deep in the tight grip of Alfred's body.
Then straight to business, all business, he was, and rocked his hips; he knew just the rhythm, had dreamed it many times. In and out and again and again, following the tight coil of yearning that pulsed deep in his belly. In and out again and again, Alfred's body like a sleek leather glove stroking Arthur's cock.
"Do it, do it, Arthur," Alfred breathed, and Arthur did it, fucked him, shaking and steady all at once, splaying his fingers across Alfred's soft stomach to hold him close.
The room smelled like Alfred, Alfred smelled like Alfred. Arthur's ears were filled with huffs of breath and the slap and squelch of skin and Alfred, never silent, sighed his name and yes, yes. The little sex fiend; he was getting hard again already.
Arthur captured Alfred's erection against his palm, stroked it between his sticky-slick hand and the mess on Alfred's belly.
"Jesus," Alfred cried out. His hand slipped on the covers and he fell face-first into a pink gingham square of quilt. Arthur lost his rhythm and his next thrust missed, throwing him off-balance as well. "Sorry."
"I have a better idea, anyway. Over," Arthur said, with another finger-twirl, when Alfred looked at him.
Alfred laughed. "Flip me like a burger, would ya?"
"Nothing so unrefined. A crepe, perhaps," Arthur grinned.
"Crepes Al. I like it."
"I'll drink some Chianti later, if you have it."
"Huh? Oof."
Arthur hooked Alfred's thighs over his shoulders again. They were sweat-slippery and lightly scratchy against his cheeks -- God, Arthur loved the hair on a man's thighs -- and he leaned forward, opening Alfred like a lotus. It was amazing, how deeply he could thrust in this position. And how much even better it was fucking Alfred when he could look at him, see the dumbstruck part of his lips, the glaze in his eyes. He'd missed much of this earlier, he'd been so intent on getting Alfred off.
Arthur was happy. He wanted Alfred to be happy. This wasn't a regular fuck, nor anything remotely like it.
He brushed sweat from Alfred's eyelids and caught his gaze, angled his hips so that Alfred would make more of those enchanting sharp noises in the back of his throat. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he could capture them, if he curled his fingers over Alfred's lips ...
"You feel -- ah!-- lovely," he said.
"Lovely," came Alfred's faux-accented reply.
"Lovely," Arthur breathed, hard. He'd quickened his thrusts almost without realizing it, as the thickness in his belly took on sharper and sharper edges, hastening him toward climax. He wanted to make it last, to make Alfred come again first so he could watch it and feel it and ... everything.
Alfred locked his legs behind Arthur's back so Arthur crawled closer as he fucked him, close enough to lick the sweat from Alfred's chin. Through force of will he slowed to excruciating, shallow thrusts, just enough to rub the head of his cock relentlessly onto Alfred's prostate, and knew he was hitting it by the trembling of Alfred's body, his sharp, incoherent cries.
"Come on, you," he huffed, stroking Alfred's cock, swallowing Alfred's thumb as it found its way to his mouth.
"Yes, yes, that's too much -- it's-- ah, ah," Alfred cried. When he came again, he clenched so violently all over that his thighs nearly crushed Arthur's remaining breath out of him.
And yes, it was too much, the spasms of Alfred's body around him, the lake blue of Alfred's eyes beneath the flutter of his lashes: release burned its way out of Arthur with a hoarse cry and he tumbled over that edge, this time not alone.
Afterward they lay together quietly for a few minutes. It was strange, Arthur thought, that he should experience a real, live afterglow, for he'd always thought it a fanciful turn of phrase for a rather mundane event, the end of sex. But to his eyes Alfred did seem to glow, his skin sweaty and warm in the faint city- and moonlight diffusing through the curtains.
Arthur's own body hummed with contentment. He rubbed idly at the ring in Alfred's nipple, considering whether or not he might forgive Alfred after all.
"Hannibal Lecter," came Alfred's slurred voice.
"Hmm?"
"You were talking about crepes made of me and Chiantis and you meant like cannibals, like Silence of the Lambs."
Arthur smiled into Alfred's shoulder. "Indeed, that is what I referenced." He didn't say you silly thing, yet satiation had nevertheless made him more honest than usual. "I am ashamed to say, I wish I had a cigarette."
Alfred shifted his arm in some unseen gesture. "I have some. In the bedside table. For emergencies."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I'll get you one. They're really old, though."
Arthur's blood begged for the nicotine, but that was a bad thing. "No, I shouldn't. I have quit."
"Dude, your hair nearly stood on end when I mentioned it. Hey, I'll have one if you do. We have to go out on the balcony, though."
"Evil beguiler," Arthur said, feeling himself blush to be caught out so. It felt like exposing his soul, intimate even after what they'd done.
That was one of his problems: thinking too much about things, holding himself up in the spotlight of his thoughts and examining his place in any situation. It served him well in law but Alfred's mercurial and yes, impetuous, manner of existence made it a confusing endeavor. Arthur's life around Alfred Jones changed from moment to moment, forcing him to adapt constantly. It was exhilarating and frightening.
Still, the temptation of nicotine was too much. Arthur rolled off Alfred and the bed and dragged a quilt with him. He discreetly disposed of the condom and turned around to see Alfred wrapped in a quilt as well. He was bent over one of the tables. Soon he stood, holding two cigarettes and a lighter between three of his fingers.
Arthur followed him silently back into the front room, and thence to the balcony doors. The breeze when Alfred opened them was sharp and raw. Arthur huddled in his blanket, stiffened his spine, and followed Alfred out, glad he still wore his socks. The balcony was small and occupied by a bistro set and an ashtray.
"The smoking section," Arthur noted. His fingers shook as he lit a cigarette first for himself and then for Alfred.
"Yeah. I need a sign or something."
Arthur had hoped he'd hate the cigarette, after months without one. His first inhale was stale, and it tasted like ash, and it burned his throat. Unfortunately, it was quite heavenly despite all that.
It was a clear night and the city around them was beautiful, lines of gold peppered with dots of red and green, the whole thing bisected by the nighttime lake's semicircle of deepest black. Also pleasing was the view of Alfred, bent over the railing and looking out, exhaling a long and slow trail of smoke. His feet, unlike Arthur's, were bare, and he shuffled from foot to foot on the cold concrete.
It was a sight Arthur would blissfully watch on many a cold night. An existence he could become addicted to, with or without the cigarette.
"I ... Hey. It's weird," Alfred said, barely more than a mumble.
"Hmm?" Arthur said, taking another ashy drag.
Alfred looked at him. "Aww, nothing. Me. I'm weird. Had enough?"
"Yes." Now he could think straight, part of Arthur wanted Alfred to explain, not just his half-conversation, but many things. The other part of him was too relaxed.
They extinguished their half-smoked cigarettes in the ashtray and went back inside. Alfred pointed at the bar. "Wanna drink?"
"No, thank you," Arthur said. He gathered his quilt more tightly at his neck and must have shivered, for Alfred stepped closer and opened his quilt, sharing it around both of them like a cocoon.
"Cold?"
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "No, why would you ask that?"
"You crack me up," Alfred said. He kissed Arthur first this time, with soft, smoky lips. Arthur kissed him back, lived in the moment, releasing his death-grip on the quilt to once again own all Alfred's naked, sticky skin with his fingers. The kisses were gentle and gently arousing: Arthur was too wiped from his earlier ferocious orgasm to get hard again just yet, but that only gave him time to enjoy making out for its own sake. He wanted to crack Alfred up, crack him open and hold him like that forever, and then weep at the sweetness of it all.
At some point both quilts dropped to the floor and Alfred shivered, either from the creeping chill in the room or from Arthur's fingers squeezing his ass. It was a nice one, not too skinny. But eventually the kiss had to end.
"Your face, Arthur," Alfred murmured as he pulled away.
Arthur's heart stopped, at the words, at the look in Alfred's eyes. Traitorous heart; it wanted to jump out of Arthur's chest and throw itself into Alfred's hands. "What about it?"
Alfred looked down for a moment or two. He gathered their quilts and when he stood, the blues of his eyes were ringed with red, likely from their earlier smoke.
"Nothing," he said eventually. "I need a soda or something, though. Thirsty. You want one?"
Arthur took a deep breath and reclaimed his quilt from Alfred. How about that bottle of gin at the bar, after all? "How about a water?"
They huddled in their quilts at the kitchen table, Alfred with a can of Pepsi, Arthur with a bottle of water. They were silent for a bit; Arthur looked around the kitchen, looking for pieces of Alfred's life in it. Arthur could see himself there, with Alfred, doing ... things. Cooking scones in the afternoons. Sitting on the sofa together -- a different sofa, of course -- watching movies and eating curry. They were cozy thoughts.
Meanwhile, Alfred stared at the table, setting his can of cola on it and picking it up again, drawing in the circle of condensation it left behind. He sniffed. "Place is a mess. I'll need to call housekeeping tomorrow and pay 'em overtime. I'm not used to keeping it up all by myself. Mar-- she was so picky about cleaning."
Arthur sipped his water to hide his jolt of at this reminder that Alfred was still married. To someone else. Living moment to moment meant forgetting some very important things. "It doesn't look too awfully bad. A little sticky in spots," Arthur said, lamely.
"That's nice of you to say," Alfred said with a weak smile, even though it hadn't been particularly nice. He sighed. "I don't know whether to congratulate myself or call myself an idiot."
Arthur's stomach sank. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing." Another sigh.
"No, I think you should tell me," Arthur said, enunciating.
Alfred wouldn't look at him. He sniffed again and something wet plopped onto the table in front of him and oh, lord -- was he--? "Well, I guess I have a Thing now. But I feel like I shouldn't. Like, what would she think?"
Arthur stood. He felt sick at the idea that he was a Thing.. Or merely a Thing, at least, and not more. "Sorry to have troubled you."
Alfred glanced up at him, and his eyes were definitely red. "No, it's -- God, give me a break. It was hard enough to say that, without you misunderstanding."
"What!?" Arthur said, perhaps over-loudly, but then a lot of things were bubbling to the surface. "I understood perfectly."
Alfred looked back down at the table and waved his hand in Arthur's general direction. "No, you didn't. Listen. I'm trying to be better at this, but I sort of suck."
"Indeed, you--" Arthur started, then sighed heavily. "I think I will leave now," he said. He stomped off to retrieve his clothing.
"I should probably be alone anyway," Alfred sniffed.
Arthur dressed in a hurry, feeling tight in the chest and around his eyes. Rebounds were the worst ever, they were bollocks, and so were bisexual little shits looking to even a score with their wives, they were everything bad and Arthur wished he'd never met Alfred Jones, because then he would have never have had to cross his living room, red-eyed and blithering and feeling like dirt.
"Will you call me? Can I call you, at least? So we can talk when I'm not fucked in the head?" Alfred said. He was leaning against the wall in the entrance to the kitchen, looking not at Arthur but at his own bare feet on the carpet.
"No, and no," Arthur said with some astonishment, pausing in his escape. "I don't-- I dislike being used."
Alfred looked up at that. "Hey, you're the one who -- and it's not like you didn't get anything. And you just said you liked me, Arthur. You sure acted like it."
Like, liked, like. "Only because you--" Arthur began, then cut himself off with a grunt, because he wasn't even sure which part of that he was replying to. The man wasn't even worth arguing with. Yes, he was, said another part of Arthur, one he ignored. "Yes, it was a lovely fuck. Thank you," Arthur said, heading for the door as quickly as he could.
"Great. Just great," Alfred was moaning as Arthur left.
Arthur sat in another taxicab after another tumultuous evening with Alfred Jones and crossed his arms and glared at the world passing by through the vehicle window. It was a world of stupid things that seemed wonderful but were just waiting to entrap one into misery.
It seemed his lust had gone on to infect other parts of him, such as his judgment. He'd given Alfred a second chance, not something he ever did, and there! It had only hurt him in the end.
A lot of things made sense in retrospect. Arthur hadn't forgiven Alfred; he'd just fallen in love with him. And Alfred was still in love with his wife.
You know, in virtually all USUKUS fics, there's a moment where I as a reader think: "They really shouldn't be together. They shouldn't be in the same room together." And then I wonder if I shouldn't just stop reading whatever-it-is because it becomes too painful to even contemplate.
Then, there is another moment where I, as a reader, am so annoyed at the both of them, I want someone to beat them both severely about the ears until they are too unconscious to continue being so frustratingly stupid.
honestly, I did it with all but the main two characters, changed the names slightly, trying to strike a balance between "familiar face" and "completely different character existing in an AU 'verse." I apologize if that one caught you in particular! :)
It was just that ... what was most annoying to Arthur was the fact that Alfred hadn't even had a very good excuse. Arthur didn't have any misconceptions that his sexual skill was worth jeopardizing the successful dissolution of one's marriage. And if all he was worth to Alfred Jones was a quick fuck, then Arthur decided he was worth more to himself.
-
It seemed his lust had gone on to infect other parts of him, such as his judgment. He'd given Alfred a second chance, not something he ever did, and there! It had only hurt him in the end.
A lot of things made sense in retrospect. Arthur hadn't forgiven Alfred; he'd just fallen in love with him. And Alfred was still in love with his wife.
These parts are just - so rarely do you see characters actually stepping back and realizing that there's a point where you have to put yourself before the person you love, especially if the other person (apparently) doesn't like them back. Usually the person in love just keeps on trying until the other finally reciprocates, which doesn't seem too healthy to me to be honest.
Blah, probably not explaining myself well, but this was amazing and I can't wait for the rest! (Also, totally agree with above anon, this would be a great place to end this story if you hadn't already written it for a happy USUK ending.)
Welp, I had a bit of trouble getting to sleep after reading this last night. I was rooting for smut to happen since the beginning and now that I got it there is guilt to replace it. That's a first for that to happen to me when I read fics. Really looking forward to the next parts. This is seriously one of the best UKUS fics I've ever read.
(Author’s notes at end, except for a warning: I did again slightly change a couple of side-character names.)
***
This time Arthur couldn't -- and thus didn't -- even pretend that everything was fine, just fine here, thanks. He moped.
He hurt Portia's feelings when she called Sunday to wax poetic about her Korean carpenter, with whom she'd finally gone on a date. He was totally cute, she said, and he was goofy and smart and had a liberal arts degree from Northwestern but he made better money at contracting and it was love at first sight for both of them and she was seeing him again and so on and so on and Arthur mumbled "yes, how nice for you" and Portia went silent and asked what was wrong. "Nothing, why would you ask that," Arthur said, and Portia gave up, apparently disgusted with the nastiness of his tone.
He arose late for work for several days in a row. He glowered and caused his office staff to avoid him, which suited him fine.
He put on false smiles for his clients and listened to their problems. He didn't want to be in love with Alfred Jones, though he could think of no other reason for the turmoil in his head and heart. He was hurt and angry, and at the same time he wished it were not so and that he could see Alfred again and listen to his silly chatter and kiss him silent and then ... He'd already been imagining himself in Alfred's life, for fuck's sake.
He didn't want to feel like a-- a thing. A thing that had experienced something wonderful and intimate and exceptionally arousing to remember, but still, a Thing.
The other Arthur in his brain reminded him that, well, he hadn't expressed any deeper feelings, either, at least not really. But surely his emotions had been plain? Of course they had. Everyone could read him.
Unless they were as clueless as Alfred was. You are emotionally distant, Mariel Jones had written to her husband. Well, Arthur had thought then, it took one to know one.
Alfred called once and Arthur's heart stopped as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and then thumped hard against his ribs when he saw who it was. He didn't answer. Alfred spoke to Arthur's voicemail. "Hey. I still wanted to try and talk, but if you're not going to answer ... It's hard to explain what's in my head, and I'm definitely not gonna do it over voicemail. Can we meet for drinks, or coffee, or something? Call me if you want to. Bye."
No, Arthur thought, ignoring the shiver the mere sound of Alfred's voice produced in his belly. He deleted the message. He needed to move on, to learn to be normal again. To not think about the taste of Alfred's sweat, or the way he gasped when Arthur touched his ridiculous nipple-ring. That way lay madness, obviously, or Bella and Monaca wouldn't duck and shuffle off every time they spotted him.
He holed himself in his office and worked harder. He asked his trainer for extra workouts, to occupy his mind and wear himself out.
Once he'd had a few days of moping, however, things only got worse. In addition to the pain of his unrequited love, a sense of guilt began to trickle into his already roiling mess of emotions. When he held the stage of their entire acquaintance in his mind's eye and replayed their scenes together in that way his brain liked to do, that guilt shone a spotlight on things Arthur had missed or ignored in his haze of lust and betrayal.
Expected betrayal, if he were honest -- he'd just been waiting for it, hadn't he? And ever since the beginning, Alfred had been trying to pretend, very badly, that he didn't care about his divorce. Being emotionally distant. Arthur's heart began to ache even more, not only for himself but for Alfred: his wife had left him for another man.
That last night, Alfred had been clearly upset. Yes, he'd said some rather rude things -- not like you didn't get anything -- but then, so had Arthur.
It was a lovely fuck, thank you, he'd said. Arthur cringed inwardly every time he remembered saying that, and the tone of voice he'd used. Once while driving he cringed outwardly, actually winced in traffic, causing him to swerve. A taxi screeched past him, the driver blaring the horn and waving his middle finger out the window. Arthur had been so distracted he hadn't even made a return rude gesture.
Perhaps pain was actually making him a better person? Probably not.
By Friday Portia had gotten tired of his radio silence and demanded to come over. She showed up directly after work, asked for tea instead of wine, and sat on his couch with crossed arms.
"I was going to drive up to Milwaukee tonight, but I decided to wait until tomorrow because I was worried about you," she accused in a voice that carried all the way into the kitchen, where Arthur was setting the electric kettle to boiling.
"Why ever would you worry?" Arthur called back, that time making sure his tone was as guileless as possible.
"Something's wrong with you. When I called to tell you about Yong, you didn't even tell me how love at first sight doesn't exist. You always tell me that."
"Should I have?" he said. He'd never used to believe in love at first sight. Well, he'd never believed in love. Had it been first sight for him? Yes, he decided, because he felt like he'd been foolish for ever.
"No, because you're always wrong when you say it. Still, it wasn't like you?"
"Oh." Perhaps he was transparent only to those who knew him best and longest? Or perhaps he'd made for himself a reputation for cynicism and it was expected of him? Perhaps ... he was being exceedingly self-centered, wasn't he? There was another point off his score, joining the points he'd already lost with the guilt and the cringing.
The kettle boiled. He poured the water into the teapot and put the teapot on the tea tray. He loaded the tray and carried it into the front room. "Thank you for worrying," he said. "Are those new boots?"
Portia stretched out one leg. "Oh my gosh, yes! Aren't they adorable?" Arthur would more have called them dangerous, to both the wearer and any unwary passersby, with those skyscraping, pointy heels and the silver spikes scattered about the cuffs. "I got them on sale at Nordstrom, and -- hey, you're distracting me, aren't you? Did you go to the cocktail party at Mister Glasses's place?"
Arthur set the tea tray on the table. "Yes."
"What happened?"
"Things," Arthur said, pouring a cup for Portia and then one for himself.
"Sexy things?"
Arthur sighed. "Yes."
Portia raised her eyebrows. "You don't seem very happy about it."
Arthur sighed again. "I'm not. We had ... a disagreement." He gave her a very edited version, which basically said that they'd had sex and Alfred had moped over his absent wife and thus Arthur had gotten mortified and left.
Portia blew on her tea and sipped it. "Well, he was right to be guilty about her, though he probably shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm indignant on your behalf, because he shouldn't have seduced you if all he wanted to do was try and forget his wife. Jerk."
Arthur had started to pour milk into his tea but paused. "Well, I wouldn't say it was he who'd started-- who was ... doing all the seducing."
Portia sighed and set her teacup in its saucer. "Oh, Arthur. So what's the real problem?"
"I feel stupid. I can't even say it aloud," Arthur said. And then thought about what he'd just said, and wondered if the same situation had applied to Alfred. He'd said he was trying to get better at stuff. When he'd said stuff, he'd meant communicting, hadn't he?
God, I am such an idiot, Arthur thought. Well, Alfred was an idiot, too, but Arthur was a bigger one. For getting involved in the first place, for falling in love with someone who (a) was a client or ex-client, (b) was married, and (c) couldn't express himself any better than Arthur could.
"That sounds terrible. It also sounds like something you should make yourself tell me, because it'll be good for you and I'll die of curiosity if you don't," Portia was saying.
No, I think you should tell me. Arthur felt his cheeks warm. He took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm in love with him. But he's in love with his wife, not me. That makes me sad and foolish and ... jealous."
"Oh, you can't help who you love," Portia moaned. She gave him a quick hug, making him nearly spill the milk, but he was glad for the sympathy. He poured a few drops of milk into his tea and stirred it to cover the tightness in his throat and, probably, his expression.
"Tell me about your carpenter," Arthur said. That time it was definitely a distraction.
"Well, I sort of did. But of course there's tons more." Portia grinned. She told him how they talked every night, and how Yong had said he'd consider moving to Chicago, because he could find work anywhere he was happy. He loved sushi and traveling to Japan -- he had family there -- and he'd love to take Portia there for some sushi at the source. She looked joyful, moreso than Arthur had ever seen her when talking about a man, and Portia had talked about a lot of men.
"I want you to meet him," Portia added. "Can I bring him by next weekend? Saturday?"
"Yes, of course," Arthur said.
"But what will you do?" Portia asked. She finished the last of her tea and held her cup out for more. Arthur plucked off the cozy and poured.
"Probably nothing," he said, not even pretending to misunderstand her.
She raised an eyebrow at him and over-sugared her tea as usual. "Do you want to give it a chance? When things have had time to settle down? I mean, he's obviously interested, at least. Was the sex good?"
Arthur definitely blushed at that. "Yes. Very good. Very, very good."
"Gosh, you're red. So what's the problem?"
Arthur sighed. Yes, he had nosy friends, but damned if talking about it aloud didn't clear his head. "I don't wish to set myself up for more heartache, because I've discovered that when it's real, it's awful." He actually choked a little on the last.
Portia frowned in sympathy and patted his arm. She let him sip his tea before continuing in a gentle voice. "It might be worth the gamble. I've seen you in Las Vegas. You aren't a wussie, Arthur."
"No, but I'm not usually such a cock-up, either. I just don't know how to properly behave around the man." He sipped his tea. "Maybe. I'll see, when I'm ready."
"Just call him! You won't get anything or know anything just sitting around."
"I'll think about it."
"Nnnngh, Arthur, you are driving me nuts. Fine." She waved at him, signaling her surrender. "When you're ready."
Arthur nodded. He didn't hold high hopes for ever reaching that point, but one never knew.
***
Calling would have been the right thing to do. Alfred had made the gesture, and so it was up to Arthur, who was hardly blameless in the whole situation, to do the same in return.
But by Monday Arthur still hadn't called Alfred. At that point it had been an entire week; what would he say? "Er, sorry it took me so long. I've been too busy with ill-feeling and self-recrimination?"
The Portia in his head -- or the other Arthur, perhaps, since it was his voice -- told him to just do it. We could clear up this misunderstanding, or at least clear the air and get everything out, with one phone call, it said. Make the call!
Still, Arthur didn't do it. He did stop glaring around the office, and the staff began to cautiously creep back into his orbit.
By Tuesday the timing was no better. And Andersen had worse in store for him. He buzzed Arthur at nine fifty-five, just as Arthur was getting ready for his department review with Lili, and asked him to come to his office to talk.
Lars looked dreadful. His hair lay flat and lank upon his head, which it never did, and the skin around his eyes was pink and puffy.
"Did you just get in? Are you ill?" Arthur said, as soon as he saw him.
"Yes, and no. I have -- I have a family emergency and need to leave early today. I'll be out tomorrow, and probably Thursday as well."
Arthur sat and leaned forward. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"
Lars swiped a hand across his forehead. "Just keep things going. I've cleared my schedule, except for -- can you cover my hearing tomorrow? Jones? There won't be a problem with the court, any more than when we switched the first time. I can call and clear it with Al. Francis Bonnefoy will be there -- nice fellow -- but my appearance is not something I can trust to an associate, no matter how excellent."
Arthur sat back and forced his jaw closed, else it would have hung open. Yes, this would be that week, wouldn't it? He could hardly have avoided hearing about it, even if he'd actually been trying to avoid it. "Can you not continue the hearing?"
Lars shook his head. "I agreed to the date and Ludwig finagled it with the court. I'm not sure how he managed to get such an early hearing date, but I don't want us to be at fault for messing with it. Plus we busted our asses getting everything ready and signed and agreed and notarized in time."
"Er," Arthur said again. "I would, except ..." He daren't continue.
Lars leaned forward and clasped his hands. Rather, he wrung them. "Can you please tell me, Arthur, why you dropped the case?
Arthur took a deep breath. "Lars, Alfred Jones and I had ... we had an attraction, and a disagreement over that, thus my transfer of representation to you. And since then we have had certain relations, which, while they do not continue, should preclude me ethically from working on his case." He winced inwardly, waiting for Lars to express shock and disappointment at the very idea of Arthur doing such a thing.
Astonishingly, Lars only shrugged. "Well, if it's not still going on, then there shouldn't be a problem. Unless you don't think the two of you can deal together for the length of time the hearing will take?"
Arthur's jaw did drop at that. "No, civility is not the issue, of course."
Lars leaned back in his chair and cupped his chin in his hand. "Then as long as Al is amenable, I'll notify the court." Arthur started to say something else, but then Lars's face crumpled like a piece of tissue in his fingers. "God, I think my marriage is failing. I think my wife wants to leave me. I need the time off to -- to see if we can't work things out--"
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that--" Arthur began.
Lars hiccupped and waved, asking for a moment to compose himself. He did, somewhat, and continued. "You know, we see it every day, but don't know how it feels until it happens. I'll never take a client's feelings lightly again. But I'm also going to do what I can to stop it. Amy agreed to go down to French Lick with me for a couple of days ..."
Arthur's chest tightened with emotion, for Lars, for himself, for Alfred. Selfishness and empathy went together quite easily, he was discovering.
"Of course I'll attend the hearing, if Alfred Jones does not disagree," Arthur said, though his stomach did a flip-flop at saying it.
"Thank you, thank you," Lars said. He gave a weak laugh. "You know, I can't say that romance has made you any fun. You've been a holy terror for weeks."
"What?" Arthur cried, and then he sighed, past embarrassment. "I have," he admitted. "Sorry about that."
"No problem. Some people, when they go, do it kicking and screaming. Love is like death in a lot of ways. But as long as you're okay." At Arthur's nod, he swung forward in his chair. "I'll have Veni get you the file."
Lars arranged it all, and then he was gone. Arthur resolved to not stress himself overly about the situation, and to not even look at the file until the following morning. Kicking and screaming, indeed. He had strange dreams that night.
Though he did sleep. The next day he was on time again. He did his other necessary work, and when he deemed it the necessary moment, he laid the file squarely on his desk and plucked it open with two fingers -- almost like Alfred had treated the dissolution pleading at lunch that day. They were more alike than Arthur had thought, weren't they? He ignored the now-familiar heartache and guilt that churned in his stomach and forced himself to read the file.
It was complete and ready to go: the terms he'd hashed out with Alfred and H.F. weeks ago had been accepted with only very minor edits. All that remained was to meet everyone at the courthouse at two in the afternoon.
Arthur walked over to the court, leaving in time to arrive fifteen minutes early. There was a crushing breeze, as befitted the Windy City in March, but the sun was shining and the temperature fair enough to put springtime smiles on the faces of the pedestrians around him. Arthur couldn't say for sure if the weather lifted his own mood, but at least he wasn't openly shivering when he arrived at the courthouse and took the elevator up to their assigned courtroom.
Alfred was already there. Of course he was, because Arthur had been one-quarter hoping he would be and that they could talk, but three-quarters hoping he would arrive late and save Arthur the need to say ... whatever it was he needed to say.
Alfred looked tired, but no number of undereye circles could keep him from looking wonderful to Arthur's besotted eyes. When he spotted Arthur it seemed he smiled brilliantly, but by the time Arthur blinked the smile was gone as if it had never been there. A sober expression had taken its place.
"Well, here we are again," Alfred said. "Hello, Arthur."
"Hello, Mis-- Hello, Alfred," Arthur amended, knowing it was far to late to resume Mister Jonesing him. They shook hands, those warm, wonderful hands. "I hope you are well?"
"Not fantastic, but I'm present," Alfred said. He pushed his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Is Lars okay? He said he had a family emergency ..."
"I hope so. I haven't heard from him," Arthur admitted. He fiddled with the file to keep from staring at Alfred, from trying to read his every minute change in expression.
Alfred hmmed, as if clearing his throat. "You know, your partner's a nice guy, but I wish I'd kept you as my attorney all along." Arthur glanced up at that but Alfred was looking away, seeming to fidget some himself.
Arthur thus wasn't sure how to read that statement. Did he wish he'd never been so moronic as to fire Arthur, or that they'd never acted on their attraction in the first place? And there, once again Arthur had already managed to start second-guessing everything to do with the two of them.
He cleared his throat as Alfred had -- peas in a pod, they were. "Listen. I would like to say that I am--"
"Aaaaaah, Alfred. And Arthur! Together. All of us together again."
Of course that loud voice had come from Bonnefoy, who'd just stepped off the elevator. He was slicked back, shaven and professional for the occasion, and wearing a black suit like he was going to a funeral.
"Hi, Frannie," Alfred called.
Arthur glared at Bonnefoy out of habit, then swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Perhaps we can talk later?"
Alfred nodded. "Yeah, sure. That would be good."
Bonnefoy hugged Alfred and stuck out a hand at Arthur with a very white and very sly grin. "I hope I didn't interrupt you two?"
"By no means," Arthur said, shaking Bonnefoy's hand. He let the you ass hang there unsaid, but present in his tone.
They chatted generally and compared notes about the case for a minute or two. The elevator dinged again and disgorged more passengers.
Arthur stared: it was Ludwig Schmidt, another, shorter man he did not know, and an exceptionally stunning and noticeably pregnant woman. This, then, must be Mariel Jones. Arthur realized he'd never seen her photo, because he'd never looked for it. He didn't know what he'd expected -- he'd always imagined some vaguely blondish, faceless woman -- but she was neither of those things. She was tall and had glowing, medium-dark skin and a profusion of chestnut, corkscrew curls tumbling from a knot at the back of her head. Her brown suit was nearly the exact color of the one Arthur owned, but of course the color looked much better on her.
Alfred had gone stock-still. He stared at nothing, at a point just past the newcomers. His hand gripped the back of Arthur's sleeve and Arthur nearly jumped.
"That's Mariel. And Felix," Alfred said through a rictus smile.
"Ah," Arthur said, and glanced back at the group. So the other man was Felix: unlike Mrs. Jones he was indeed vaguely blondish, with shoulder-length hair. He also looked vaguely surfer-ish. He was chewing bubble-gum. "The tall gentleman is Ludwig Schmidt."
"He looks like a bodybuilder," Alfred grated out. Still he held onto Arthur's sleeve, but his grip had relaxed somewhat. "So, Arthur. If I tried to kick someone's ass in the courtroom, do you think they'd arrest me?"
Alfred's tone had taken on a dreamy quality. Surely he wasn't thinking about taking on Sch-- oh, right. Well, best to nip that in the bud. "Much as I might wish to root you on, yes," Arthur said firmly. "For assault and battery. And most likely fine you for contempt."
"That's too bad," Alfred said. He breathed out long and slow, and released his grip on Arthur's clothing. "And thank you for saying that."
Bonnefoy had gone over to greet the newcomers. Of course: he and Mrs. Jones were acquainted. He hugged her and smiled at Schmidt's obvious frown, and the more Schmidt scowled, the more Bonnefoy fussed. "I'm sorry we have to see other again like this," he was saying.
"Me, too," Mrs. Jones said. She glanced past Bonnefoy towards where Alfred stood with Arthur. She bit her lip and waved at Alfred, mouthing hello. Her dark eyes were wide and sad-looking.
"Hi," Alfred said in a low voice. The scary smile was back.
The door to the courtroom opened. Several people exited, followed by the bailiff. "The state will hear Mariel Jones versus Alfred Jones," called the bailiff. "The Honorable Elizaveta Hardesty, presiding."
They filed into the courtroom. Arthur had worked with Judge Hardesty before. She was firm but fair, and though the description was perhaps cliched, you could say no better thing about a judge.
Everyone was entered into the record and settled, and the judge got straight to business. "I have a full docket today but I hear this one is supposed to be easy. Mr. Jones? Mrs. Jones?"
Alfred and Mrs. Jones both nodded and mumbled yes, your honor.
The judge put on reading glasses and looked at the files before her. "You two must really want to be divorced. It's exceptionally rare to see a dissolution with this much property go as quickly and smoothly as this."
Yes, your honor, their replies echoed.
"There is a pregnancy involved, your honor," Schmidt added.
"Yes, I see that. Here are the affidavits of paternity, and Mr. Jones's release of paternal rights. The marital agreement has been notarized and properly entered?"
"Yes, your honor," Arthur said. He felt a little pedantic. "I have a file-stamped copy if you need one."
The judge waved him off. "No thank you, Mr. Kirkland. The court keeps very good records."
She had very few questions overall; her full docket was obviously on her mind. Once or twice Arthur or Schmidt had to clarify a point of property, but otherwise the hearing proceeded more routinely than Arthur might ever have suspected when he'd initially taken the case. He glanced now and then at Alfred, to see how he was holding up. He appeared relaxed if attentive, and perhaps only Arthur noticed how white his knuckles were, and how he kept catching himself from biting off the end of the ballpoint pen he was rolling between his fingers.
Arthur also noticed how Mrs. Jones kept shifting in her seat. Such might have been attributable to gestational discomfort, but then she often glanced their way.
With a speed that might have been unanticipated in even a lesser case, the judge soon pronounced their dissolution equitable and complete. She signed the order and handed it to the bailiff. Everyone stood.
Everyone, that was, except for Alfred. Arthur tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and Alfred looked almost shocked to see everyone watching him. He scraped back his chair and jumped to his feet.
"Is this it?" he whispered to Arthur.
It was a question Arthur had heard from him before. His finger itched to caress Alfred's cheeks, to rub some color back into them. "This time, yes. As soon as the decree is entered, anyway."
They were dismissed by the bailiff and everyone exited the courtroom as quietly as they'd entered. They stood in the hallway, and Arthur supposed this was the time he should tell Alfred what he wanted to say. As soon as he got rid of Bonnefoy. And as soon as he thought of exactly what it was that he wanted to say.
"Why don't you go outside for a few minutes? Please? I don't care, just go," Mariel Jones was saying. She was talking to Felix, who did not look happy to be ordered away. Wearing a sulky expression, he joined Ludwig Schmidt in the elevator. When the elevator doors closed, Mariel Jones walked over to where Arthur stood with Alfred and Bonnefoy.
"Hey, Mare," Alfred said.
"Hi." She nodded at Arthur and Bonnefoy with a shy smile and then looked at Alfred. "Al? Will you please sit with me for a few minutes?" She nodded at some sofas in a small waiting area down the all.
"I guess. Sure," Alfred said with a suspicious-sounding sniff.
Mariel sagged visibly and took both his hands in hers. "Thank you, baby. God, I just want to say ... I don't even know what I want to say but I'll try."
"Me, too," Alfred said. They walked down the hall and sat, holding hands and leaning close, talking in low voices.
Bonnefoy tapped Arthur's shoulder and jerked his head in a "let's go" motion. Arthur nodded and followed him into the elevators. His stomach turned with queasiness, though he'd eaten nothing for lunch. He'd missed his chance. But then, Alfred absolutely needed to talk with his wife -- ex-wife, now -- more than he needed to listen to Arthur.
"Good luck, Arthur," Bonnefoy said as the elevator descended. Arthur prepared a glare but Bonnefoy wasn't even looking at him, was looking at himself and fussing with his hair in the mirrored elevator wall.
"With what do I need luck, H.F.?" Arthur said.
Bonnefoy shrugged. "Just politely wishing you luck. See you later. I'll call you when we're having a party, oui?"
He nipped out through the elevator doors as they opened. Arthur was left with only Bonnefoy's yellow ponytail and black-clad back to glare at as he sauntered out the courthouse turnstiles.
Arthur shook his head. He stood there in the lobby for a few moments, wondering what he should do. Should he wait? Should he --
No, to stand around waiting for Alfred to finish talking to the woman with whom he'd spent eight years would only look foolish and desperate. His original idea, to leave Alfred in peace to deal with his life as he needed and to deal with his own life in return, was still the best idea.
He left the courthouse. As he went down the steps he noticed that man, Felix, lighting up a cigarette directly under a "No Smoking Within Fifty Yards of the Entrance" sign. Arthur had always used to hate those signs with a bloody-minded passion.
Arthur kept walking. He did, however, tap a security guard on the shoulder and point Felix out to him as he passed.
***
Arthur went back to work. He managed to only wonder what and how Alfred was doing every half hour or so, which was an improvement over the previous week.
Lars came back at the end of the week. Things were better, he said. Not perfect, but better. They were taking life day by day. Moment by moment.
Christian, of all people, called and asked Arthur to go out on Friday. Arthur turned him down. He had a painful and bittersweet wank Friday night. Saturday he tidied and made scones for Portia's visit with her Yong. They arrived around two. It was always five o'clock somewhere so Arthur had made wine available, but they started with tea.
Yong was different from what Arthur had expected; he was polite but boisterous and friendly, and like Portia looked younger than his years. He wore his hair in a long ponytail and carried a smartphone with a bejeweled Hello Kitty cover on it. He protested to see Portia dip her scone -- so they'd turned out a little hard -- into her tea. He seemed a fitting counterpart for Portia, who had been known to overwhelm quieter men.
By three they'd moved onto the wine. Arthur drank slowly, not wanting to let the alcohol relax him into maudlin behavior. It was lovely to see Portia happy, but having her here as part of a couple put Arthur's lonely state into sharp relief.
At three-thirty the door intercom buzzed. That happened so rarely Arthur was surprised into staring at the door with raised eyebrows until the intercom buzzed again. "Pardon me," he said, arising. "Strange; I'm not expecting anyone."
He said hello into the intercom and nearly jumped out of his socks when he heard Alfred's voice in reply.
"Hi, it's Al. Looks like you're home. Can I come up for a few minutes?"
"Uh," Arthur said in lame reply. He glanced back at Portia and Yong and they looked quickly at each other so as not to be caught staring. Portia began to whisper something, presumably explanation. Arthur pressed the reply button. "You didn't call--"
"Because I figured the only way to get you was to corner you in your den, ha ha."
Still Arthur stalled. He was in his socks, he had company, his heart was racing fit to make him faint and ... he had no idea what to do. "How did you find out where I live?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the intercom. "Old-fashioned sleuthing. You're in the phone book, Arthur. Listen, if you don't want to--"
Arthur shook his head to clear it. "No, no, of course. Come on up."
"Hoookay."
Arthur looked back at Portia and Yong, who were quite studiously not looking at him. "Ah, sorry, but this shouldn't be long--"
Portia blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. "Stoopid, this is your home. And you definitely need to talk to him."
"Should we leave?" Yong asked.
"No, I need reinforcements, haha," Arthur said. Moments later there was a knock at the door, and Arthur took a deep breath and opened it.
And Alfred was there, wearing jeans and a brown bomber-style ski jacket with a number fifty on the breast over a stars-and-stripes tee-shirt and under a hesitant smile and he looked -- wonderful. "Hi. Oh, God, you have company. No wonder you were -- want me to go away?"
At the sight of him, Arthur felt as if a switch had flipped on somewhere in his brain, lighting up his body, loosening his tied tongue and brain. "No, don't be foolish. I already said to come up, did I not? You've met Portia Galati, and this is Yong-Soo Choo, Portia's gentleman friend. This is Alfred Jones, a -- well, I confess I'm not sure how to describe you, Alfred."
"As long as it's nice. Hi again. Good to meet you." He came inside the door and waved at Arthur's company, then stood looking around for a moment. He spotted something on the wall to the left, Arthur's wall of knickknacks, and took a few quick steps for a closer look. "Ooh, are these your souvenirs, Arthur? What awesome stuff! Are these your clay lemurs from Madagascar that you were talking bout?"
Even Portia, who saw those weekly, wouldn't have remembered them. Arthur had mentioned them very briefly to Alfred that night at the bar. Arthur's knees almost gave out as he fell more irrevocably in love than ever.
"Yes. Yes, they are," Arthur said.
Something in his voice or demeanor spurred Portia to stand. She dragged Yong up with her.
"We are definitely leaving you two to be private," she said.
Arthur and Alfred both protested, but she held out her palm in a talk-to-the-hand gesture. "No. Come on, honey." As they passed on their way to the coat closet, Portia made kissy-face at Arthur and then looked at Alfred. "If you manage to hang around that long, maybe we can all do dinner. It'll have to be your restaurant, since we don't have reservations anywhere. Your treat?"
"Absolutely," Alfred said with a grin.
"Goodbye," Yong said after they'd grabbed their coats, and then they were gone.
"So," Alfred said. He had his hands in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, another of his teenagerish postures.
"So," Arthur echoed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred beat him to it.
"I tried to look for you after the hearing, but you were gone," he said.
"I felt awkward, because you needed to talk to your wife. And I was hurt," Arthur admitted. Clarity had given him the gift of communication at last.
Something had given it to Alfred as well. "Yeah? Me too," he said. "Because you never called. But I came over anyway, because I thought you were worth pursuing. You're kind of a jerk sometimes, though, Arthur."
Arthur was more warmed all over by that worth pursuing than he was offended by that jerk. "And you are a twit," he replied. "I was trying to give you space to deal with ... whatever feelings you had. I got the idea that my being around was not helping you emotionally. It certainly wasn't helping me."
Alfred sighed long and slow, visibly sagging with the release of air and whatever tension had been trapped in it. "You're right."
Arthur only looked at him: to verify that would be overkill, and he didn't want to speak and possibly jeopardize their truce in communication.
Alfred pulled off his coat and raised an eyebrow at the chair sitting in front of Arthur's Louis Quinze. Reminded of their second-to-last meeting, Arthur nodded. Alfred hung his coat over the chair. He plopped himself onto the sofa.
"Wine? Tea?" Arthur stirred himself to ask.
"Not right now, thanks." Alfred crossed his legs, showing socks to match his tee-shirt. "I've warned you that I'm not good at this. And it seems it's always a bad time to really talk for us, anyway. But I'm sorry about that night at the bar. I always had a thing for you, Arthur, though I was trying not to push it. But, well, when I learned I wasn't the father of Mariel's baby I just sorta ... went a little stupid."
But, but but. Arthur knew the feeling. He sat next to Alfred. "I appreciate you saying that."
"Oh. That's good. I'm glad." Alfred did not look at Arthur but watched his own fingers, twiddling in his lap.
Arthur continued. "I had a thing for you, too. And I should have kept a better distance, not only because of our legal relationship, but considering the loss of your marriage and ... everything else as well."
Alfred waved and sniffed. "Unfortunately, our marriage was over months ago. I mean, I worked days and she worked nights. We hardly saw each other, this past year. I guess I just didn't realize we were growing apart so much? Obviously, she found someone else. I thought they were just friends, and she thought I didn't care.
"But it was me, too. Like that night we got together. You and me. I was -- I was feeling guilty and stuff. Being with you and liking that, when, like, she wouldn't even talk to me and it was all my fault that I didn't -- I didn't love her enough to keep her happy."
"Oh, love," Arthur said at the catch in Alfred's voice. He pulled Alfred's head down to his shoulder and patted it. He'd was learning more about Alfred's marriage in these few minutes than he had the entire two months of their acquaintance. It was overwhelming and freeing at the same time. How had he ever thought Alfred full of TMI? And he himself thought his heart was on his sleeve, but he had probably been as transparent as a brick. "I was so jealous and put-upon, too. Pardon."
"Ooh, I like it when you talk to me like that, Arthur," Alfred said, and Arthur pinched his ear. "Ow. But seriously. We talked a lot on Wednesday. When she filed for divorce she wouldn't discuss it because she knew she was pregnant and totally panicked. She sort of knew it was Felix's all along but she couldn't prove it. Her lawyer didn't even know and she just let him call the shots. I'm still ticked about that. And I'm definitely pissed at Felix but I guess I have to move on."
"What else can you do?" Arthur soothed, rubbing the hair behind Alfred's ears. There had been nothing sinister in their divorce all along, only human emotions, human failings making them all behave foolishly.
Alfred twisted his head to look Arthur in the eye. "I'm kind of in love with you, Arthur. Can we try again, maybe? Now that we're on the same page, at least, even if it's not a clean one? I can't promise to talk about my emotions this well all the time, but can you be nicer to me, you think?"
Yes, yes, yes. Arthur laughed sincerely, the light inside him turned up to level fifteen. For all their hearts were cracked, perhaps both of them might prove to be worth the pursuit. "I will promise no such thing, you ass. But yes, we can try again. Because I'm sort of kind of mad about you."
"I hope that's a British 'mad'," Alfred said. He pulled out of Arthur's clasp and sat up. He leaned in close. "Can we try again, and do it with sex? You make me really hot."
Yes, yes, yes, Arthur thought again. "How about we take it a little more slowly," Arthur actually said. "You are much too used to getting what you want."
"Already you're not being nice to me," Alfred pouted. But he leaned in for a kiss, and Arthur indulged him in that. And again it was better than Arthur had imagined in the moments before it. There it was, that spark, this time with open, admitted feelings ignited behind it. Would there ever come a time when it wouldn't feel so to kiss Alfred? Arthur hoped not.
They adjusted themselves on the sofa so they could snog more comfortably. And Arthur told himself that simply making out was taking it slowly, no matter if his nether regions felt otherwise. Alfred's did as well, but both of them managed to ignore those facts in favor of snuggling close and saying meaningless things in soft voices.
"Did you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" Alfred did point out during a brief respite.
Arthur consulted his head-calendar. "So it is. But it's too early to wish you happy birthday, so I shan't."
"So mean!"
"So needy!" Maybe Arthur wasn't exactly being nice, but he wasn't being not-nice, either. He was being himself, and vowed that from this point on, any pages written in their relationship would contain nothing short of that. He owed it to both of them. He didn't want to have The Preciseness In Speech talk with himself.
Arthur's resolve to take things slowly, however, only lasted until about halfway through dinner: Alfred was just so ... attractive and charming, speaking Japanese with Yong and making Portia snort her wine by telling her how Arthur's scones were so hard he'd at first mistaken them for souvenir rocks from Antarctica or something.
Arthur managed to keep his hands off Alfred until they exited the restaurant, at least, where the doorman told them "PDA, boys," and their cabbie, an Asian woman of indeterminate age, simply shook her head at them in the rearview mirror. She didn't seem overly scandalized at their teenagerish behavior in the back of her taxi.
But Arthur was giddy, so happy he could have Alfred, guilt-free. His body wanted to throw a party. A sex party.
Back at his home Arthur did manage to make love to Alfred slowly, at first, anyway. Wrapped in his sheets, wrapped around each other so tightly Arthur could barely move, he barely moved, opening Alfred until he was convex, arched against Arthur's pillows. He looked well there.
"I do love you, even if you are very silly," Arthur whispered as he fucked him even sillier, and Alfred made wanton and reciprocal-sounding noises. And afterwards they skipped the cigarette and kept the afterglow confined to Arthur's bed.
At one point Alfred confessed, "If you hadn't let me in today, I was going to stand in front of your building holding a boom-box like John Cusack."
"I'd've never heard you," Arthur said, nuzzling Alfred's ear.
"I know. Good thing you let me come up."
"Hmm," Arthur said, drifting off. Just before sleep, he had a thought. "What song would you have played?"
"Probably Affair of the Heart."
Arthur considered that. "It would have been a good choice," he mumbled.
He didn't care what Lars said: he was having fun, and planned to do so for as long as he could.
Arthur wondered how it was that, during their long winter, he'd ever wished for warmer weather. It was only the beginning of July and already they'd had weeks of oppressive heat, the days unrelentingly humid and in the nineties. That was much too close to boiling, Arthur's British-born brain kept trying to tell him.
He stood under the covered porch in H.F. Bonnefoy's backyard, sipped the last of a formerly icy margarita with a "Happy Fourth of July!" sign stuck in it, and tried not to sweat. He also tried to avoid staring too long at anyone in particular, because most of the party guests were naked.
It had been billed as a "clothing optional and discouraged" party. Being a party pooper from way back, however, Arthur was keeping his shorts firmly on.
Of course Alfred had gotten into the spirit. He was unclothed and chattering away at Bonnefoy's (also naked) wife, unselfconscious as the day he'd been born. Arthur kept a tight grip on Alfred's fingers at his side and tried to re-follow the conversation, which had lingered too long on the plight of the Chicago Cubs.
"Their farm system is deep. Give them a few years," Chelle Bonnefoy was saying in her French-African-Hawaiian-accented voice. Like her Gallic husband she gestured with sweeping movements as she spoke, sending her various body parts bouncing about. "To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
"How can anyone be patient when they keep trading their best players away?" Alfred protested.
Arthur was almost glad for the interruption when Bonnefoy (also naked) sauntered by, followed by a (naked) girl carrying a tray of drinks. Bonnefoy leered at them all, showing only a small frown at Arthur's shorts.
He gestured at the girl next to him. "Anyone need their refreshments refreshed? So warm today! The ice melts almost before it hits the bottom of the glass, yes? Oh, if you are afraid of a sunburn, Arthur, we have plenty of sunscreen."
"I am quite comfortable, thank you," Arthur told him. He did toss back the dregs of his margarita and traded the glass for a fuller, colder one. That one had a plastic Uncle Sam stuck into it.
"Ooh, can I have a sip?" Alfred asked.
"You may have one of your own, my dear," Bonnefoy told him with another leer. Arthur had to resist the urge to stand in front of Alfred.
"Not until after I have a swim. I'm a crappy swimmer when I'm drunk."
"You do many things very badly when you are drunk," Arthur pointed out, but he handed over his drink. He'd never used to like sharing beverages, but when you'd swapped as many body fluids as they had, it sort of ceased to be a problem.
He watched Alfred sample the margarita and make a face at the alcoholic kick. It wasn't a bad face -- it was very cute, in fact -- and when he returned Arthur's drink he had salt stuck to the corner of his lip. Arthur wanted to lean forward and lick it off, but not being the exhibitionist everyone else clearly was, contented himself with brushing it away with his thumb. Alfred grinned at him and squeezed his fingers.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat; still he was unused to the idea of being so comfortable with someone he desperately cared for, someone who wanted to be with him in return. It was rather breathtaking.
Alfred was far from perfect, but then so was he. And he'd discovered that even after only a few months, intimate relationships of the sort they were conducting came with their own, unexpected issues: annoyances and changed expectations, things that required discussion or at least honesty, things that were still not easy for either of them.
And little things. Like, Alfred hated his alarm clock. Once he'd sneak-reprogrammed it to wake Arthur with dialogue from Star Wars. Arthur had given him the Controlling Your Impulses With Other People's Things Talk, and Alfred had countered with a You Blow Things Out Of Proportion lecture. Arthur had spent an hour sulking and trying to re-record his voice exactly as he'd had it. Perhaps he had blown it out of proportion, but still. And there was worse to come: horror of horrors, Alfred did not care for Indian food.
But then, the things Arthur might have expected to be problematic had turned out to be not so much. For one, their relations with Alfred's ex-wife and her new husband were polite and, thankfully, infrequent. And he didn't let Alfred's ridiculous fortune, even as depleted as it was by his divorce, bother him: he had his own home and successful career to worry about. He understood being an overachiever and never resented extra time Alfred spent at work; it would be hypocritical, given that he'd had to clear case files from his sofa so they could sit together and eat Thai takeout in front of the TV.
Portia was learning these things as well. She'd managed to stay the course with Yong, for nearly as long as Arthur had known her to keep any man.
She was supposed to be coming to the party, in fact, though he could not see that she'd arrived. As if on cue his phone buzzed and Arthur pulled it from his pocket. That was a benefit to wearing clothing among the naked: he had somewhere to put his things.
It was a text from Portia. can you tell htem we're running late sorry? And are you wearing clothes?
Yes and YES, Arthur texted back.
"There's one good thing about being naked-- you can enjoy a party without being a slave to technology," Alfred teased.
"It was Portia. They're running late. And you're just jealous because you wish you had somewhere to keep your own phone, addict," Arthur told him.
"Never fear, Alfred; I could help you stow your phone if you really wished," Bonnefoy said, to an accompanying salacious giggle from Chelle.
Arthur narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a fierce glare. "You're just begging for a furtive shove into the pool when you least expect it, Bonnefoy," he said.
"Your empty threats don't frighten me, Englishman," Bonnefoy told him with a raised eyebrow.
"You guys are too cute," Alfred said. "Like lawyers in love. I just know if it wasn't for Chelle, I'd be out a boyfriend right now 'cause you'd have, like, run off together long ago."
"Then I am doubly glad I have her," Bonnefoy said, raising his glass in a salute. "To love!"
"Cheers," Arthur said, as everyone said it. He drank, and held his glass for Alfred to take a sip, and then he did kiss him, quickly, unable to resist lime and salt and Alfred.
To love, to affairs of the heart: he'd never given second chances, but he'd given Alfred second and third and been given them in return, and most of the moments so far had been worth it.
And thus, like a romance novel, it ends when the characters get together (plus a bonus dorky epilogue). Thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting!
I know it’s not perfect but hey, it was my first try at writing a “UKUS romance novel.” If there are any plot points I didn’t tie up but were important enough that I should have, please feel free to tell me! If there are any gaping plot holes, please feel free to note those also. There’s a lot I couldn’t cover because of my decision to write the whole thing in Arthur’s POV, and I tried to get Alfred’s personality across but I might have totally failed.
As for the name changes in these last chapters, let me plead that these are original characters who are Americans of international descent, not the nations, so I ask that you pardon me this. I used “Yong-Soo Choo” because Shin-Soo Choo is my favorite Korean baseball player and he rocks, so I used that name. And I have worked with a Judge Hardesty who was awesomesauce, thus using that last name for Elizaveta.
I might deanon this at some point, if it isn’t already obvious who wrote it. It is mostly unbeta-read, and so it needs a good, hard edit (unf) before I do anything of the sort.
“don't try to tell me you think it's all physical” ah ha, so that's why Affair of the Heart is appropriate! So much Rick Springfield, it's like I'm a teenager again..
Mariel was Philippines, wasn't she? You added an 'L' to her usual human name. This the second epic fic that has them as an off-screen pre-fic ship that fails. I'd suspect you of being the author of the other one, but you already said you don't do long fics often.
It's odd, Poland seems more manly, but still a himbo. His mental image feels like Kato Kaelin.
"To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
*cough*
*cough*
Pretty sure there are nudists who would wear no clothes BUT HAVE ARMSTRAPS for their phones.
'Lawyers in Love' is a song! (How hard did you have to resist making Alfred a lawyer too, so you could name this fic after that song?)
Thank you so much for writing! The only critique I can think of is that you do mental angst extremely well, but seem to let up on the pressure and start to drift when things are happy.
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All Right, Tonight (Part 46/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 04:47 am (UTC)(link)Forget eleven; Alfred cranked his knobs to thirteen, at least. Arthur wanted more, all of it. He wanted to conquer the world. He slid his mouth across Alfred's cheek to nibble at his earlobe again, a fine cheat.
“Alfred?” he whispered.
“Y—yeah?” came the stilted breath in his ear.
"I do like you."
"Hah. And I promise I respect you."
"Hmm." He swirled his tongue in Alfred’s ear, a line of direct attack. “You said you wanted a quick fuck. How about a regular one, instead?”
“Uhhh,” Alfred moaned. His hands clenched on Arthur's ribs. "About time."
“You'll bottom for me, won't you?”
Alfred squeezed harder. “God, yes.”
Arthur caught the breath that had been trying to elude him. “Good lad,” he whispered.
He sat back on Alfred's thighs and began to unbutton Alfred's shirt with fingers that wibbled only slightly. Alfred's skin was lovely and warm and Arthur bent to kiss each square inch as it was exposed.
"Have you before?" he asked Alfred's breastbone.
"Yeah ... it's been a long time. Uhh," Alfred moaned as Arthur slid his palm inside his shirt and discovered a tiny ring of metal through one of Alfred's nipples.
"What is this?" Arthur asked.
"Hah. Memento of my -- of a party I went to a long time ago." Alfred had leaned his head back on the sofa to allow Arthur access, good boy.
"Silly thing." Arthur discovered that was a sensitive spot, too, as he took it in his mouth and clinked it gently between his tongue and teeth: Alfred's chest heaved with a gasp.
"Ah-- God, that feels good but not here--"
"Hmm?"
"This couch. It's ... I don't want it anymore. I'm sending it over. So I want to but-- not here."
Arthur unfolded himself and backed off the sofa. "Your bedroom, then?"
"My bedroom. Yeah." Alfred placed an odd emphasis on the "my." His blue gaze up at Arthur was unfocused.
Arthur felt very focused and impatient. But he could hardly heave Alfred over his shoulder and carry him off, so he pulled him up from the couch and then trailed him down the hallway. Alfred's bedroom was darker, less ascetic, his bed strewn with colorful patchwork quilts. There was a -- for heaven's sake, it was a Captain America poster, stuck crookedly to a closet door like it'd been put up quickly and without thought.
"An audience?" Arthur nodded at the poster.
"He's an okay guy. What, you don't have Rick Springfield posters all over your bedroom?"
"Not since I was thirteen, I fear."
Alfred smiled down at him, looking almost shy. Curse his height. "I like it when you talk to me like a person and not a ... business entity."
"You mean a client? For that is what you were."
"But not anymore."
"No, not anymore."
"Huh." Alfred shuffled his feet.
Curse more this awkward chatter: Arthur's insides constricted with some unrecognizable emotion. With wanting wanted to fuck Alfred more senseless than he already was, this silly man with more charisma than anyone had a right to possess. With many things, some more urgent than others. "I move that we table this discussion," he said.
"I second the movement," Alfred said.
All Right, Tonight (Part 47/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 04:48 am (UTC)(link)He kissed Alfred again, deep and hard, felt his cock pulsing against the soft skin at Alfred's hip. He had a vague impression of fingers running along his spine, counting him up and down. When he slid a slick finger between Alfred's ass-cheeks, circling the tight opening, Alfred arched against him with a gasp.
Arthur brushed Alfred's hair from his sticky forehead, kissed the sweat-salty skin there.
"I'll be okay," Alfred breathed.
"I know," Arthur said. He lifted Alfred's thighs over his shoulders and sucked his cock, probing inside him with his slicked finger, pressing until-- ah, there -- until Alfred shuddered and clenched his fingers in Arthur's hair.
"God, Arthur, you're amazing," Alfred huffed. He was watching, his neck bent against the headboard, his cheeks at least as flushed as Arthur's had ever been. To speak of amazing. "I can't hardly bear to look at you. Wait-- ah, wait, I'm going to--"
Arthur sucked him off, relentless and merciless to Alfred's moans of protest, until Alfred came, crying out, his body clenching tightly around Arthur's finger. He was relaxed, lord, at last. Arthur drooled his mouthful of semen onto Alfred's belly and spread it onto his fingers, feeling desperate and messy, and the sight of his own fingers on Al's quivering stomach was painfully erotic.
"Over," he said, and when Alfred, still knackered from his orgasm, only wrinkled his forehead, Arthur spun his finger. "Roll over, m'dear."
Alfred grinned, lopsided, at him. "You're so sweet to me, Arthur," he said.
Still, he obediently flopped over onto his stomach and pushed to his knees, so Arthur was inclined to be agreeable. "Shut it, you," he said, pulling on the condom. Ah-- ah-- he took a deep breath to calm the racing of his heart and the acute throb in his cock, which was threatening at the lightest touch to end his adventure prematurely. He swiped his lubricant-and-semen-coated fingers between Alfred's rounded ass-cheeks, greasing him up, guiding himself inside.
"Nnnn," moaned Alfred. He was tensed, his head hanging nearly to the bed.
"You may as well breathe," Arthur instructed. "There..."
It had already taken far too long -- minutes? Hours? Weeks? Since he'd first met Alfred Jones, anyway -- but still he tried to be gentle at first. He swirled his hips, he swirled his fingers in the sweat rivulets on Alfred's spine, nudging forward until he was throbbing bollocks-deep in the tight grip of Alfred's body.
Then straight to business, all business, he was, and rocked his hips; he knew just the rhythm, had dreamed it many times. In and out and again and again, following the tight coil of yearning that pulsed deep in his belly. In and out again and again, Alfred's body like a sleek leather glove stroking Arthur's cock.
"Do it, do it, Arthur," Alfred breathed, and Arthur did it, fucked him, shaking and steady all at once, splaying his fingers across Alfred's soft stomach to hold him close.
The room smelled like Alfred, Alfred smelled like Alfred. Arthur's ears were filled with huffs of breath and the slap and squelch of skin and Alfred, never silent, sighed his name and yes, yes. The little sex fiend; he was getting hard again already.
Arthur captured Alfred's erection against his palm, stroked it between his sticky-slick hand and the mess on Alfred's belly.
All Right, Tonight (Part 48/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 04:49 am (UTC)(link)"I have a better idea, anyway. Over," Arthur said, with another finger-twirl, when Alfred looked at him.
Alfred laughed. "Flip me like a burger, would ya?"
"Nothing so unrefined. A crepe, perhaps," Arthur grinned.
"Crepes Al. I like it."
"I'll drink some Chianti later, if you have it."
"Huh? Oof."
Arthur hooked Alfred's thighs over his shoulders again. They were sweat-slippery and lightly scratchy against his cheeks -- God, Arthur loved the hair on a man's thighs -- and he leaned forward, opening Alfred like a lotus. It was amazing, how deeply he could thrust in this position. And how much even better it was fucking Alfred when he could look at him, see the dumbstruck part of his lips, the glaze in his eyes. He'd missed much of this earlier, he'd been so intent on getting Alfred off.
Arthur was happy. He wanted Alfred to be happy. This wasn't a regular fuck, nor anything remotely like it.
He brushed sweat from Alfred's eyelids and caught his gaze, angled his hips so that Alfred would make more of those enchanting sharp noises in the back of his throat. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he could capture them, if he curled his fingers over Alfred's lips ...
"You feel -- ah!-- lovely," he said.
"Lovely," came Alfred's faux-accented reply.
"Lovely," Arthur breathed, hard. He'd quickened his thrusts almost without realizing it, as the thickness in his belly took on sharper and sharper edges, hastening him toward climax. He wanted to make it last, to make Alfred come again first so he could watch it and feel it and ... everything.
Alfred locked his legs behind Arthur's back so Arthur crawled closer as he fucked him, close enough to lick the sweat from Alfred's chin. Through force of will he slowed to excruciating, shallow thrusts, just enough to rub the head of his cock relentlessly onto Alfred's prostate, and knew he was hitting it by the trembling of Alfred's body, his sharp, incoherent cries.
"Come on, you," he huffed, stroking Alfred's cock, swallowing Alfred's thumb as it found its way to his mouth.
"Yes, yes, that's too much -- it's-- ah, ah," Alfred cried. When he came again, he clenched so violently all over that his thighs nearly crushed Arthur's remaining breath out of him.
And yes, it was too much, the spasms of Alfred's body around him, the lake blue of Alfred's eyes beneath the flutter of his lashes: release burned its way out of Arthur with a hoarse cry and he tumbled over that edge, this time not alone.
Afterward they lay together quietly for a few minutes. It was strange, Arthur thought, that he should experience a real, live afterglow, for he'd always thought it a fanciful turn of phrase for a rather mundane event, the end of sex. But to his eyes Alfred did seem to glow, his skin sweaty and warm in the faint city- and moonlight diffusing through the curtains.
Arthur's own body hummed with contentment. He rubbed idly at the ring in Alfred's nipple, considering whether or not he might forgive Alfred after all.
"Hannibal Lecter," came Alfred's slurred voice.
"Hmm?"
"You were talking about crepes made of me and Chiantis and you meant like cannibals, like Silence of the Lambs."
Arthur smiled into Alfred's shoulder. "Indeed, that is what I referenced." He didn't say you silly thing, yet satiation had nevertheless made him more honest than usual. "I am ashamed to say, I wish I had a cigarette."
Alfred shifted his arm in some unseen gesture. "I have some. In the bedside table. For emergencies."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I'll get you one. They're really old, though."
Arthur's blood begged for the nicotine, but that was a bad thing. "No, I shouldn't. I have quit."
"Dude, your hair nearly stood on end when I mentioned it. Hey, I'll have one if you do. We have to go out on the balcony, though."
"Evil beguiler," Arthur said, feeling himself blush to be caught out so. It felt like exposing his soul, intimate even after what they'd done.
All Right, Tonight (Part 49/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 04:50 am (UTC)(link)Still, the temptation of nicotine was too much. Arthur rolled off Alfred and the bed and dragged a quilt with him. He discreetly disposed of the condom and turned around to see Alfred wrapped in a quilt as well. He was bent over one of the tables. Soon he stood, holding two cigarettes and a lighter between three of his fingers.
Arthur followed him silently back into the front room, and thence to the balcony doors. The breeze when Alfred opened them was sharp and raw. Arthur huddled in his blanket, stiffened his spine, and followed Alfred out, glad he still wore his socks. The balcony was small and occupied by a bistro set and an ashtray.
"The smoking section," Arthur noted. His fingers shook as he lit a cigarette first for himself and then for Alfred.
"Yeah. I need a sign or something."
Arthur had hoped he'd hate the cigarette, after months without one. His first inhale was stale, and it tasted like ash, and it burned his throat. Unfortunately, it was quite heavenly despite all that.
It was a clear night and the city around them was beautiful, lines of gold peppered with dots of red and green, the whole thing bisected by the nighttime lake's semicircle of deepest black. Also pleasing was the view of Alfred, bent over the railing and looking out, exhaling a long and slow trail of smoke. His feet, unlike Arthur's, were bare, and he shuffled from foot to foot on the cold concrete.
It was a sight Arthur would blissfully watch on many a cold night. An existence he could become addicted to, with or without the cigarette.
"I ... Hey. It's weird," Alfred said, barely more than a mumble.
"Hmm?" Arthur said, taking another ashy drag.
Alfred looked at him. "Aww, nothing. Me. I'm weird. Had enough?"
"Yes." Now he could think straight, part of Arthur wanted Alfred to explain, not just his half-conversation, but many things. The other part of him was too relaxed.
They extinguished their half-smoked cigarettes in the ashtray and went back inside. Alfred pointed at the bar. "Wanna drink?"
"No, thank you," Arthur said. He gathered his quilt more tightly at his neck and must have shivered, for Alfred stepped closer and opened his quilt, sharing it around both of them like a cocoon.
"Cold?"
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "No, why would you ask that?"
"You crack me up," Alfred said. He kissed Arthur first this time, with soft, smoky lips. Arthur kissed him back, lived in the moment, releasing his death-grip on the quilt to once again own all Alfred's naked, sticky skin with his fingers. The kisses were gentle and gently arousing: Arthur was too wiped from his earlier ferocious orgasm to get hard again just yet, but that only gave him time to enjoy making out for its own sake. He wanted to crack Alfred up, crack him open and hold him like that forever, and then weep at the sweetness of it all.
At some point both quilts dropped to the floor and Alfred shivered, either from the creeping chill in the room or from Arthur's fingers squeezing his ass. It was a nice one, not too skinny. But eventually the kiss had to end.
"Your face, Arthur," Alfred murmured as he pulled away.
Arthur's heart stopped, at the words, at the look in Alfred's eyes. Traitorous heart; it wanted to jump out of Arthur's chest and throw itself into Alfred's hands. "What about it?"
Alfred looked down for a moment or two. He gathered their quilts and when he stood, the blues of his eyes were ringed with red, likely from their earlier smoke.
"Nothing," he said eventually. "I need a soda or something, though. Thirsty. You want one?"
Arthur took a deep breath and reclaimed his quilt from Alfred. How about that bottle of gin at the bar, after all? "How about a water?"
"I can do that."
All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 04:51 am (UTC)(link)Meanwhile, Alfred stared at the table, setting his can of cola on it and picking it up again, drawing in the circle of condensation it left behind. He sniffed. "Place is a mess. I'll need to call housekeeping tomorrow and pay 'em overtime. I'm not used to keeping it up all by myself. Mar-- she was so picky about cleaning."
Arthur sipped his water to hide his jolt of at this reminder that Alfred was still married. To someone else. Living moment to moment meant forgetting some very important things. "It doesn't look too awfully bad. A little sticky in spots," Arthur said, lamely.
"That's nice of you to say," Alfred said with a weak smile, even though it hadn't been particularly nice. He sighed. "I don't know whether to congratulate myself or call myself an idiot."
Arthur's stomach sank. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing." Another sigh.
"No, I think you should tell me," Arthur said, enunciating.
Alfred wouldn't look at him. He sniffed again and something wet plopped onto the table in front of him and oh, lord -- was he--? "Well, I guess I have a Thing now. But I feel like I shouldn't. Like, what would she think?"
Arthur stood. He felt sick at the idea that he was a Thing.. Or merely a Thing, at least, and not more. "Sorry to have troubled you."
Alfred glanced up at him, and his eyes were definitely red. "No, it's -- God, give me a break. It was hard enough to say that, without you misunderstanding."
"What!?" Arthur said, perhaps over-loudly, but then a lot of things were bubbling to the surface. "I understood perfectly."
Alfred looked back down at the table and waved his hand in Arthur's general direction. "No, you didn't. Listen. I'm trying to be better at this, but I sort of suck."
"Indeed, you--" Arthur started, then sighed heavily. "I think I will leave now," he said. He stomped off to retrieve his clothing.
"I should probably be alone anyway," Alfred sniffed.
Arthur dressed in a hurry, feeling tight in the chest and around his eyes. Rebounds were the worst ever, they were bollocks, and so were bisexual little shits looking to even a score with their wives, they were everything bad and Arthur wished he'd never met Alfred Jones, because then he would have never have had to cross his living room, red-eyed and blithering and feeling like dirt.
"Will you call me? Can I call you, at least? So we can talk when I'm not fucked in the head?" Alfred said. He was leaning against the wall in the entrance to the kitchen, looking not at Arthur but at his own bare feet on the carpet.
"No, and no," Arthur said with some astonishment, pausing in his escape. "I don't-- I dislike being used."
Alfred looked up at that. "Hey, you're the one who -- and it's not like you didn't get anything. And you just said you liked me, Arthur. You sure acted like it."
Like, liked, like. "Only because you--" Arthur began, then cut himself off with a grunt, because he wasn't even sure which part of that he was replying to. The man wasn't even worth arguing with. Yes, he was, said another part of Arthur, one he ignored. "Yes, it was a lovely fuck. Thank you," Arthur said, heading for the door as quickly as he could.
"Great. Just great," Alfred was moaning as Arthur left.
Arthur sat in another taxicab after another tumultuous evening with Alfred Jones and crossed his arms and glared at the world passing by through the vehicle window. It was a world of stupid things that seemed wonderful but were just waiting to entrap one into misery.
It seemed his lust had gone on to infect other parts of him, such as his judgment. He'd given Alfred a second chance, not something he ever did, and there! It had only hurt him in the end.
A lot of things made sense in retrospect. Arthur hadn't forgiven Alfred; he'd just fallen in love with him. And Alfred was still in love with his wife.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 09:14 am (UTC)(link)You know, in virtually all USUKUS fics, there's a moment where I as a reader think: "They really shouldn't be together. They shouldn't be in the same room together." And then I wonder if I shouldn't just stop reading whatever-it-is because it becomes too painful to even contemplate.
Then, there is another moment where I, as a reader, am so annoyed at the both of them, I want someone to beat them both severely about the ears until they are too unconscious to continue being so frustratingly stupid.
I really love the character work you do here.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 01:02 pm (UTC)(link)a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 01:33 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 02:40 pm (UTC)(link)-
It seemed his lust had gone on to infect other parts of him, such as his judgment. He'd given Alfred a second chance, not something he ever did, and there! It had only hurt him in the end.
A lot of things made sense in retrospect. Arthur hadn't forgiven Alfred; he'd just fallen in love with him. And Alfred was still in love with his wife.
These parts are just - so rarely do you see characters actually stepping back and realizing that there's a point where you have to put yourself before the person you love, especially if the other person (apparently) doesn't like them back. Usually the person in love just keeps on trying until the other finally reciprocates, which doesn't seem too healthy to me to be honest.
Blah, probably not explaining myself well, but this was amazing and I can't wait for the rest! (Also, totally agree with above anon, this would be a great place to end this story if you hadn't already written it for a happy USUK ending.)
a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-07 12:31 pm (UTC)(link)I hope to just post the last of it all in one bunch, soon.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 03:24 am (UTC)(link)All Right, Tonight (Part 51/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)***
This time Arthur couldn't -- and thus didn't -- even pretend that everything was fine, just fine here, thanks. He moped.
He hurt Portia's feelings when she called Sunday to wax poetic about her Korean carpenter, with whom she'd finally gone on a date. He was totally cute, she said, and he was goofy and smart and had a liberal arts degree from Northwestern but he made better money at contracting and it was love at first sight for both of them and she was seeing him again and so on and so on and Arthur mumbled "yes, how nice for you" and Portia went silent and asked what was wrong. "Nothing, why would you ask that," Arthur said, and Portia gave up, apparently disgusted with the nastiness of his tone.
He arose late for work for several days in a row. He glowered and caused his office staff to avoid him, which suited him fine.
He put on false smiles for his clients and listened to their problems. He didn't want to be in love with Alfred Jones, though he could think of no other reason for the turmoil in his head and heart. He was hurt and angry, and at the same time he wished it were not so and that he could see Alfred again and listen to his silly chatter and kiss him silent and then ... He'd already been imagining himself in Alfred's life, for fuck's sake.
He didn't want to feel like a-- a thing. A thing that had experienced something wonderful and intimate and exceptionally arousing to remember, but still, a Thing.
The other Arthur in his brain reminded him that, well, he hadn't expressed any deeper feelings, either, at least not really. But surely his emotions had been plain? Of course they had. Everyone could read him.
Unless they were as clueless as Alfred was. You are emotionally distant, Mariel Jones had written to her husband. Well, Arthur had thought then, it took one to know one.
Alfred called once and Arthur's heart stopped as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and then thumped hard against his ribs when he saw who it was. He didn't answer. Alfred spoke to Arthur's voicemail. "Hey. I still wanted to try and talk, but if you're not going to answer ... It's hard to explain what's in my head, and I'm definitely not gonna do it over voicemail. Can we meet for drinks, or coffee, or something? Call me if you want to. Bye."
No, Arthur thought, ignoring the shiver the mere sound of Alfred's voice produced in his belly. He deleted the message. He needed to move on, to learn to be normal again. To not think about the taste of Alfred's sweat, or the way he gasped when Arthur touched his ridiculous nipple-ring. That way lay madness, obviously, or Bella and Monaca wouldn't duck and shuffle off every time they spotted him.
He holed himself in his office and worked harder. He asked his trainer for extra workouts, to occupy his mind and wear himself out.
Once he'd had a few days of moping, however, things only got worse. In addition to the pain of his unrequited love, a sense of guilt began to trickle into his already roiling mess of emotions. When he held the stage of their entire acquaintance in his mind's eye and replayed their scenes together in that way his brain liked to do, that guilt shone a spotlight on things Arthur had missed or ignored in his haze of lust and betrayal.
Expected betrayal, if he were honest -- he'd just been waiting for it, hadn't he? And ever since the beginning, Alfred had been trying to pretend, very badly, that he didn't care about his divorce. Being emotionally distant. Arthur's heart began to ache even more, not only for himself but for Alfred: his wife had left him for another man.
That last night, Alfred had been clearly upset. Yes, he'd said some rather rude things -- not like you didn't get anything -- but then, so had Arthur.
It was a lovely fuck, thank you, he'd said. Arthur cringed inwardly every time he remembered saying that, and the tone of voice he'd used. Once while driving he cringed outwardly, actually winced in traffic, causing him to swerve. A taxi screeched past him, the driver blaring the horn and waving his middle finger out the window. Arthur had been so distracted he hadn't even made a return rude gesture.
All Right, Tonight (Part 52/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)By Friday Portia had gotten tired of his radio silence and demanded to come over. She showed up directly after work, asked for tea instead of wine, and sat on his couch with crossed arms.
"I was going to drive up to Milwaukee tonight, but I decided to wait until tomorrow because I was worried about you," she accused in a voice that carried all the way into the kitchen, where Arthur was setting the electric kettle to boiling.
"Why ever would you worry?" Arthur called back, that time making sure his tone was as guileless as possible.
"Something's wrong with you. When I called to tell you about Yong, you didn't even tell me how love at first sight doesn't exist. You always tell me that."
"Should I have?" he said. He'd never used to believe in love at first sight. Well, he'd never believed in love. Had it been first sight for him? Yes, he decided, because he felt like he'd been foolish for ever.
"No, because you're always wrong when you say it. Still, it wasn't like you?"
"Oh." Perhaps he was transparent only to those who knew him best and longest? Or perhaps he'd made for himself a reputation for cynicism and it was expected of him? Perhaps ... he was being exceedingly self-centered, wasn't he? There was another point off his score, joining the points he'd already lost with the guilt and the cringing.
The kettle boiled. He poured the water into the teapot and put the teapot on the tea tray. He loaded the tray and carried it into the front room. "Thank you for worrying," he said. "Are those new boots?"
Portia stretched out one leg. "Oh my gosh, yes! Aren't they adorable?" Arthur would more have called them dangerous, to both the wearer and any unwary passersby, with those skyscraping, pointy heels and the silver spikes scattered about the cuffs. "I got them on sale at Nordstrom, and -- hey, you're distracting me, aren't you? Did you go to the cocktail party at Mister Glasses's place?"
Arthur set the tea tray on the table. "Yes."
"What happened?"
"Things," Arthur said, pouring a cup for Portia and then one for himself.
"Sexy things?"
Arthur sighed. "Yes."
Portia raised her eyebrows. "You don't seem very happy about it."
Arthur sighed again. "I'm not. We had ... a disagreement." He gave her a very edited version, which basically said that they'd had sex and Alfred had moped over his absent wife and thus Arthur had gotten mortified and left.
Portia blew on her tea and sipped it. "Well, he was right to be guilty about her, though he probably shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm indignant on your behalf, because he shouldn't have seduced you if all he wanted to do was try and forget his wife. Jerk."
Arthur had started to pour milk into his tea but paused. "Well, I wouldn't say it was he who'd started-- who was ... doing all the seducing."
Portia sighed and set her teacup in its saucer. "Oh, Arthur. So what's the real problem?"
"I feel stupid. I can't even say it aloud," Arthur said. And then thought about what he'd just said, and wondered if the same situation had applied to Alfred. He'd said he was trying to get better at stuff. When he'd said stuff, he'd meant communicting, hadn't he?
God, I am such an idiot, Arthur thought. Well, Alfred was an idiot, too, but Arthur was a bigger one. For getting involved in the first place, for falling in love with someone who (a) was a client or ex-client, (b) was married, and (c) couldn't express himself any better than Arthur could.
"That sounds terrible. It also sounds like something you should make yourself tell me, because it'll be good for you and I'll die of curiosity if you don't," Portia was saying.
No, I think you should tell me. Arthur felt his cheeks warm. He took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm in love with him. But he's in love with his wife, not me. That makes me sad and foolish and ... jealous."
"Oh, you can't help who you love," Portia moaned. She gave him a quick hug, making him nearly spill the milk, but he was glad for the sympathy. He poured a few drops of milk into his tea and stirred it to cover the tightness in his throat and, probably, his expression.
All Right, Tonight (Part 53/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:33 pm (UTC)(link)"Well, I sort of did. But of course there's tons more." Portia grinned. She told him how they talked every night, and how Yong had said he'd consider moving to Chicago, because he could find work anywhere he was happy. He loved sushi and traveling to Japan -- he had family there -- and he'd love to take Portia there for some sushi at the source. She looked joyful, moreso than Arthur had ever seen her when talking about a man, and Portia had talked about a lot of men.
"I want you to meet him," Portia added. "Can I bring him by next weekend? Saturday?"
"Yes, of course," Arthur said.
"But what will you do?" Portia asked. She finished the last of her tea and held her cup out for more. Arthur plucked off the cozy and poured.
"Probably nothing," he said, not even pretending to misunderstand her.
She raised an eyebrow at him and over-sugared her tea as usual. "Do you want to give it a chance? When things have had time to settle down? I mean, he's obviously interested, at least. Was the sex good?"
Arthur definitely blushed at that. "Yes. Very good. Very, very good."
"Gosh, you're red. So what's the problem?"
Arthur sighed. Yes, he had nosy friends, but damned if talking about it aloud didn't clear his head. "I don't wish to set myself up for more heartache, because I've discovered that when it's real, it's awful." He actually choked a little on the last.
Portia frowned in sympathy and patted his arm. She let him sip his tea before continuing in a gentle voice. "It might be worth the gamble. I've seen you in Las Vegas. You aren't a wussie, Arthur."
"No, but I'm not usually such a cock-up, either. I just don't know how to properly behave around the man." He sipped his tea. "Maybe. I'll see, when I'm ready."
"Just call him! You won't get anything or know anything just sitting around."
"I'll think about it."
"Nnnngh, Arthur, you are driving me nuts. Fine." She waved at him, signaling her surrender. "When you're ready."
Arthur nodded. He didn't hold high hopes for ever reaching that point, but one never knew.
***
Calling would have been the right thing to do. Alfred had made the gesture, and so it was up to Arthur, who was hardly blameless in the whole situation, to do the same in return.
But by Monday Arthur still hadn't called Alfred. At that point it had been an entire week; what would he say? "Er, sorry it took me so long. I've been too busy with ill-feeling and self-recrimination?"
The Portia in his head -- or the other Arthur, perhaps, since it was his voice -- told him to just do it. We could clear up this misunderstanding, or at least clear the air and get everything out, with one phone call, it said. Make the call!
Still, Arthur didn't do it. He did stop glaring around the office, and the staff began to cautiously creep back into his orbit.
By Tuesday the timing was no better. And Andersen had worse in store for him. He buzzed Arthur at nine fifty-five, just as Arthur was getting ready for his department review with Lili, and asked him to come to his office to talk.
Lars looked dreadful. His hair lay flat and lank upon his head, which it never did, and the skin around his eyes was pink and puffy.
"Did you just get in? Are you ill?" Arthur said, as soon as he saw him.
"Yes, and no. I have -- I have a family emergency and need to leave early today. I'll be out tomorrow, and probably Thursday as well."
Arthur sat and leaned forward. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"
Lars swiped a hand across his forehead. "Just keep things going. I've cleared my schedule, except for -- can you cover my hearing tomorrow? Jones? There won't be a problem with the court, any more than when we switched the first time. I can call and clear it with Al. Francis Bonnefoy will be there -- nice fellow -- but my appearance is not something I can trust to an associate, no matter how excellent."
All Right, Tonight (Part 54/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:34 pm (UTC)(link)Lars shook his head. "I agreed to the date and Ludwig finagled it with the court. I'm not sure how he managed to get such an early hearing date, but I don't want us to be at fault for messing with it. Plus we busted our asses getting everything ready and signed and agreed and notarized in time."
"Er," Arthur said again. "I would, except ..." He daren't continue.
Lars leaned forward and clasped his hands. Rather, he wrung them. "Can you please tell me, Arthur, why you dropped the case?
Arthur took a deep breath. "Lars, Alfred Jones and I had ... we had an attraction, and a disagreement over that, thus my transfer of representation to you. And since then we have had certain relations, which, while they do not continue, should preclude me ethically from working on his case." He winced inwardly, waiting for Lars to express shock and disappointment at the very idea of Arthur doing such a thing.
Astonishingly, Lars only shrugged. "Well, if it's not still going on, then there shouldn't be a problem. Unless you don't think the two of you can deal together for the length of time the hearing will take?"
Arthur's jaw did drop at that. "No, civility is not the issue, of course."
Lars leaned back in his chair and cupped his chin in his hand. "Then as long as Al is amenable, I'll notify the court." Arthur started to say something else, but then Lars's face crumpled like a piece of tissue in his fingers. "God, I think my marriage is failing. I think my wife wants to leave me. I need the time off to -- to see if we can't work things out--"
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that--" Arthur began.
Lars hiccupped and waved, asking for a moment to compose himself. He did, somewhat, and continued. "You know, we see it every day, but don't know how it feels until it happens. I'll never take a client's feelings lightly again. But I'm also going to do what I can to stop it. Amy agreed to go down to French Lick with me for a couple of days ..."
Arthur's chest tightened with emotion, for Lars, for himself, for Alfred. Selfishness and empathy went together quite easily, he was discovering.
"Of course I'll attend the hearing, if Alfred Jones does not disagree," Arthur said, though his stomach did a flip-flop at saying it.
"Thank you, thank you," Lars said. He gave a weak laugh. "You know, I can't say that romance has made you any fun. You've been a holy terror for weeks."
"What?" Arthur cried, and then he sighed, past embarrassment. "I have," he admitted. "Sorry about that."
"No problem. Some people, when they go, do it kicking and screaming. Love is like death in a lot of ways. But as long as you're okay." At Arthur's nod, he swung forward in his chair. "I'll have Veni get you the file."
Lars arranged it all, and then he was gone. Arthur resolved to not stress himself overly about the situation, and to not even look at the file until the following morning. Kicking and screaming, indeed. He had strange dreams that night.
Though he did sleep. The next day he was on time again. He did his other necessary work, and when he deemed it the necessary moment, he laid the file squarely on his desk and plucked it open with two fingers -- almost like Alfred had treated the dissolution pleading at lunch that day. They were more alike than Arthur had thought, weren't they? He ignored the now-familiar heartache and guilt that churned in his stomach and forced himself to read the file.
It was complete and ready to go: the terms he'd hashed out with Alfred and H.F. weeks ago had been accepted with only very minor edits. All that remained was to meet everyone at the courthouse at two in the afternoon.
All Right, Tonight (Part 55/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)Alfred was already there. Of course he was, because Arthur had been one-quarter hoping he would be and that they could talk, but three-quarters hoping he would arrive late and save Arthur the need to say ... whatever it was he needed to say.
Alfred looked tired, but no number of undereye circles could keep him from looking wonderful to Arthur's besotted eyes. When he spotted Arthur it seemed he smiled brilliantly, but by the time Arthur blinked the smile was gone as if it had never been there. A sober expression had taken its place.
"Well, here we are again," Alfred said. "Hello, Arthur."
"Hello, Mis-- Hello, Alfred," Arthur amended, knowing it was far to late to resume Mister Jonesing him. They shook hands, those warm, wonderful hands. "I hope you are well?"
"Not fantastic, but I'm present," Alfred said. He pushed his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Is Lars okay? He said he had a family emergency ..."
"I hope so. I haven't heard from him," Arthur admitted. He fiddled with the file to keep from staring at Alfred, from trying to read his every minute change in expression.
Alfred hmmed, as if clearing his throat. "You know, your partner's a nice guy, but I wish I'd kept you as my attorney all along." Arthur glanced up at that but Alfred was looking away, seeming to fidget some himself.
Arthur thus wasn't sure how to read that statement. Did he wish he'd never been so moronic as to fire Arthur, or that they'd never acted on their attraction in the first place? And there, once again Arthur had already managed to start second-guessing everything to do with the two of them.
He cleared his throat as Alfred had -- peas in a pod, they were. "Listen. I would like to say that I am--"
"Aaaaaah, Alfred. And Arthur! Together. All of us together again."
Of course that loud voice had come from Bonnefoy, who'd just stepped off the elevator. He was slicked back, shaven and professional for the occasion, and wearing a black suit like he was going to a funeral.
"Hi, Frannie," Alfred called.
Arthur glared at Bonnefoy out of habit, then swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Perhaps we can talk later?"
Alfred nodded. "Yeah, sure. That would be good."
Bonnefoy hugged Alfred and stuck out a hand at Arthur with a very white and very sly grin. "I hope I didn't interrupt you two?"
"By no means," Arthur said, shaking Bonnefoy's hand. He let the you ass hang there unsaid, but present in his tone.
They chatted generally and compared notes about the case for a minute or two. The elevator dinged again and disgorged more passengers.
Arthur stared: it was Ludwig Schmidt, another, shorter man he did not know, and an exceptionally stunning and noticeably pregnant woman. This, then, must be Mariel Jones. Arthur realized he'd never seen her photo, because he'd never looked for it. He didn't know what he'd expected -- he'd always imagined some vaguely blondish, faceless woman -- but she was neither of those things. She was tall and had glowing, medium-dark skin and a profusion of chestnut, corkscrew curls tumbling from a knot at the back of her head. Her brown suit was nearly the exact color of the one Arthur owned, but of course the color looked much better on her.
Alfred had gone stock-still. He stared at nothing, at a point just past the newcomers. His hand gripped the back of Arthur's sleeve and Arthur nearly jumped.
All Right, Tonight (Part 56/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:36 pm (UTC)(link)"Ah," Arthur said, and glanced back at the group. So the other man was Felix: unlike Mrs. Jones he was indeed vaguely blondish, with shoulder-length hair. He also looked vaguely surfer-ish. He was chewing bubble-gum. "The tall gentleman is Ludwig Schmidt."
"He looks like a bodybuilder," Alfred grated out. Still he held onto Arthur's sleeve, but his grip had relaxed somewhat. "So, Arthur. If I tried to kick someone's ass in the courtroom, do you think they'd arrest me?"
Alfred's tone had taken on a dreamy quality. Surely he wasn't thinking about taking on Sch-- oh, right. Well, best to nip that in the bud. "Much as I might wish to root you on, yes," Arthur said firmly. "For assault and battery. And most likely fine you for contempt."
"That's too bad," Alfred said. He breathed out long and slow, and released his grip on Arthur's clothing. "And thank you for saying that."
Bonnefoy had gone over to greet the newcomers. Of course: he and Mrs. Jones were acquainted. He hugged her and smiled at Schmidt's obvious frown, and the more Schmidt scowled, the more Bonnefoy fussed. "I'm sorry we have to see other again like this," he was saying.
"Me, too," Mrs. Jones said. She glanced past Bonnefoy towards where Alfred stood with Arthur. She bit her lip and waved at Alfred, mouthing hello. Her dark eyes were wide and sad-looking.
"Hi," Alfred said in a low voice. The scary smile was back.
The door to the courtroom opened. Several people exited, followed by the bailiff. "The state will hear Mariel Jones versus Alfred Jones," called the bailiff. "The Honorable Elizaveta Hardesty, presiding."
They filed into the courtroom. Arthur had worked with Judge Hardesty before. She was firm but fair, and though the description was perhaps cliched, you could say no better thing about a judge.
Everyone was entered into the record and settled, and the judge got straight to business. "I have a full docket today but I hear this one is supposed to be easy. Mr. Jones? Mrs. Jones?"
Alfred and Mrs. Jones both nodded and mumbled yes, your honor.
The judge put on reading glasses and looked at the files before her. "You two must really want to be divorced. It's exceptionally rare to see a dissolution with this much property go as quickly and smoothly as this."
Yes, your honor, their replies echoed.
"There is a pregnancy involved, your honor," Schmidt added.
"Yes, I see that. Here are the affidavits of paternity, and Mr. Jones's release of paternal rights. The marital agreement has been notarized and properly entered?"
"Yes, your honor," Arthur said. He felt a little pedantic. "I have a file-stamped copy if you need one."
The judge waved him off. "No thank you, Mr. Kirkland. The court keeps very good records."
She had very few questions overall; her full docket was obviously on her mind. Once or twice Arthur or Schmidt had to clarify a point of property, but otherwise the hearing proceeded more routinely than Arthur might ever have suspected when he'd initially taken the case. He glanced now and then at Alfred, to see how he was holding up. He appeared relaxed if attentive, and perhaps only Arthur noticed how white his knuckles were, and how he kept catching himself from biting off the end of the ballpoint pen he was rolling between his fingers.
Arthur also noticed how Mrs. Jones kept shifting in her seat. Such might have been attributable to gestational discomfort, but then she often glanced their way.
With a speed that might have been unanticipated in even a lesser case, the judge soon pronounced their dissolution equitable and complete. She signed the order and handed it to the bailiff. Everyone stood.
Everyone, that was, except for Alfred. Arthur tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and Alfred looked almost shocked to see everyone watching him. He scraped back his chair and jumped to his feet.
"Is this it?" he whispered to Arthur.
It was a question Arthur had heard from him before. His finger itched to caress Alfred's cheeks, to rub some color back into them. "This time, yes. As soon as the decree is entered, anyway."
All Right, Tonight (Part 57/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:37 pm (UTC)(link)"Why don't you go outside for a few minutes? Please? I don't care, just go," Mariel Jones was saying. She was talking to Felix, who did not look happy to be ordered away. Wearing a sulky expression, he joined Ludwig Schmidt in the elevator. When the elevator doors closed, Mariel Jones walked over to where Arthur stood with Alfred and Bonnefoy.
"Hey, Mare," Alfred said.
"Hi." She nodded at Arthur and Bonnefoy with a shy smile and then looked at Alfred. "Al? Will you please sit with me for a few minutes?" She nodded at some sofas in a small waiting area down the all.
"I guess. Sure," Alfred said with a suspicious-sounding sniff.
Mariel sagged visibly and took both his hands in hers. "Thank you, baby. God, I just want to say ... I don't even know what I want to say but I'll try."
"Me, too," Alfred said. They walked down the hall and sat, holding hands and leaning close, talking in low voices.
Bonnefoy tapped Arthur's shoulder and jerked his head in a "let's go" motion. Arthur nodded and followed him into the elevators. His stomach turned with queasiness, though he'd eaten nothing for lunch. He'd missed his chance. But then, Alfred absolutely needed to talk with his wife -- ex-wife, now -- more than he needed to listen to Arthur.
"Good luck, Arthur," Bonnefoy said as the elevator descended. Arthur prepared a glare but Bonnefoy wasn't even looking at him, was looking at himself and fussing with his hair in the mirrored elevator wall.
"With what do I need luck, H.F.?" Arthur said.
Bonnefoy shrugged. "Just politely wishing you luck. See you later. I'll call you when we're having a party, oui?"
He nipped out through the elevator doors as they opened. Arthur was left with only Bonnefoy's yellow ponytail and black-clad back to glare at as he sauntered out the courthouse turnstiles.
Arthur shook his head. He stood there in the lobby for a few moments, wondering what he should do. Should he wait? Should he --
No, to stand around waiting for Alfred to finish talking to the woman with whom he'd spent eight years would only look foolish and desperate. His original idea, to leave Alfred in peace to deal with his life as he needed and to deal with his own life in return, was still the best idea.
He left the courthouse. As he went down the steps he noticed that man, Felix, lighting up a cigarette directly under a "No Smoking Within Fifty Yards of the Entrance" sign. Arthur had always used to hate those signs with a bloody-minded passion.
Arthur kept walking. He did, however, tap a security guard on the shoulder and point Felix out to him as he passed.
***
Arthur went back to work. He managed to only wonder what and how Alfred was doing every half hour or so, which was an improvement over the previous week.
Lars came back at the end of the week. Things were better, he said. Not perfect, but better. They were taking life day by day. Moment by moment.
Christian, of all people, called and asked Arthur to go out on Friday. Arthur turned him down. He had a painful and bittersweet wank Friday night. Saturday he tidied and made scones for Portia's visit with her Yong. They arrived around two. It was always five o'clock somewhere so Arthur had made wine available, but they started with tea.
Yong was different from what Arthur had expected; he was polite but boisterous and friendly, and like Portia looked younger than his years. He wore his hair in a long ponytail and carried a smartphone with a bejeweled Hello Kitty cover on it. He protested to see Portia dip her scone -- so they'd turned out a little hard -- into her tea. He seemed a fitting counterpart for Portia, who had been known to overwhelm quieter men.
All Right, Tonight (Part 58/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:38 pm (UTC)(link)At three-thirty the door intercom buzzed. That happened so rarely Arthur was surprised into staring at the door with raised eyebrows until the intercom buzzed again. "Pardon me," he said, arising. "Strange; I'm not expecting anyone."
He said hello into the intercom and nearly jumped out of his socks when he heard Alfred's voice in reply.
"Hi, it's Al. Looks like you're home. Can I come up for a few minutes?"
"Uh," Arthur said in lame reply. He glanced back at Portia and Yong and they looked quickly at each other so as not to be caught staring. Portia began to whisper something, presumably explanation. Arthur pressed the reply button. "You didn't call--"
"Because I figured the only way to get you was to corner you in your den, ha ha."
Still Arthur stalled. He was in his socks, he had company, his heart was racing fit to make him faint and ... he had no idea what to do. "How did you find out where I live?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the intercom. "Old-fashioned sleuthing. You're in the phone book, Arthur. Listen, if you don't want to--"
Arthur shook his head to clear it. "No, no, of course. Come on up."
"Hoookay."
Arthur looked back at Portia and Yong, who were quite studiously not looking at him. "Ah, sorry, but this shouldn't be long--"
Portia blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. "Stoopid, this is your home. And you definitely need to talk to him."
"Should we leave?" Yong asked.
"No, I need reinforcements, haha," Arthur said. Moments later there was a knock at the door, and Arthur took a deep breath and opened it.
And Alfred was there, wearing jeans and a brown bomber-style ski jacket with a number fifty on the breast over a stars-and-stripes tee-shirt and under a hesitant smile and he looked -- wonderful. "Hi. Oh, God, you have company. No wonder you were -- want me to go away?"
At the sight of him, Arthur felt as if a switch had flipped on somewhere in his brain, lighting up his body, loosening his tied tongue and brain. "No, don't be foolish. I already said to come up, did I not? You've met Portia Galati, and this is Yong-Soo Choo, Portia's gentleman friend. This is Alfred Jones, a -- well, I confess I'm not sure how to describe you, Alfred."
"As long as it's nice. Hi again. Good to meet you." He came inside the door and waved at Arthur's company, then stood looking around for a moment. He spotted something on the wall to the left, Arthur's wall of knickknacks, and took a few quick steps for a closer look. "Ooh, are these your souvenirs, Arthur? What awesome stuff! Are these your clay lemurs from Madagascar that you were talking bout?"
Even Portia, who saw those weekly, wouldn't have remembered them. Arthur had mentioned them very briefly to Alfred that night at the bar. Arthur's knees almost gave out as he fell more irrevocably in love than ever.
"Yes. Yes, they are," Arthur said.
Something in his voice or demeanor spurred Portia to stand. She dragged Yong up with her.
"We are definitely leaving you two to be private," she said.
Arthur and Alfred both protested, but she held out her palm in a talk-to-the-hand gesture. "No. Come on, honey." As they passed on their way to the coat closet, Portia made kissy-face at Arthur and then looked at Alfred. "If you manage to hang around that long, maybe we can all do dinner. It'll have to be your restaurant, since we don't have reservations anywhere. Your treat?"
"Absolutely," Alfred said with a grin.
"Goodbye," Yong said after they'd grabbed their coats, and then they were gone.
"So," Alfred said. He had his hands in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, another of his teenagerish postures.
"So," Arthur echoed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred beat him to it.
"I tried to look for you after the hearing, but you were gone," he said.
All Right, Tonight (Part 59/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:39 pm (UTC)(link)Something had given it to Alfred as well. "Yeah? Me too," he said. "Because you never called. But I came over anyway, because I thought you were worth pursuing. You're kind of a jerk sometimes, though, Arthur."
Arthur was more warmed all over by that worth pursuing than he was offended by that jerk. "And you are a twit," he replied. "I was trying to give you space to deal with ... whatever feelings you had. I got the idea that my being around was not helping you emotionally. It certainly wasn't helping me."
Alfred sighed long and slow, visibly sagging with the release of air and whatever tension had been trapped in it. "You're right."
Arthur only looked at him: to verify that would be overkill, and he didn't want to speak and possibly jeopardize their truce in communication.
Alfred pulled off his coat and raised an eyebrow at the chair sitting in front of Arthur's Louis Quinze. Reminded of their second-to-last meeting, Arthur nodded. Alfred hung his coat over the chair. He plopped himself onto the sofa.
"Wine? Tea?" Arthur stirred himself to ask.
"Not right now, thanks." Alfred crossed his legs, showing socks to match his tee-shirt. "I've warned you that I'm not good at this. And it seems it's always a bad time to really talk for us, anyway. But I'm sorry about that night at the bar. I always had a thing for you, Arthur, though I was trying not to push it. But, well, when I learned I wasn't the father of Mariel's baby I just sorta ... went a little stupid."
But, but but. Arthur knew the feeling. He sat next to Alfred. "I appreciate you saying that."
"Oh. That's good. I'm glad." Alfred did not look at Arthur but watched his own fingers, twiddling in his lap.
Arthur continued. "I had a thing for you, too. And I should have kept a better distance, not only because of our legal relationship, but considering the loss of your marriage and ... everything else as well."
Alfred waved and sniffed. "Unfortunately, our marriage was over months ago. I mean, I worked days and she worked nights. We hardly saw each other, this past year. I guess I just didn't realize we were growing apart so much? Obviously, she found someone else. I thought they were just friends, and she thought I didn't care.
"But it was me, too. Like that night we got together. You and me. I was -- I was feeling guilty and stuff. Being with you and liking that, when, like, she wouldn't even talk to me and it was all my fault that I didn't -- I didn't love her enough to keep her happy."
"Oh, love," Arthur said at the catch in Alfred's voice. He pulled Alfred's head down to his shoulder and patted it. He'd was learning more about Alfred's marriage in these few minutes than he had the entire two months of their acquaintance. It was overwhelming and freeing at the same time. How had he ever thought Alfred full of TMI? And he himself thought his heart was on his sleeve, but he had probably been as transparent as a brick. "I was so jealous and put-upon, too. Pardon."
"Ooh, I like it when you talk to me like that, Arthur," Alfred said, and Arthur pinched his ear. "Ow. But seriously. We talked a lot on Wednesday. When she filed for divorce she wouldn't discuss it because she knew she was pregnant and totally panicked. She sort of knew it was Felix's all along but she couldn't prove it. Her lawyer didn't even know and she just let him call the shots. I'm still ticked about that. And I'm definitely pissed at Felix but I guess I have to move on."
"What else can you do?" Arthur soothed, rubbing the hair behind Alfred's ears. There had been nothing sinister in their divorce all along, only human emotions, human failings making them all behave foolishly.
Alfred twisted his head to look Arthur in the eye. "I'm kind of in love with you, Arthur. Can we try again, maybe? Now that we're on the same page, at least, even if it's not a clean one? I can't promise to talk about my emotions this well all the time, but can you be nicer to me, you think?"
All Right, Tonight (Part 60/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:40 pm (UTC)(link)"I hope that's a British 'mad'," Alfred said. He pulled out of Arthur's clasp and sat up. He leaned in close. "Can we try again, and do it with sex? You make me really hot."
Yes, yes, yes, Arthur thought again. "How about we take it a little more slowly," Arthur actually said. "You are much too used to getting what you want."
"Already you're not being nice to me," Alfred pouted. But he leaned in for a kiss, and Arthur indulged him in that. And again it was better than Arthur had imagined in the moments before it. There it was, that spark, this time with open, admitted feelings ignited behind it. Would there ever come a time when it wouldn't feel so to kiss Alfred? Arthur hoped not.
They adjusted themselves on the sofa so they could snog more comfortably. And Arthur told himself that simply making out was taking it slowly, no matter if his nether regions felt otherwise. Alfred's did as well, but both of them managed to ignore those facts in favor of snuggling close and saying meaningless things in soft voices.
"Did you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" Alfred did point out during a brief respite.
Arthur consulted his head-calendar. "So it is. But it's too early to wish you happy birthday, so I shan't."
"So mean!"
"So needy!" Maybe Arthur wasn't exactly being nice, but he wasn't being not-nice, either. He was being himself, and vowed that from this point on, any pages written in their relationship would contain nothing short of that. He owed it to both of them. He didn't want to have The Preciseness In Speech talk with himself.
Arthur's resolve to take things slowly, however, only lasted until about halfway through dinner: Alfred was just so ... attractive and charming, speaking Japanese with Yong and making Portia snort her wine by telling her how Arthur's scones were so hard he'd at first mistaken them for souvenir rocks from Antarctica or something.
Arthur managed to keep his hands off Alfred until they exited the restaurant, at least, where the doorman told them "PDA, boys," and their cabbie, an Asian woman of indeterminate age, simply shook her head at them in the rearview mirror. She didn't seem overly scandalized at their teenagerish behavior in the back of her taxi.
But Arthur was giddy, so happy he could have Alfred, guilt-free. His body wanted to throw a party. A sex party.
Back at his home Arthur did manage to make love to Alfred slowly, at first, anyway. Wrapped in his sheets, wrapped around each other so tightly Arthur could barely move, he barely moved, opening Alfred until he was convex, arched against Arthur's pillows. He looked well there.
"I do love you, even if you are very silly," Arthur whispered as he fucked him even sillier, and Alfred made wanton and reciprocal-sounding noises. And afterwards they skipped the cigarette and kept the afterglow confined to Arthur's bed.
At one point Alfred confessed, "If you hadn't let me in today, I was going to stand in front of your building holding a boom-box like John Cusack."
"I'd've never heard you," Arthur said, nuzzling Alfred's ear.
"I know. Good thing you let me come up."
"Hmm," Arthur said, drifting off. Just before sleep, he had a thought. "What song would you have played?"
"Probably Affair of the Heart."
Arthur considered that. "It would have been a good choice," he mumbled.
He didn't care what Lars said: he was having fun, and planned to do so for as long as he could.
***
All Right, Tonight (Part 61/62) (Epilogue)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)Arthur wondered how it was that, during their long winter, he'd ever wished for warmer weather. It was only the beginning of July and already they'd had weeks of oppressive heat, the days unrelentingly humid and in the nineties. That was much too close to boiling, Arthur's British-born brain kept trying to tell him.
He stood under the covered porch in H.F. Bonnefoy's backyard, sipped the last of a formerly icy margarita with a "Happy Fourth of July!" sign stuck in it, and tried not to sweat. He also tried to avoid staring too long at anyone in particular, because most of the party guests were naked.
It had been billed as a "clothing optional and discouraged" party. Being a party pooper from way back, however, Arthur was keeping his shorts firmly on.
Of course Alfred had gotten into the spirit. He was unclothed and chattering away at Bonnefoy's (also naked) wife, unselfconscious as the day he'd been born. Arthur kept a tight grip on Alfred's fingers at his side and tried to re-follow the conversation, which had lingered too long on the plight of the Chicago Cubs.
"Their farm system is deep. Give them a few years," Chelle Bonnefoy was saying in her French-African-Hawaiian-accented voice. Like her Gallic husband she gestured with sweeping movements as she spoke, sending her various body parts bouncing about. "To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
"How can anyone be patient when they keep trading their best players away?" Alfred protested.
Arthur was almost glad for the interruption when Bonnefoy (also naked) sauntered by, followed by a (naked) girl carrying a tray of drinks. Bonnefoy leered at them all, showing only a small frown at Arthur's shorts.
He gestured at the girl next to him. "Anyone need their refreshments refreshed? So warm today! The ice melts almost before it hits the bottom of the glass, yes? Oh, if you are afraid of a sunburn, Arthur, we have plenty of sunscreen."
"I am quite comfortable, thank you," Arthur told him. He did toss back the dregs of his margarita and traded the glass for a fuller, colder one. That one had a plastic Uncle Sam stuck into it.
"Ooh, can I have a sip?" Alfred asked.
"You may have one of your own, my dear," Bonnefoy told him with another leer. Arthur had to resist the urge to stand in front of Alfred.
"Not until after I have a swim. I'm a crappy swimmer when I'm drunk."
"You do many things very badly when you are drunk," Arthur pointed out, but he handed over his drink. He'd never used to like sharing beverages, but when you'd swapped as many body fluids as they had, it sort of ceased to be a problem.
He watched Alfred sample the margarita and make a face at the alcoholic kick. It wasn't a bad face -- it was very cute, in fact -- and when he returned Arthur's drink he had salt stuck to the corner of his lip. Arthur wanted to lean forward and lick it off, but not being the exhibitionist everyone else clearly was, contented himself with brushing it away with his thumb. Alfred grinned at him and squeezed his fingers.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat; still he was unused to the idea of being so comfortable with someone he desperately cared for, someone who wanted to be with him in return. It was rather breathtaking.
Alfred was far from perfect, but then so was he. And he'd discovered that even after only a few months, intimate relationships of the sort they were conducting came with their own, unexpected issues: annoyances and changed expectations, things that required discussion or at least honesty, things that were still not easy for either of them.
And little things. Like, Alfred hated his alarm clock. Once he'd sneak-reprogrammed it to wake Arthur with dialogue from Star Wars. Arthur had given him the Controlling Your Impulses With Other People's Things Talk, and Alfred had countered with a You Blow Things Out Of Proportion lecture. Arthur had spent an hour sulking and trying to re-record his voice exactly as he'd had it. Perhaps he had blown it out of proportion, but still. And there was worse to come: horror of horrors, Alfred did not care for Indian food.
All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:42 pm (UTC)(link)Portia was learning these things as well. She'd managed to stay the course with Yong, for nearly as long as Arthur had known her to keep any man.
She was supposed to be coming to the party, in fact, though he could not see that she'd arrived. As if on cue his phone buzzed and Arthur pulled it from his pocket. That was a benefit to wearing clothing among the naked: he had somewhere to put his things.
It was a text from Portia. can you tell htem we're running late sorry? And are you wearing clothes?
Yes and YES, Arthur texted back.
"There's one good thing about being naked-- you can enjoy a party without being a slave to technology," Alfred teased.
"It was Portia. They're running late. And you're just jealous because you wish you had somewhere to keep your own phone, addict," Arthur told him.
"Never fear, Alfred; I could help you stow your phone if you really wished," Bonnefoy said, to an accompanying salacious giggle from Chelle.
Arthur narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a fierce glare. "You're just begging for a furtive shove into the pool when you least expect it, Bonnefoy," he said.
"Your empty threats don't frighten me, Englishman," Bonnefoy told him with a raised eyebrow.
"You guys are too cute," Alfred said. "Like lawyers in love. I just know if it wasn't for Chelle, I'd be out a boyfriend right now 'cause you'd have, like, run off together long ago."
"Then I am doubly glad I have her," Bonnefoy said, raising his glass in a salute. "To love!"
"Cheers," Arthur said, as everyone said it. He drank, and held his glass for Alfred to take a sip, and then he did kiss him, quickly, unable to resist lime and salt and Alfred.
To love, to affairs of the heart: he'd never given second chances, but he'd given Alfred second and third and been given them in return, and most of the moments so far had been worth it.
END
Thank you for reading!
________________________________________
Shortish Author’s Notes!
And thus, like a romance novel, it ends when the characters get together (plus a bonus dorky epilogue). Thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting!
I know it’s not perfect but hey, it was my first try at writing a “UKUS romance novel.” If there are any plot points I didn’t tie up but were important enough that I should have, please feel free to tell me! If there are any gaping plot holes, please feel free to note those also. There’s a lot I couldn’t cover because of my decision to write the whole thing in Arthur’s POV, and I tried to get Alfred’s personality across but I might have totally failed.
As for the name changes in these last chapters, let me plead that these are original characters who are Americans of international descent, not the nations, so I ask that you pardon me this. I used “Yong-Soo Choo” because Shin-Soo Choo is my favorite Korean baseball player and he rocks, so I used that name. And I have worked with a Judge Hardesty who was awesomesauce, thus using that last name for Elizaveta.
I might deanon this at some point, if it isn’t already obvious who wrote it. It is mostly unbeta-read, and so it needs a good, hard edit (unf) before I do anything of the sort.
Thank you again!!
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)Mariel was Philippines, wasn't she? You added an 'L' to her usual human name. This the second epic fic that has them as an off-screen pre-fic ship that fails. I'd suspect you of being the author of the other one, but you already said you don't do long fics often.
It's odd, Poland seems more manly, but still a himbo. His mental image feels like Kato Kaelin.
"To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
*cough*
*cough*
Pretty sure there are nudists who would wear no clothes BUT HAVE ARMSTRAPS for their phones.
'Lawyers in Love' is a song! (How hard did you have to resist making Alfred a lawyer too, so you could name this fic after that song?)
Thank you so much for writing! The only critique I can think of is that you do mental angst extremely well, but seem to let up on the pressure and start to drift when things are happy.
a!a
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