[USxUK] Theme: Music [Summer Camp Event]
Jul. 9th, 2011 06:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: Just a Hobby
Genre: General/Romance/Humour
Word Count: 2114
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred is on another 'find where Arthur is and bring him home' mission when he finds the man in a club doing the last thing he'd expect to see.
When Alfred had been called over to London to look for Arthur he had found him in the last place he’d expected. It had become almost normal since he’d entered into a relationship with the man for people to call him when they were worried about what Arthur was up to and at first he’d found it funny, but now it was just tiresome. There were times of the year, very specific times, when Arthur would go off the rails and start acting strangely for no reason other than he needed to do something to distract himself from the bad memories of things that had happened centuries ago. Together, they’d worked through some of the things that so insistently plagued the English nation’s mind. The Revolution had been the first. Alfred hadn’t been able to see how they could really have a relationship with each other when Arthur was still so hung up on what had happened between them all that time ago, so they’d talked about it, and when it had rolled around the following year Alfred had done his best to make sure that the day was enjoyable for Arthur, even going so far as to forego having a party just to try and make the older man comfortable. The year after that, Arthur had been the one arranging the party.
There were some things, though, that Alfred couldn’t fix. There were some things that no amount of cuddling and comfort would heal, and when the young American was called out to deal with them he just had to grin and bear it, drag Arthur out of whatever back-end bar he’d ended up in, take him home and deal with him in the morning. He didn’t mind doing it, not really, because loving Arthur was never going to be something that was easy, but despite all of his flaws he did love the man and he wanted him to be safe.
When he’d got the call this time he’d already been in London, intending to surprise Arthur with a visit once he’d finished up everything he wanted to do. The young woman on the other end of the phone hadn’t known his name, just that his was the number they were supposed to call if they were concerned about Arthur’s behaviour. Alfred had searched through all of Arthur’s regular haunts, the places that he normally found the man slumped over a table mumbling about some war general or another, but where he had found him wasn’t some dive in the backstreets of London. It was a club, a line several dozen people long outside that he only managed to avoid by flashing a government ID in the bouncer’s face and glaring at him like he was about to drop a bomb on his head. Inside, a large crowd was gathered around a low stage, jumping up and down to the beat of the song being played. It wasn’t one that Alfred had heard before, likely one of the band’s own, and he scanned up and down the bar for any sign of the blonde, thick-eyebrowed man before his attention was drawn by the noise that the crowd was making. The song had finished, and they were chanting, and in the midst of the screams and shouts Alfred could make out a single word.
‘ARTHUR! ARTHUR! ARTHUR!’
Alfred frowned, moving towards the stage. He hadn’t met another Arthur below the age of fifty in the past two or three decades, and now that he thought about it, that voice…
A guitar plectrum hit him square in the forehead, tossed into the crowd by a man on the stage. Their eyes met, and the both of them stared. It was Arthur, but at the same time it didn’t look a thing like him. Even half-startled he was without a doubt the sexiest that Alfred had ever seen him. He jumped down off the stage and pushed through the crowd to the American, glaring up at him as soon as he reached him, having regained his composure at some point between the stage and the younger man.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing?”
The questions were asked simultaneously, both resulting in silences as if each was waiting for the other to speak. Arthur looked embarrassed, awkward, and Alfred felt as if he was pointing an invisible finger at the man, accusing him of something though he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. He’d never seen Arthur in clothes like this before yet somehow they were familiar. He was wearing jeans so tight they looked as if they’d been sprayed on, and thick-soled boots that reached almost to his knees. There was a white shirt half open covered by a deep red coat trimmed in black and gold with wide cuffs that he was sure he recognised from somewhere, and two thick gold chains resting against his chest, rings on his fingers and piercings lining his left ear. At a glance, Alfred counted six. Arthur seemed to be wearing eyeliner and his hair was spiked up and tinted white at the tips, and around his neck was slung a black leather strap, supporting an electric guitar that was the mirror image of one that Alfred knew the man had tattooed on his back from his wilder days. It seemed, though, that those days had not been so close to finished as Arthur had always said they were.
It was the sexiest damn thing Alfred had ever seen.
They glared at each other, the crowd around them paying little attention to their stand-off as the band started up again without Arthur as if in a cover for their argument. Alfred looked the other up and down. He had to admit that this get-up complimented the man but that wasn’t the point.
“I come looking for you and you’re doing this? Are you high?”
“What’s it to you if I am?!” Arthur snapped, looking ready to launch into an argument, but the next moment he’d wrapped one arm around the man and dragged him down to kiss him, pushing his tongue past his lips, tasting of beer and something smoky and stale that Alfred didn’t exactly like but didn’t hate either. If their little tiff hadn’t got attention this certainly did, but Alfred seemed to be the only one who minded, bright red as they pulled apart.
“Are you high?” he asked again.
“I may be,” the English nation replied offhandedly. “But you didn’t answer my question. What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Your people called me, they were worried.” He wasn’t as angry as he thought he would be. Who could be angry when they had this lovely vision standing in front of them? It almost made him want to squirm. Or at least rip Arthur’s clothes off. Right here, he didn’t even give a damn. “I’ll wait for you at your house.”
“No you won’t.”
“H-huh?” Arthur grabbed his arm, pulling him up towards the stage. He resisted, initially, but there was a strength he hadn’t expected in the old man and he almost tripped over himself, and several other people, as he was pulled and taken to the side of the stage while the band continued to play. Behind the speakers it seemed quieter, and he could hear himself speak without having to raise his voice as he watched Arthur lift the guitar strap over his head. He held the instrument out to the younger man and Alfred found himself staring at it as if it was on fire, not knowing what Arthur wanted but at the same time knowing exactly what he was asking.
“We can argue about this later. My other clothes are in the back and I’m not going searching through them for a key,” he said, holding the guitar out. “You know how to play. Take it. I can’t move properly while I’m using the thing anyway.”
Alfred ran his eyes over the instrument and took it, adjusting the strap and sliding it over his head. Arthur smirked at him, as if he’d won an argument that they hadn’t been having, and as the song faded out Arthur slipped off his jacket and tossed it to the American, hopping up onto the stage. The younger blonde was used to attention but not like this. He slung the jacket over his shoulders and followed Arthur up, instantly hit by screams as Arthur introduced him with some more than flattering remarks that brought a red flush to his face. Grinning, the bassist handed him a plectrum and he plugged the guitar in, half listening to Arthur talk as he made himself comfortable. Arthur had always had this way of sweeping him up into things, and it seemed almost natural now to be in odd situation with the man. Seeing him dressed as some kind of punk-pirate with half a dozen piercings and make-up didn’t strike him as strange at all.
He was sure that it was on purpose that after that Arthur sang songs that he knew the man would know, shouting them back to him before they were played. Some were his favourites, some that he would have even called patriotic, and even then the crowd loved them. Alfred found that he fell into the swing of things easily enough, and each time Arthur cast a grin his way he felt his stomach flip. Without the guitar restricting his movement Arthur moved around the stage like he was born to it, showing an exhibitionist side of himself that Alfred had always suspected but had never seen quite so clearly.
It was only when they were finished that they were finally able to speak properly. Arthur left the others on the stage to swap the set over for the next band and pulled Alfred through the club and outside, a little way up the pavement away from the front door before he finally turned to him.
“Now, we can argue,” he started, and Alfred quickly shook his head. His fingertips were aching from pressing on the guitar strings and he could still feel the pulsing bass of the music thrumming through his body. Arthur had fire in his black-ringed eyes and every limb seemed threaded with defiance, as if he expected some kind of scolding for being found in such a place doing what he had been. However, having learned a rather long time ago that attempting to scold Arthur was never a good idea and often ended in the two of them arguing about their respective ages before Alfred ended up sleeping on the sofa, he didn’t do that. He looked Arthur up and down and saw him slowly relax, a slow breath leaving him, and Alfred noticed that his fingernails were painted bright green and faintly chipped as he lifted one hand to scratch his arm.
“I don’t want to argue, Arts.” Letting the other man’s coat slide off his shoulders, he wrapped it around Arthur and used it to pull him close, feeling both hands come up against his chest in surprise, curling against the fabric of his shirt. “You were amazing up there. Really sexy.”
“Sod off, it’s just something I do in my spare time.”
“Pretty awesome hobby.” He let Arthur go but the other didn’t step back. “You could have just told me so I didn’t go all over London thinking I’d find you completely wasted in an alley somewhere.”
“Charming!”
Alfred just laughed, and Arthur smiled faintly. It had happened before, that scenario, though Arthur would always fervently deny it. The English nation glanced back towards the bar and then looked away again, sighing and pressing his nose against Alfred’s collar. “I’m… sorry if I worried you. I should go back in and change.”
“No way,” Alfred said, once again using his coat to hold him still. “I’m driving you home like this and then I want a private performance, so grab your guitar and let’s ditch this joint.”
Arthur gave him a look that was half puzzled and half incredulous as he was released, slowly turning to an expression of amusement and maybe something a little sly as he stepped away and straightened his clothes. “A private performance, is it? I hope you can afford it.”
He could have left it there, let the man have his witty banter, but he couldn’t resist speaking and sending the other man scurrying back into the club with his face as red as his coat. “I’d like to think I have some credit,” he called at Arthur’s retreating back. “From that time I let you watch me play the violin butt-naked.”
Genre: General/Romance/Humour
Word Count: 2114
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred is on another 'find where Arthur is and bring him home' mission when he finds the man in a club doing the last thing he'd expect to see.
*****
When Alfred had been called over to London to look for Arthur he had found him in the last place he’d expected. It had become almost normal since he’d entered into a relationship with the man for people to call him when they were worried about what Arthur was up to and at first he’d found it funny, but now it was just tiresome. There were times of the year, very specific times, when Arthur would go off the rails and start acting strangely for no reason other than he needed to do something to distract himself from the bad memories of things that had happened centuries ago. Together, they’d worked through some of the things that so insistently plagued the English nation’s mind. The Revolution had been the first. Alfred hadn’t been able to see how they could really have a relationship with each other when Arthur was still so hung up on what had happened between them all that time ago, so they’d talked about it, and when it had rolled around the following year Alfred had done his best to make sure that the day was enjoyable for Arthur, even going so far as to forego having a party just to try and make the older man comfortable. The year after that, Arthur had been the one arranging the party.
There were some things, though, that Alfred couldn’t fix. There were some things that no amount of cuddling and comfort would heal, and when the young American was called out to deal with them he just had to grin and bear it, drag Arthur out of whatever back-end bar he’d ended up in, take him home and deal with him in the morning. He didn’t mind doing it, not really, because loving Arthur was never going to be something that was easy, but despite all of his flaws he did love the man and he wanted him to be safe.
When he’d got the call this time he’d already been in London, intending to surprise Arthur with a visit once he’d finished up everything he wanted to do. The young woman on the other end of the phone hadn’t known his name, just that his was the number they were supposed to call if they were concerned about Arthur’s behaviour. Alfred had searched through all of Arthur’s regular haunts, the places that he normally found the man slumped over a table mumbling about some war general or another, but where he had found him wasn’t some dive in the backstreets of London. It was a club, a line several dozen people long outside that he only managed to avoid by flashing a government ID in the bouncer’s face and glaring at him like he was about to drop a bomb on his head. Inside, a large crowd was gathered around a low stage, jumping up and down to the beat of the song being played. It wasn’t one that Alfred had heard before, likely one of the band’s own, and he scanned up and down the bar for any sign of the blonde, thick-eyebrowed man before his attention was drawn by the noise that the crowd was making. The song had finished, and they were chanting, and in the midst of the screams and shouts Alfred could make out a single word.
‘ARTHUR! ARTHUR! ARTHUR!’
Alfred frowned, moving towards the stage. He hadn’t met another Arthur below the age of fifty in the past two or three decades, and now that he thought about it, that voice…
A guitar plectrum hit him square in the forehead, tossed into the crowd by a man on the stage. Their eyes met, and the both of them stared. It was Arthur, but at the same time it didn’t look a thing like him. Even half-startled he was without a doubt the sexiest that Alfred had ever seen him. He jumped down off the stage and pushed through the crowd to the American, glaring up at him as soon as he reached him, having regained his composure at some point between the stage and the younger man.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing?”
The questions were asked simultaneously, both resulting in silences as if each was waiting for the other to speak. Arthur looked embarrassed, awkward, and Alfred felt as if he was pointing an invisible finger at the man, accusing him of something though he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. He’d never seen Arthur in clothes like this before yet somehow they were familiar. He was wearing jeans so tight they looked as if they’d been sprayed on, and thick-soled boots that reached almost to his knees. There was a white shirt half open covered by a deep red coat trimmed in black and gold with wide cuffs that he was sure he recognised from somewhere, and two thick gold chains resting against his chest, rings on his fingers and piercings lining his left ear. At a glance, Alfred counted six. Arthur seemed to be wearing eyeliner and his hair was spiked up and tinted white at the tips, and around his neck was slung a black leather strap, supporting an electric guitar that was the mirror image of one that Alfred knew the man had tattooed on his back from his wilder days. It seemed, though, that those days had not been so close to finished as Arthur had always said they were.
It was the sexiest damn thing Alfred had ever seen.
They glared at each other, the crowd around them paying little attention to their stand-off as the band started up again without Arthur as if in a cover for their argument. Alfred looked the other up and down. He had to admit that this get-up complimented the man but that wasn’t the point.
“I come looking for you and you’re doing this? Are you high?”
“What’s it to you if I am?!” Arthur snapped, looking ready to launch into an argument, but the next moment he’d wrapped one arm around the man and dragged him down to kiss him, pushing his tongue past his lips, tasting of beer and something smoky and stale that Alfred didn’t exactly like but didn’t hate either. If their little tiff hadn’t got attention this certainly did, but Alfred seemed to be the only one who minded, bright red as they pulled apart.
“Are you high?” he asked again.
“I may be,” the English nation replied offhandedly. “But you didn’t answer my question. What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Your people called me, they were worried.” He wasn’t as angry as he thought he would be. Who could be angry when they had this lovely vision standing in front of them? It almost made him want to squirm. Or at least rip Arthur’s clothes off. Right here, he didn’t even give a damn. “I’ll wait for you at your house.”
“No you won’t.”
“H-huh?” Arthur grabbed his arm, pulling him up towards the stage. He resisted, initially, but there was a strength he hadn’t expected in the old man and he almost tripped over himself, and several other people, as he was pulled and taken to the side of the stage while the band continued to play. Behind the speakers it seemed quieter, and he could hear himself speak without having to raise his voice as he watched Arthur lift the guitar strap over his head. He held the instrument out to the younger man and Alfred found himself staring at it as if it was on fire, not knowing what Arthur wanted but at the same time knowing exactly what he was asking.
“We can argue about this later. My other clothes are in the back and I’m not going searching through them for a key,” he said, holding the guitar out. “You know how to play. Take it. I can’t move properly while I’m using the thing anyway.”
Alfred ran his eyes over the instrument and took it, adjusting the strap and sliding it over his head. Arthur smirked at him, as if he’d won an argument that they hadn’t been having, and as the song faded out Arthur slipped off his jacket and tossed it to the American, hopping up onto the stage. The younger blonde was used to attention but not like this. He slung the jacket over his shoulders and followed Arthur up, instantly hit by screams as Arthur introduced him with some more than flattering remarks that brought a red flush to his face. Grinning, the bassist handed him a plectrum and he plugged the guitar in, half listening to Arthur talk as he made himself comfortable. Arthur had always had this way of sweeping him up into things, and it seemed almost natural now to be in odd situation with the man. Seeing him dressed as some kind of punk-pirate with half a dozen piercings and make-up didn’t strike him as strange at all.
He was sure that it was on purpose that after that Arthur sang songs that he knew the man would know, shouting them back to him before they were played. Some were his favourites, some that he would have even called patriotic, and even then the crowd loved them. Alfred found that he fell into the swing of things easily enough, and each time Arthur cast a grin his way he felt his stomach flip. Without the guitar restricting his movement Arthur moved around the stage like he was born to it, showing an exhibitionist side of himself that Alfred had always suspected but had never seen quite so clearly.
It was only when they were finished that they were finally able to speak properly. Arthur left the others on the stage to swap the set over for the next band and pulled Alfred through the club and outside, a little way up the pavement away from the front door before he finally turned to him.
“Now, we can argue,” he started, and Alfred quickly shook his head. His fingertips were aching from pressing on the guitar strings and he could still feel the pulsing bass of the music thrumming through his body. Arthur had fire in his black-ringed eyes and every limb seemed threaded with defiance, as if he expected some kind of scolding for being found in such a place doing what he had been. However, having learned a rather long time ago that attempting to scold Arthur was never a good idea and often ended in the two of them arguing about their respective ages before Alfred ended up sleeping on the sofa, he didn’t do that. He looked Arthur up and down and saw him slowly relax, a slow breath leaving him, and Alfred noticed that his fingernails were painted bright green and faintly chipped as he lifted one hand to scratch his arm.
“I don’t want to argue, Arts.” Letting the other man’s coat slide off his shoulders, he wrapped it around Arthur and used it to pull him close, feeling both hands come up against his chest in surprise, curling against the fabric of his shirt. “You were amazing up there. Really sexy.”
“Sod off, it’s just something I do in my spare time.”
“Pretty awesome hobby.” He let Arthur go but the other didn’t step back. “You could have just told me so I didn’t go all over London thinking I’d find you completely wasted in an alley somewhere.”
“Charming!”
Alfred just laughed, and Arthur smiled faintly. It had happened before, that scenario, though Arthur would always fervently deny it. The English nation glanced back towards the bar and then looked away again, sighing and pressing his nose against Alfred’s collar. “I’m… sorry if I worried you. I should go back in and change.”
“No way,” Alfred said, once again using his coat to hold him still. “I’m driving you home like this and then I want a private performance, so grab your guitar and let’s ditch this joint.”
Arthur gave him a look that was half puzzled and half incredulous as he was released, slowly turning to an expression of amusement and maybe something a little sly as he stepped away and straightened his clothes. “A private performance, is it? I hope you can afford it.”
He could have left it there, let the man have his witty banter, but he couldn’t resist speaking and sending the other man scurrying back into the club with his face as red as his coat. “I’d like to think I have some credit,” he called at Arthur’s retreating back. “From that time I let you watch me play the violin butt-naked.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 07:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 03:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 07:33 am (UTC)“I’d like to think I have some credit,” he called at Arthur’s retreating back. “From that time I let you watch me play the violin butt-naked.”
*snickers and giggles*
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 03:43 pm (UTC)Ehehe :B
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 02:08 pm (UTC)Punk!Artie is indeed sexy *-*
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-09 03:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-10 02:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-10 02:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-10 06:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-16 07:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-17 12:51 am (UTC)