Chapter Text
At the fractious insistence of the blaring alarm, green eyes slowly blinked open to regard the black screen of the TV. The haze of sleep weighed Arthur down, limbs crushed into the couch cushions with a bone-deep exhaustion.
This Christmas had been brutal. Frankly, Arthur considered himself lucky to have found a place to stay before the 25th, and on such short notice, too. He'd known he wouldn't be turned down by his best friend, but still, living with two Alphas in one home was often cause for contention. (He was constantly reminded of the albino, constantly, and the sharp pain he'd feel in his chest and in his gently pulsing mark was a dutifully recurring mnemonic.) The air in the apartment was heavy with a sort of inescapable aggression and tension that nobody spoke of. It certainly wasn't purposeful; it was all in the hind-brain, that most primal part where territorial instincts were given a free reign. Arthur was encroaching upon another Alpha's territory, and Cristiano was subtly making this fact known with his scent marking and subconscious posturing.
Not that he didn't appreciate the Latino allowing himself and Alfred into his home. He did. And both had already talked about it; Arthur knew the territorial act wasn't purposeful. But...
Well.
This was simply a difficult, and of course, less than desirable situation. That was really all there was to it.
Resisting the urge to slam his still-ringing phone against the nearest surface, the feline dragged himself upright before reluctantly setting his feet onto the cold wood floor. Boxes and wrapping paper were still scattered all around the family room, even though Christmas Day was now two days gone. To be fair, though, half of the boxes were Arthur's, stuffed full with his and Alfred's possessions. The only boxes open were those which contained clothes and Arthur's materials for his pagan practices.
Sighing at the thought of his son, he leaned back, fisting his hands to better scrub at his tired eyes. It seemed like good things, these days, were few and far between. Not even Alfred's joyous smile on Christmas morning had lifted Arthur's spirits. He was being self-centered; he knew it but was that really any different from the norm? If so, that would be news to him.
"Come on, mano[1]." Cristiano ruffled the Brit's already sleep-mussed hair, attempting to coax him off of the couch. "You got a gig tonight, sim[2]?"
Arthur damn near groaned, wanting nothing more than to sink back into his bed -- his bed, not a fucking couch - but instead, he bit his lip, hoisting himself off of the couch with more effort than it should have taken.
"Where's Alfred?" The first words out of his mouth that day.
Cristiano tilted his head and hummed. Reching back thick, sun-bronzed arms to wrestle his wild mane of chestnut hair back into a haphazard bun, he replied, "The last time I saw him... he was playing with Bono in the yard."
And so that was where Arthur found the boy. He'd grabbed a cigarette and a lighter on his way out, and he stood just outside the door, smoking in nothing but red boxer briefs and ratty slippers. Alfred was wrestling with Cristiano's big mutt, laughing and screaming and generally making a wild racket as children do. His small hands scooped up a big handful of snow and he threw it at Bono. The dog yipped joyfully, biting at the fluries that exploded around him before bounding up and nearly bowling the boy over.
A soft wind fluttered across the yard like the gentle beat of a bird's wing, sending a violent chill up Arthur's spine. He sighed.
"Alfred, come back here and put a scarf on."
The boy turned to look at the Brit, most likely only noticing him for the first time. He scrunched his nose up as he took in Arthur's appearance. "No!" He shouted back. "You're out here half naked so I don't wanna hear it!"
The kid had a point, and Arthur was still too groggy to deal with a disobedient child... so he stubbed his cigarette out against the door frame, turned around and went inside.
The kitchen was warm -- he was only now realizing how cold he really was. Shivering and wrapping his arms around himself, he immediately stepped out of the kitchen to procure the throw from the couch. Feeling better about his next endeavor with soft warmth all about him, he entered the kitchen again and set about putting the kettle on. While the water warmed, Arthur took down a bowl and scraped a can of cat food into it.
The dining room was just outside the kitchen, a mere table and a few chairs placed by the door and not separated at all from the living room. But there, in the shadowed corner behind the table, was a small stool. And under the stool was Arthur's cat, Nyxie. Speaking softly, he knelt down and set the food in front of her nose. She looked up at him with big, wide eyes that seemed to be searching for reassurance, and he had tried his best to give it to her. The move had been hard on her, and she hadn't left this corner even to go outside. She was barely eating and not using her litter box, and truth be told Arthur might be a bit more worried if he wasn't positive this was normal. He was doing his best with her, and had contacted his vet to talk about the cat. Arthur was working hard to keep her healthy, and until Nyxie adjusted that was all he could do.
He heard the kettle whistling from the kitchen, so he left the bowl with Nyxie and began carefully brewing his morning tea. Actually, it could hardly be called morning tea when it was already mid-afternoon, but it didn't matter to Arthur. While that steeped, he went scrounging around in one of his many boxes, struggling to find the few with clothing in them. Still in a sort of exhausted stupor, he blindly pulled out a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt, tossing the shirt to the side to focus on the jeans. He went into Cristiano's room and stepped into the jeans, but laid out on the bed in order to hike them up and zip them. They looked (and felt) like they'd been painted on. It was always a struggle to pack his cock into these pants and he suddenly regretted not paying more attention to his choice of attire for the evening. Thankfully, the t-shirt was easier. It was a white Black Flag shirt that was just a bit baggier than what he might usually wear.
Well, that had been simple enough. Arthur donned a few accessories -- the usual -- studded bracelets, a spiked belt, another belt with dangling o-rings, and the odd safety pin here and there to hold together some of the larger tears in his old shirt. Sufficiently dressed, he went back into the kitchen to check on his tea. Seeing that it was ready, he continued his routine, entering the apartment's only bathroom to darken his eyes with smudgy eyeliner. It wasn't a lot, truly, and he didn't always do this. But looking at himself in the mirror, he still felt somewhat naked, despite his freshly finished eyes and the piercings on his face. So he drew two nose stripes[3] with the eyeliner and applied a thick stripe down his chin and onto his throat. He nodded to himself once and, satisfied, and took a long sip of tea.
After another smoke break, Arthur took out his guitar.
He had three hours yet until he had to be at the venue. That was plenty of time for him to relax and get into a nice rhythm. With the flick of a finger, the guitar case was open, click click. Ever so gently, calloused fingers ran down the length of the strings, before lifting the instrument out. The Brit lovingly cradled it to his chest, plucking at the strings carefully and thoughtfully, not listening but feeling the notes, twang twang twang, so softly finding that perfect pitch in each individual string. Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. This. This was peace. He reached out to his tea and took a sip. It was still warm, and he smiled softly to himself. Perhaps this day wouldn't be quite so bad after all. Not every day would be perfect, but certainly, he thought, certainly not every day had to be terrible.
Alfred came bounding in perhaps ten minutes after Arthur had started to tune his guitar. He'd shed his coat, but his cheeks and nose were rosy from cold, and his eyes were alight with laughter and joy. He pulled up short, taking in Arthur's appearance, before asking,
"Do you have a concert tonight?"
Arthur gave a short bark of laughter. "I'd hardly call it a concert. It's a gig, Alfred."
"Same thing."
Sighing with exasperated fondness, he couldn't help but smile. "It's really not. I'll just go up there, play a few songs, and be done with it. I don't have a band, Alfred, and people aren't coming specifically to see me." Well, not that he was aware of.
Alfred frowned, almost scowling, his cheeks puffing out with the lower lip jutted in displeasure, ears flattening horizontally and tail twitching in irritation. Arthur had to hold back laughter. His boy was just so horribly expressive, it was endearing.
"What is it?" He cajoled.
"You should have a concert. You should have a band. But..." Alfred huffed and looked away. "People should come to see you now anyway! You're so awesome!"
Arthur spluttered through a thank you. He knew his son (this one at least) idolized him -- perhaps a bit too much. He saw Alfred the other day with a friend, pretending that he was smoking and trying to strike a cool pose.
He could admit to himself that he wasn't the best influence.
Be that as it may, even after seven years of this little boy looking up to him as though he were the end-all-be-all, the Brit still had a lot of trouble accepting a compliment.
"Alfred," he attempted to compose himself. "I only do this as a hobby, and to earn some money on the side. What I really want is to be a writer."
Alfred huffed again, lashing his tail. "Whatever. Hey. Are you gonna play for me before you go?"
Arthur rolled his eyes, but the action was not without some amusement. He was going to practice anyway, but Alfred liked it better when the Brit acted as though he were playing a concert especially for the boy.
"Tonight's lineup is..."
Relaxed bar by day, night club by night. Or, that's the impression that Arthur received. It was just past six, so Fox and Devil was only just beginning to fill up for the night. Arthur shouldered his way through to the back of the establishment, music and conversation and the clinking of glasses wafting through the air around him in gentle dissonance. Altogether this was not an unpleasant atmosphere, and quite agreeable with Arthur's personal taste. But tonight it would be crowded and loud, packed with damp bodies through which a pounding beat would move like a hot, living thing. This, too, was quite agreeable with Arthur's personal taste.
The door to the office was closed, so he knocked, patiently shouldering his guitar into a more comfortable position. He waited almost a full minute before knocking again. But the door did not open, and Arthur turned away with a scowl. There was a bare ten minutes before the exact time Arthur had been told to arrive, and so the Alpha could not possibly imagine what was keeping the manager from receiving him. Again readjusting his guitar over his shoulder, the feline turned and pressed back into the loose conglomeration of bodies, jostling his way up to the counter.
"Excuse me!" He called, and his pheromones were demanding of attention. "Excuse me! Is the manager on the premises?"
And who to his utter shock would march through the double doors (presumably leading to the kitchen), briskly wiping his hands on the towel hanging from his apron, than Antonio. The Spaniard was apparently surprised as well, stopping up short and deep green eyes widening a fraction. But, to his credit, he gracefully resumed his approach and smiled, wide and welcoming. It was almost genuine.
"Arthur! Arthur Kirkland! I had no idea it would be you performing for us tonight." He was warm and friendly, but for whatever reason, the blond felt an accusation in his words.
Arthur offered a stiff smile of his own. "Antonio, correct?" Wait, I thought he was unemployed --
"You have a good memory." Antonio had begun drying off steins and other various glasses, setting them aside where another person put them away. "So I'm curious. Did you find somewhere to stay after being evicted?"
Arthur couldn't tell whether he was genuinely curious, or was being facetious. The first impression that he'd gotten of the Spaniard, however, told him he wasn't intelligent enough to try passive-aggression. And so it was based on this that Arthur responded. "I did, thank you. I am temporarily staying with a close friend of mine." Who incidentally looks almost exactly like you, come to think of it. "I guess -- Gilbert told you?" There was just the barest hesitation when he said the albino's name. He hoped Antonio hadn't picked it up.
"He's told me a lot of things." And that's when Arthur decided that the man's cheer was false, that everything he said was meant to be a barb. "I plan not to get involved in his affairs, though. He can fight his own battles."
How unexpected... Arthur remarked as much. "You're being unexpectedly frank."
Antonio shrugged. "With Chiara being pregnant, I don't have the energy to keep up appearances. But I also won't mix my personal life and my work life." Antonio gave another shrug, this one just the barest rise and fall of a single shoulder. "And anyway, Gilbert would fucking kill me if he heard I tried to castrate you. Like I said, he'll fight his own battles. He's good at picking the right ones to fight." At this, he stepped away from the bar, wiping his hands off again, and walked briskly around to the customers' side. "Would you look at that --" He exclaimed, looking at his wrist -- it was adorned in a small number of bracelets, most of which Arthur was sure were handmade... but nothing else. "It's exactly seven o'clock." He turned, before throwing a cheeky look to the Brit over his shoulder. "Won't you step into my office?"
And if that didn't just make Arthur's blood boil, he didn't know what would.
When the brunette closed the door, Arthur would have immediately felt threatened, but for the fact that Antonio was making an obvious effort to repress any pheromones. Out of courtesy, Arthur did the same. "So. I believe you were already briefed on how things work, here." Antonio began, typing up something on an ancient looking cubicle computer. "You'll be here until eleven. You'll play for the first hour, so assuming we get you all set up and ready to go by seven thirty, you'll play until eight thirty. Then a half hour break for you, and you play again from nine to ten. Then you'll take one more break and play for the last half hour."
Arthur nodded. "That's what I was told." A question was trying its damnest to claw its way up his throat, but they needed to take care of the business end of things, first.
"Okay..." Antonio typed some more things into the computer before looking back up at Arthur. "In the first hour, no songs that are too inappropriate. After that, though, it's up to you."
Screwing up his face in a somehow disdainful sort of confusion, the Brit couldn't help but ask why.
"After nine, we ID and don't allow anyone under eighteen in. During the day, this is a very relaxed place and families seem to like to come here for some reason. Most of them are gone by eight, but we like to be sure."
Arthur had been under the impression that in the evenings, it was twenty-one and over (which still struck him as hilarious that the drinking age was so high).
When Antonio stood, Arthur did the same. "Come out with me and I'll help you get the stage set up."
"Wait."
The brunet stopped and cocked his head in confusion. "Hm?"
"I thoght -- Gilbert told me that you don't work."
Antonio nodded, a tiny smile creeping onto his lips. "I do work less than full time, now... I'm slowly transitioning my position to another person, so that they might be promoted and take over. By the time our litter is born, I won't have a job. I'll be able to stay home and take care of the kids and Chiara will be able to follow her passions and her inspiration and muse and whatever it is that artists do. She can do it all without having to worry about anything.
Arthur nodded, and they both moved to leave the office. He had to privately wonder if that was one of the reasons Francine couldn't see eye to eye -- he didn't want to drop everything and have his life amount to being a support for Francine and being a father. He'd wanted to be those things of course, but... he also wanted to be himself, with his own dreams and hobbies and quirks and a lot changed when someone had a kid, but was it so much to ask --
He was thinking himself into an anxious knot. He blinked quickly, trying to refocus himself onto the task before him.
Setting up wasn't exactly backbreaking work, but it was strenuous, both physically and mentally. Each calculation was exacting, and the placement of the equipment, crucial. After about twenty minutes, everything was ready, and Arthur sat on the stool that stood off the side on the stage -- he wouldn't be using it during his performance; at least he couldn't forsee it, though he might be asked to play a ballad. Those were always better performed whilst seated. He quickly calculated the amount of time he'd need to switch over to an acoustic performance.
Arthur strummed a few notes, and was glad for having tuned it and warmed up earlier. It was always good to check, though, especially after exposing the instrument to inclement temperatures. When he was ready, he entered center stage and turned on the microphone.
"Good evening, m'fine people." Arthur greeted the room with a toothy grin. It wasn't full up by any means, but the night was still young. He knew more people would arrive later on. "I'll play a couple numbers t'start, 'n then for a short bit here I'll be taking requests." He could do that only with this small number of people. A few hands came together in a weak applause, and Arthur began, vigorously strumming his guitar. "We'll start with something upbeat. You all should know this one. Holiday, by Green Day."
It was catchy and well-known, enough to be a great opener to catch people's attention. He didn't have any accompanying instruments, no one on back-up vocals, just himself, and it was exhilarating. Even alone, he was loud and vibrant and filled every nook and cranny of the establishment with passionate sound.
After Holiday, he played a couple more well-known songs -- Just Another Brick In The Wall Parts 2 and 3 by Pink Floyd, Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones, and London Calling by The Clash.
"Alright, any requests? It can be anything, so long as it's not terribly inappropriate." He stressed this, internally praying for a song he could actually stand.
There were only a few people close to the stage, really paying attention. They sort of just looked at each other, the silence stretching into the realm of discomfort and awkwardness much more quickly than Arthur would have liked. The feline sighed, his ears twitching irritably.
"It can be anything." He pressed once more. "Green Day, Fall Out Boy, The Cure, The Clash, Queen... Anything. Even Mumford and Sons or... I don't know." He shrugged. "More obscure groups. Different genres. Placebo, Bella Morte, Seether, Imagine Dragons..." Another shrug. "Stabilo?"
The group remained quiet for a while longer, looking to each other almost helplessly. Finally, someone tentatively spoke up. "Umm... Can we have something by Mumford and Sons?"
Grinning and giving a sharp nod, because fucking finally; Arthur readjusted his guitar. "Any of their songs you'd prefer?" The man shook his head almost tentatively. Of course he didn't have a particular one. "Alright. Hopeless Wanderer, by Mumford and Sons."
It was probably one of the less mature-themed songs that he really enjoyed by them. The riff wasn't too difficult and he got into the rhythm after a bare few seconds.
After that, people were a bit more comfortable requesting songs. The first request was always the most painful, in Arthur's experience. The requests were flowing freely enough for the feline to keep his mind off of the albino, and he found a comfortable sort of rhythm with this crowd. Slowly, more and more people were pouring into the building, and more and more people were crowding around the stage to watch him. It was gratifying... until Antonio caught his eye and tapped on his wrist, indicating Arthur's break.
"Alright, alright," He raised his hands, attempting to placate the crowd. "I'm gonna go grab a drink meself, now!" At the sound of disappointed groans, Arthur grinned -- he couldn't help himself. "I'll be back on at nine, don't fret. But no more requests. Sorry, loves!"
He sauntered down off of the little stage -- less a stage and more of a slightly raised platform -- to the catcalls and hoots of the audience; they quieted soon enough as they went about their business: drinking, eating, talking, laughing, dancing. The sounds pressed up against Arthur, squeezing him to the bar and he realized then that he had a splitting headache and the incessant crowd clamor was only making it worse. He'd had headaches nearly every day since meeting Gilbert, though he'd hoped he might go without, today. It seemed he was out of luck on that count.
He drank a good amount of water, not willing to risk a drunken stage performance. The audience might get a bit more than they were bargaining for -- whether in the form of a strip tease, or a bar fight, Arthur could never say. The bartender didn't bother to chat with him, and despite the eager applause and screams he'd gotten on stage, no one else seemed to want to converse either. This was fine with Arthur -- he rarely wanted to bother with small talk.
One more large glass of water and a bag of crisps later, it was time for him to get back on stage. Antonio sidled up to him through the crowd and gave him a nudge with a shoulder, his hands fully occupied in balancing serving trays. Arthur nodded to the Spaniard and then the bartender, making sure to leave his tab open before stepping away from the bar. It was nine o'clock. But something niggled at the back of his mind -- first a twinge, then a more insistent and solid thought.
Gilbert.
Somehow the blond was certain that he was here.
Regardless, he made his way up to the stage, picking up his guitar and strumming, checking to see that all was still in tune. It was of course, but one couldn't be too careful. He stepped out, lifting his eyes to his audience and preparing to somehow get their attention, when he saw them. Red, red eyes, blazing like fire, like blood, under those pale, snowy lashes. And he knew. He didn't have to look at the ghost-like pallor of his skin, those thick yet gossamer brows, the strong narrow nose, the pale lips with the broad cupid's bow that looked so soft but were rough and chapped like Arthur's own, that sharp jawline and those high cheekbones and the wild tuft of snowy hair on his head. He didn't need to see any of that. He knew. He watched emotions play out on Gilbert's face -- shock, longing, despair, shame, disgust, anger... hatred. Gilbert only looked at him for a moment, as though drawn by the same force compelling Arthur, before turning sharply away and making his way stiffly to the office.
Arthur had been staring a good few seconds, he realized belatedly. Inwardly giving himself a small shake, he stepped forward and put his lips to the microphone. Emerald eyes glinting in the stage lights, he gave a grin that could cut through steel.
"Ladies, gentlemen, enby Homo sapiens. I have returned."
It was eleven before he knew it. His back was throbbing dully, and even though the pain was centered right on top of his incandescent mark, Arthur willfully chalked it up to muscle strain. With his guitar placed ever so gently into its case, as a babe into a crib, Arthur stepped down off of the little stage, leaving the tear-down to the crew. It took an amazing sort of single-mindedness to place one foot in front of the other at that point. He was ready to crawl out of his own skin, feeling those blood red eyes searing a brand into his pale flesh. That feeling followed him all the way out the door, and he realized as he tripped over his own feet he'd nearly broken into a run. He shakily pulled a carton of cigarettes out, nearly dropping one thrice before clamping it tightly between his lips. The lighter was more stubborn it seemed, and it took a full minute of increasingly agitated attempts to light his cig.
Finally, finally, he took a deep, soul churning drag of nicotine and leaned his head against the cool brick of the building, eyes falling shut. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. He grew relaxed, and ever so slowly the feeling of those nearly bestial eyes on him became a memory.
A dull thud hit the bricks next to his head and green eyes shot open to meet red, cigarette falling out of his mouth in his shock. Arthur was pinned by the albino's arms, and judging from the absolutely livid expression Gilbert wore, he was unlikely to be released soon.
Arthur's lips parted, and he inhaled as though to speak... but his mind was utterly blank. He couldn't even think to bring forth something as basic as a greeting. Pheromones were pouring from Gilbert's body: murderous aggression and arousal. Underneath those baser emotions was a soul rendering despair, but the second Arthur was able to lock onto this, the other Alpha's lips smashed into his own with bruising force, teeth clacking against teeth. A snarl ripped from Arthur's throat before he could even register anything but completion. Fangs tugged at his lower lip, drawing blood, before moving down to snap threateningly at his throat. Nails - no, claws - dug into Arthur's shoulders, Gilbert's lean body pressing into his own to prevent movement.
There was no panic, no doubt or worry, strangely enough. This was right in a way that Arthur could not articulate, but it was wrong and his mate needed to be forced into submission.
Mate?
The thought flew out of his mind as immediately as it had come. His ears flattened against his head and he snarled again, almost yowling in rage and throwing all his weight behind him to push himself off of the side of the building. He leaped away from Gilbert, almost skidding on the asphalt before coming to a pseudo-crouch a few feet away. Gilbert stared at him for a moment, his expression a mask of shock and savage anger. Then it changed as he processed that he had lost his prey, and his mouth was a fanged, snarling gash when he dove at Arthur.
And there was the fear. Arthur scrambled to escape those claws, but to no avail. It was as though anger had consumed Gilbert completely - Arthur could see no trace of humanity in the man's eyes.
But he did not move. Those eyes bore into him like molten jewels, and bellicosity exuded from him - every puff of breath was like a punch to Arthur's jaw - as though he breathed pure fury.
But he did not move.
Gilbert crouched above Arthur, strong arms trembling with the weight of some invisible struggle, and he took a deep, shuddering inhale.
"I owe you a favor." The albino's voice was dark and rough like sandpaper, and Arthur shivered, suddenly overwhelmingly aroused. He dare not move yet, however. The thought that something could seriously be wrong lingered, dampening any other primal feelings.
"What do you mean?" Arthur forced himself to keep his voice level. It was enough that he was fighting the other Alpha's crushing demand for submission, blow for blow in a battle of pheromones. He didn't need to upset the situation any more.
Gilbert's lips curled into a dangerous grin. "Come with me."
Arthur had hardly gotten to his feet when he was being dragged along into the alley between the bar and another building. He went along willingly, if only to see where all of this was leading.
When he was slammed against a building for the second time that night, the blond began quickly losing the little patience he possessed. His neck was immediately attacked, teeth and tongue scorching his skin like bursts of flame. For a single moment, he considered closing his eyes and giving in to the overall not unpleasant sensations...
And then his fist slammed into the albino's jaw.
After a moment or two, Gilbert's head snapped around, wild and murderous eyes meeting the burning emerald of Arthur's.
"Have you no self-control, man?" Arthur kept his voice and pheromones level, the continuous push of male and Alpha and dominance a steady stream, neither weakening nor strengthening, crashing into Gilbert's own more feral scent. While he ultimately wanted to de-escalate the situation, under no circumstances did he wish to appear weak. "If you need to say something, say it. Don't do something you would regret."
There was a stutter in Gilbert's pheremones, and his shoulders stooped a bit. The anger was... still present, but mostly gone in his scent. What Arthur got now instead was wave after wave of lust and arousal. He took a quick step back. This was getting very strange indeed, and Gilbert wasn't communicating with him at all. He understood the man was probably angry with him. But...
"What is going on?" Arthur murmured. "Are you in rut?"
Gilbert's eyes widened subtly, and he opened his mouth, pressed his lips together and then inhaled. "No." The reply was short, but it was said with an air of calm finality. "I... I don't know what came over me. Is still happening to me." His accent was thick and words heavy and leaden. "I just... I nearly went crazy when I saw you on stage." His eyes burned a slow trail down Arthur's body. "I couldn't stand that other people were looking at you, lusting after you -- that you were clouding the room with your own pheromones and --" He shook his head in what was probably frustration.
Jealousy? "Are you -- were you jealous?" Arthur gaped at the other Alpha with incredulity.
"I don't know!" He growled in frustration. Gilbert's ears, pressed back against his head, twitched. One of them came flicking up, twitching forward in Arthur's direction before coming back down. Groaning quietly, he tugged his hands through his hair and looked away for the first time since the confrontation began. He even turned, stalking away a few steps, then coming back around. Arthur eased his aggressive posture every so slightly. "I don't understand why I feel this way. I don't think I have any real emotional attachment to you? So I just - I don't understand."
"I don't, either." Arthur was honestly at a loss. This confrontation had brought too many questions to the forefront, most of them very uncomfortable things to consider.
"Arthur." Gilbert was staring at him again, this time less threatening and more imploring. "I don't know if it will help, but..." He approached, and Arthur took a step back, hitting the wall. "I need this. Let me at least have this."
The Englishman had no idea what this was until Gilbert dropped gracelessly to his knees in front of him. Startled as he was, his muddled mind couldn't form words until his jeans were yanked down around his hips, and his half-hard cock (to Arthur's unending surprise) was revealed. Without any reticence, Gilbert wrapped his lips around it, the member sliding quickly down his throat and blanking the feline's mind with warm, wet heat. He could feel his cock filling out further, pressing against the roof of the canine's mouth and teeth; he winced as Gilbert drew back. The albino was unable to take the entire length in his mouth, but the pleasure was dizzying all the same. It was mesmerizing, how the white head bobbed up and down, blood red eyes fixed on Arthur's own with a fervor not unlike blood lust.
As nimble fingers threaded through those white locks, Gilbert briefly let his eyes fall shut in the small pleasure of nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His canid ears remained forward pointing, intent on the task at hand, though Arthur could almost feel Gilbert relax ever so slightly under his hands.
It was almost scary. He hadn't wanted to think about it... but what if these marks, this whole soulmate idea... What if they were being drawn to each other against their will? Maybe they realized it now, but would it remain that way? Would this effect their free will? Most people couldn't marry their soulmate -- after all, you only got one. And who could guarantee that you would be born in the same country, the same age group, the same time period? That was just a fact. Wasn't this a thing to be cherished? Maybe... Looking at the beautiful, prideful Alpha down on his knees for him, the Brit couldn't help but wonder if maybe Gilbert had been right.
"Hey." Came the gruff, muffled grunt from between Arthur's legs. Gilbert licked a long stripe up the Brit's cock, pausing only to suckle lightly at the head, and the blond made a sound like he'd been gutted. "Stop thinking so much."
His hot mouth once again engulfed Arthur's length, and the feline's legs nearly buckled under him. He leaned against the wall in an attempt to hold himself up. Gilbert was right -- he was thinking way too much. The albino massaged his cock with one hand even as he worked the head with his mouth, and his other hand gently massaged his balls. No one had really given his sack much thought before. It was amazing. Suddenly, like Gilbert could read his mind, both hands were working the shaft, and Gilbert's wet tongue and hot breath were against his sack. He gently pulled one testi into his mouth, and Arthur stiffened until he realized that Gilbert was being uncharacteristically gentle. The fangs that had grown out in reaction to Gilbert's arousal and aggression barely even scraped Arthur. His legs were shaking now, the relentless slippery friction on his cock sending him closer and closer to the edge. Gilbert's eyes watched him with a predatory gaze, goading him and just daring him not to come. For a brief moment, Arthur considered the canine's pleasure being neglected. But that flew from his mind just as quickly as it had come. His fingers burrowed deeper into the snowy, gossamer hair at his groin, and he squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pleasure rolled through him. He was getting close, and it was crazily fast for a blowjob but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
That's what Arthur thought -- maybe another five minutes of this (if that) and he'd be coming down Gilbert's throat. The image made him moan, imagining the fierce albino drinking down all of his cum. But then Gilbert moaned, deep and low, vibrating through his chest, and he reached down to rub the very obvious bulge in his pants. Arthur's hips bucked in response to the filthy sight at his feet, and Gilbert took it like a champ, valiantly trying not to choke on the length that was shoved down his throat. Watery red eyes glared up at the Brit, and he smiled sheepishly through the pleasure, muttering a soft apology and offering a soft caress. In silent acquiescence, Gilbert closed his eyes again, leaning his head very slightly into Arhtur's hand. In the back of the feline's fogged over mind, he was floored that Gilbert would willingly be like this with him.
Thoughts of the last time came back unbidden, images of blood and whimpers of pain, a limp body in his arms. He cringed away from it -- how could the spirited and beautiful and yes, almost vicious creature in front of him be that... that thing that he had... had forced...
"Hey." Gilbert had stopped any stimulation altogether, and was now gazing with open concern at Arthur. With a sudden uncomfortable mix of guilt and horror, he realized that Gilbert probably sensed the feline was greatly disturbed through the pheromones he now released unchecked.
When Arthur could do little more than grunt and offer a pained expression, Gilbert stood up.
"Are you okay?" The anxiety was rolling off of him in waves. "I mean. I know I kind of... forced this... but if it's -- I mean, are you okay?" He asked again. Arthur noticed that he was being given plenty of room -- an escape route if need be. But he rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine, you blooming nit." He grabbed Gilbert's arm, yanking the man into his chest and growling, "Finish what you started."
Just before lust and daring flickered back to life in Gilbert's eyes, Arthur had the time to consider how last time, Gilbert hadn't gotten hard at all. Though rational though flew away when he gripped Arthur's cock in a strong, firm hold, callouses grating against the delicate flesh in the most delicious way. The Brit's eyes fell shut again and he allowed the sensations take over. He didn't need to think, didn't need to do anything but feel. Ten minutes from now, a different story. But at this moment...
He leaned forward, catching Gilbert's lips between sharp teeth and drawing blood. The albino snarled and slammed into him, pinning him hard between the wall and the canine's lithe, muscular frame.
"What about you?" the blond found himself hissing, and Gilbert jerked his head side to side. "No?"
"Don't worry about it."
That... confused Arthur more than anything. This was out of the blue, initiated by the albino, and Gilbert didn't even want his own pleasure out of it? Was this time different because he was initiating? What was different that he could get hard now? That brought him back to the beginning: I don't know if it will help, but... I need this. Let me at least have this.
Arthur's legs were shaking, and he was left unable to spare any thoughts to the situation when Gilbert dropped down once more, greedily licking the shaft. A knot was valiantly struggling to form at the base of his cock, but was unable to due to the manner of stimulus. The Brit took a moment to be grateful for this before grabbing Gilbert's hair again, his sack drawing up and tightening.
"Gilbert --"
"I know." Red eyes flashed up to meet Arthur's. "Come."
And Arthur's body shook in the most earth-bending orgasm he'd ever had from a blowjob. He sagged against the wall, letting his body relax as Gilbert stood, barely noticing the man wiping his mouth with a grin.
Taking a moment to gather himself, he muttered, "I have to go back inside."
Gilbert snorted. "Maybe you should pull up your pants first."
Grunting, Arthur hitched his pants back up and docilely followed the other man back into the bar. He realized then that they had been gone for a good twenty minutes -- and Gilbert was supposed to be on the clock.
The albino slid seamlessly back behind the counter. Antonio and another bartender had done an admirable job taking over in his absence, but as Arthur took a seat at the bar himself, he saw that the patrons loved Gilbert almost as much as Gilbert apparently loved serving them. He was exuberant, and had a loud and boisterous energy. As he bounced from order to order, occasionally stopping to chat, it was easy to see how well he enjoyed being around people. He didn't look one bit like he'd just been on his knees in an alleyway, sucking off another Alpha with that talented mouth --
He ended that train of thought before it could begin. He still had too many unanswered questions... so he resolved to sit there and wait.
And sure enough, the activity around the bar began to die down as the new DJ began to play some trap remixes. People were getting out onto the dance floor, only flitting back up to the bar to have drinks refilled. Gilbert slowly sidled over to Arthur, but neither said a word. The Brit nursed his third glass of gin as Gilbert leisurely picked his way through clean wet glasses with a rag. Arthur had so many questions, he couldn't even begin to sort through them, instead glancing up at Gilbert periodically.
When he pushed his glass forward for a refill, Gilbert shook his head in the negative, grabbing the glass and washing it.
"How's Alfred?"
It was an unexpected segue way to be sure, but it allowed Arthur to focus on something unrelated, something (for the time being) that he could think about with more ease. A small smile only just touched his lips. "He's on winter break right now. I'm sure your Ludwig is, too. He's having a grand old time, but his internal clock wants him up at seven, so I have a hard time sleeping in sometimes." He chuckled fondly, and found an answering smile on Gilbert's face, though it disappeared quickly.
"I feel responsible, in a way. For getting you kicked out of your place." He elaborated before Arthur could ask him to. "I just... how are you two holding up? I know it's really tough when you're on your own like this..."
"I'm not really on my own." Arthur shrugged, but a weary sort of anxiousness was creeping in, tightening the muscles of his shoulders. "All of my friends are very supportive."
For a moment, Gilbert hesitated, but seemed to push through this quickly. "Do you have any family to support you stateside?"
Family? Arthur offered a derisive snort. No one had approved of his marriage to Francine, or his move to the States. One of his elder brothers had attempted to council him and to be supportive, but he came off just as arrogant as the rest. Since he'd notified them of the divorce procedings, he hadn't heard from anyone but his mother.
"No."
Gilbert nodded slowly, considering the information. "Well... my offer still stands. If you need any help with anything, I'm here. I mean, I'm not much better off than you are. But..." He shrugged helplessly. "If you need me to watch Alfred, I can do that." Smiling softly, he added, "Ludwig asks about him sometimes. I think he misses him."
"I started a new job recently." Arthur sighed, resting cheek on palm. "I could use the help."
Gilbert nodded. "Well then, you know I'm here."
Arthur sighed for what felt like the millionth time last night. He was no good at feelings, no good at these sentimental conversations. But he really needed this clarification. He needed to know what the fuck was going on.
"About earlier --"
"Maybe we should talk about this another time." Gilbert cut him off quickly, as though the subject itself was toxic. And then he noticed the man's hands were shaking. "We can set up a time and date, we can get some coffee or something --"
"Tea," Arthur interrupted, "A place with good tea, and we'll consider it a date."
Gilbert flushed brightly, his pale skin only serving to betray him. "Date?"
"Well, you know. A date. A... you know."
"Yes."
"Hmm."
There was an awkward silence after that, remaining unbroken by the venue's patrons as they ordered drinks. After five minutes of this, Arthur got stiffly to his feet.
"I still have your number." He offered to Gilbert. The albino nodded, and that was that. The Brit stepped away to find his guitar. He slung the case over his shoulder and left the building.