My Misfit

Part One

Summary: Arthur Kirkland, lead singer of a popular European Alternative band, came to America to charm the nation into his bed. But instead he found himself caught in the web of a disgruntled McDonald's employee.

With a relaxed sigh, Alfred reached for the rumpled British magazine, scanning the headlines curiously as equally curious hands began roaming the dips, curves and muscles of his bare shoulders and back.

The Empire Singer Caught With His Estranged American Beau! [Exclusive Details Inside!] pg. 17

He tried not to laugh as he scanned the picture on the front cover – one that was completely blown out of proportion, as they tended to be. They were only walking down the street, eating ice cream. How scandalous of them. But still, he decided to humor himself and opened the magazine to the indicated page only to actually laugh at the article headline:

Reunited at last? One of Europe's favorite couples may be back!

Alfred smiled and closed the magazine, rolling it up and tossing it over the side of the bed. What the press didn't know couldn't hurt them. Sighing he leaned into those roaming hands, his smile deepening as they wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Just what is so amusing?" a low, sultry voice purred against the shell of his ear, and Alfred shivered in delight. How he loved that voice.

"That magazine – it was just making me think… About the first time we met…"

The Empire was a well known band in Europe, Arthur had to remind himself, almost daily as they passed through crowds of blank faces and murmurs of, "Who are they?" as they went about. He was rich – and fabulously so – as were his three band members: Francis, Antonio and Gilbert. Of course people could tell that they had money, but not the reason, and that annoyed Arthur as much as it angered him.

Back home he could probably ejaculate out into the faces of an audience and they would thank him; here, they fucking questioned why he was even walking down the street. "Fucking stupid Americans," he cursed bitterly as their group boarded the tour bus – a ragtag group of fans pressing their grimy hands onto the windows as the bus began driving away. "I hate not being famous here."

The guitarist and the most flamboyant of the group – Francis – sighed dramatically. "Oui, I must agree with our unfortunate friend. The women here are much more reluctant in the removal of their blouses."

"That's not what I meant," Arthur bit back as Gilbert cackled wildly. Bloody hell, they had to spend the next eighteen months on this Godforsaken continent. "Let's just get something to eat."

After Gilbert gave out a few generous elbows to the stomach, Antonio finally got the intended message and skipped to the front of the bus to tell the driver to stop somewhere for food. Being the bassist, Antonio was a bit of the bands bitch – not that he seemed to mind. Half the time Arthur swore the brunet Spaniard was happy to run off from the rest of them and do as he pleased for a while. Not that he could blame him, really.

Everyone thought that tour busing would be fun – see the world and whatnot. Arthur distinctly found it to be a torture. A person could only watch so many DVD's or read so many books in one day, and most of his time was spent twiddling his thumbs in a bus filled with people that he'd spent every day with for the past six years. Needless to say there wasn't much conversation beyond, "Shut up, Francis, no one gives a shit about the ugly skank you shagged last."

Francis' deep blue eyes traveled the tour bus with an air of sophisticated boredom. He wasn't the type to just sit still and be quiet – no of course not, and perhaps that's what pissed Arthur off the most about him. "So, Arthur, my unfortunate friend –"

"- Stop calling me that –"

" – Speaking of "shags", have you found yourself a lovely young man yet?" Arthur frowned heavily at what he knew was a mockery of himself. Of course he hadn't found anyone – he was still put off from his recent breakup right before they left for America. Francis only grinned innocently and Arthur wondered what the jail time in America was for assault and battery.

Gilbert and Antonio remained quiet – they both had someone waiting for them back home, or at least Gilbert liked to pretend to (he was never one for anything long-term). But before Arthur could actually act out on his wish and claw out Francis' eyes with his bare hands, the bus stopped with a screech of air-breaks and the bus driver yelled something about 'McDonalds' and 'get your food'.

Arthur stood up sharply and demanded everyone else's orders. There was no reason for all of them to go inside and make a spectacle of themselves. It was routine, it was familiar – but this was fucking America, and he'd wished he'd remembered that little bit before hopping off the bus and towards the small building.

He walked into the hush of the fast-food restaurant, the orange lights and tan tiled floors making him blink a few times to adjust to the light, compared to the darkness of the late evening outside. There was that pause as he merely stood in the doorway, waiting (and hoping, just a tad) that someone would recognize him. But when there were no hushed whispers or astonished gasps of recognition; he let his shoulders drop.

"Hey, dingbat – counter's over here." Arthur startled at the rude greeting, his acidic green eyes glowering over at the employee behind the nearest register. He didn't look a day over nineteen, with sandy blond hair tucked under a black visor, and his too blue, sky colored eyes looked bored behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He popped a large, obnoxiously pink bubble of gum. "Hey, didja hear me? Or are you just gunna stand there like a dope all night?"

Arthur almost snarled – almost. Instead he put on his best façade and strolled up to the register, leaning against the cold countertop. "Actually, I was hoping to order," he said, in his best sexy rock star voice.

The boy behind the counter simply raised a shapely brow, blowing another bubble and popping it with a gnash of his teeth. "No shit? I thought you'd come on back here and suck my dick. But if you even try that, I'll have to dunk your head in the fryer grease. I prefer to be wined and dined."

There was a long moment as Arthur simply stared – in a state of shell-shocked confusion – at the cashier. Was he seriously just rejected? The employee only blew another disinterested bubble and a raw anger surged up from Arthur's stomach and his hands clenched on the counter top. But just as he was about to lash out with a temper that he was rather infamous for in Europe, another employee came and slapped the smart-mouthed cashier upside the head.

"Alfred! You're fucking lucky Roderich isn't here to listen to you!" she hissed, fixing her own visor that sat on top of her curly brown hair that was done up in a messy bun. "Hello! Welcome to McDonalds, how can I help you today?" she asked him instead, turning a large, fake smile onto Arthur.

He waited a few seconds, his green eyes darting between the two employees to make sure he wasn't being pranked or something else equally ridiculous. "Uhm, yes… can I get three number two's, a number six, and a number one – to go?"

"Fat ass," the blond employee coughed out, pretending to choke a bit. He smiled as Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't worry 'bout me, I'm fine. I'll get to work on those burgers right away!" He gave the woman a cheesy two fingered salute, popping another bubble loudly, before scampering into the kitchen.

The woman sighed. "I'm sorry about him," she apologized tiredly, punching in the order with more force than was necessary. "I'd like to say he's not always like that, but, well, usually he is. He's been here about three years now – I'm surprised Roddy hasn't fired him by now. Although he probably just feels bad for the kid."

Soon the blond returned with a large, grease-stained bag. "Just waitin' on your fries, dude." He set the bag on the countertop next to the small ticket with Arthur's order on it. His blue eyes scanned over Arthur for a moment, eyeing him up and down. Arthur was about to comment when the blond suddenly interrupted with, "So like, did you just run away from the circus or something?"

The woman choked on seemingly nothing as Arthur sputtered in outrage. The buzzer for the fryer sounded and the young blond strolled off conveniently to fetch the fries.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek as the blond handed him the bag and five cups before heading back into the kitchen with a wave of his middle finger in the air and the woman apologized again, offering to help him carry the drinks back out to the tour bus.

"Thanks, lass," Arthur said once the food and drink was on the bus, he stood on the steps with Francis peering down curiously from the padded couch he sat on. "Tell that boy of yours to go die for me, will you?"

She smiled a bit. "He's been told that plenty of times, trust me. But uhm, I have a quick question – if I may?"

Arthur gave a half-shrug with one of his shoulders. "Sure."

"You're Arthur Kirkland, aren't you? From The Empire? You guys are on your Total Reign Tour, right?" And suddenly she seemed to burst with the fangirl excitement that Arthur was used to dealing with.

He smiled lecherously and took a long sip of his fizzy drink. "And if I am?" Francis grinned over the handrail, winking down at the woman and she blushed modestly.

"Oh! I'm taken, dears, but I can't wait to tell Alfred that he seriously just rejected Arthur Kirkland!" Her smile turned sharp and strange as she wove her fingers together behind her back in an innocent gesture. "He's an absolute fan of your music – oh, his face is going to be priceless." She batted her eyelashes, producing a pen and a starched napkin. "Could you give me an autograph? As evidence?"

Falling into routine, Arthur took the napkin and pen, signing the paper material with swooping movements of his wrist before handing it back. "Here you go – go give that git a what-for."

She grinned, holding the napkin to her chest eagerly. "Thank you! Have a safe trip! And I wish you the best of luck at your next concert!" she called out as she practically skipped back to the establishment.

Arthur just gave his fellow band members a look and shrugged as he retreated back onto the bus once it began to roll down the parking lot and back onto the street. He sat down with a sigh, recounting his experience within the McDonalds, much to Gilbert's amusement, and began passing out the food.

"He asked if you're from the circus ¿verdad?" Antonio repeated as he unwrapped his burger, laughing airily as he tossed his wrapper at Francis. "If that were true, then Francis would be the Bearded Woman!"

After the ensuing French fry fight, Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, either way, I don't give a care as to what happens to that boy. Rude, snot-gobbling child." There was a collective hum of agreement and Arthur smiled. He unwrapped his own burger and paused. Instead of a double cheeseburger, there were only two buns pressed together. With a quiet rage he pulled off the top bun only to be met with a slather of ketchup and what was obviously a large snot-ball in the center of his sandwich. At that point, Arthur exploded.

"That's it! Turn this fucking bus around!"

Alfred hummed to himself as he mopped the floors in the quiet of the store. It was closing time, and he always enjoyed the hour and a half he got to himself to clean. Quickly he checked his back pocket for the folded napkin that Elizaveta had given him almost an hour earlier. Arthur Kirkland – of all people in the world – had to walk into the McDonalds that he worked at? He wasn't sure if he felt glad or upset that he'd told the famous singer off. The guy was a rich snob, and probably deserved it, but on the other hand…

It was Arthur Kirkland; the man with the sexiest voice on the planet. Alfred sighed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he grumbled, hitting himself on the face with the handle of the mop with each word. "I probably shouldn't have hawked that loogie in the sandwich…"

Whatever. He hoped the guitarist got it.

He finished cleaning the floors and wiped down the tables one more time before shuffling into the back and grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way out.

As he was locking up the doors, a large black bus with jagged, blue stripes drove up. Soon a man descended from inside the bus and made his way towards Alfred, his face cloaked in the darkness as the bus began driving away after a wispy hand signal from the approaching man.

"Sorry buddy, this place closes at eleven. If you're lookin' for a twenty-four hour joint to stuff your face at, there's another one about nine blocks down," he called out, huffing and slightly nervous when the man made no stop in his advance. He didn't particularly feel like getting mugged tonight. "Hey dumbass! Didja hear me? I said we're closed."

The man scoffed loudly and Alfred frowned. Even so, he stood his ground (as he was brave and some burglar wasn't going to scare him off), and watched as the dim lights coming from the store slowly illuminated the man's face until it was recognizable and he was too close. "Oh… shit," he breathed, pushing himself up against the brick wall as Arthur Kirkland – Arthur Fucking Kirkland – approached him, shoving him further into the wall of the building with a snarl on his lips.

"'Oh shit' is right, you miserable prat. Just who do you think you are, hmm?"

Alfred swallowed thickly. Now this was a situation he never thought he'd find himself in. If Arthur Kirkland beat the living shit out of him, maybe he'd get famous just for being the victim – that wouldn't be so bad. But in a sudden decision of stupidity, Alfred squared his shoulders, blowing a pink bubble and popping it as loudly as he could and said, "Alfred F. Jones, at your service. Whaddya want?"

Arthur's temper flared at the casual, nonchalant tone. He reached up with a snap of nimble hands and gripped Alfred's collar tightly, pulling the American closer to his face. "Give me three reasons why I shouldn't… shouldn't rape you right now!" he demanded, quickly searching his brain for the most offensive thing he could think of. For a brief moment Alfred's eyes widened and he almost congratulated himself, but then Alfred's face melted into an amused smile.

Never had Arthur so heavily wished bodily harm on anyone (with the exception of Francis and a paparazzi member or two). "Easy enough. Let's see, first of all, it's kinda public here – there's cameras everywhere, do you know how often Micky Dee's get's robbed? Second, your get-away bus left you stranded; and third…" The American trailed off meaningfully, his voice dropping a few octaves as he simply mumbled, "You can't rape the willing."

There was a long, eerie silence as they both wondered if they'd made a grievous mistake somewhere along the line. And it must have been the side-quirked smile or those too blue to be true eyes, or maybe the fact that this guy was the first in a long time to tell him 'no' and fuck, if that wasn't a turn on; but it must have been a combination of those things that made him ask, low and sultry, "Promiscuous, are we, love?"

"Not always, no. But I'm offerin'; take it or leave it."

And maybe it was that attitude – the one that made Arthur want to ravage the boy and beat him to a bloody pulp all the same. Alfred made it sound like it was an inconvenience to sleep with him – him! Arthur Kirkland! Who wouldn't give for a night with a celebrity (American or not)? And if there wasn't something sexy about that, he'd be damned. "Have you a car? There's a hotel nearby I was going to shack up at."

Alfred chuckled lightly. "You make an interesting proposition, Mr. Kirkland." He pulled an ancient set of jangling keys from his pocket and grinned. "Just point me in the right direction."

Normally the ride to the hotel was one of the most painful moments of Arthur's life – ones normally filled with awkward silence or stormy sexual tension. But with Alfred, it was an easy, relaxed atmosphere within the old rusting truck. They talked comfortably as Arthur gave directions, and Arthur was mostly surprised that they talked about normal things – no 'what's it like to be so famous?' or 'can I have Francis' number?' types of questions that he was accustomed to. And even Alfred's bitter tongue seemed to have melted a little.

Once they were inside the cozy, upscale hotel room, Alfred had immediately unbuttoned his work shirt and said, "I have to take a shower. I don't want to smell like grease."

"Take a shower now and you'll just smell like sex afterwards," Arthur pointed out as he fell onto the king sized bed, kicking off his boots in the process.

Alfred grimaced at him from the doorway of the bathroom. "I'd rather let people know I get laid than that I work at McDonalds."

"I… well I see you have a point." He frowned a bit, standing from the bed. Fuck, this was taking far too long. He needed that boy like he needed his morning tea – and that was an absolute must. "I've a better idea. I'll join you." And before the other could protest, Arthur was pulling his shirt over his head, pushing the American into the adjacent bathroom.

The American made a startled noise before a small laugh escaped him. "Kinky bastard, aren't you?" he asked, finishing the buttons on his own uniform and working the fabric from his shoulders. "You don't seem like the type."

Arthur hooked up a full brow at the statement, leaning in the shower momentarily to turn on the water and showerhead. "Not the type? I'll have you know, if you've thought of it, I've probably done it – three times, three different ways. And no, I don't have a disease – I know that look, you smarmy tart."

Alfred grinned widely, not unlike a wolf, his pants already half undone, and he simply leaned into Arthur before biting the musician on the shoulder. Hard. Arthur winced and he watched the milky skin pucker in pinking lines where the American dragged his teeth. "Mmhm, I like the way you talk. Makes me kinda hot. Let's get this party started, yeah?" Soon his pants and boxers hit the floor and the American was in the shower, adjusting the water temperature and allowing the spray to wash enticingly down his back and over the curves of his rear.

"You… you little shit," was all Arthur could think to say. It was as if Alfred had transformed into a completely different person, but hadn't at the same time. His tongue was still sharp and abrasive, but the heated words that poured forth only seemed to rile Arthur up more than the fact of being rejected in the middle of a McDonalds. He quickly shed himself of his remaining clothes and slipped inside the shower behind the American, wasting no time to grab Alfred's butt cheeks in his hands. They were firm and warm and oh god he wanted so badly to bury himself deep into the American.

Alfred laughed. "Like whatcha see? 'Coz ya probably ain't ever getting ass like this again, old man." Arthur grimaced at the old comment and in retaliation he quickly pressed a finger into Alfred's entrance, making the American choke on a surprised gasp. "D-damn! Impatient fucker. You could at least let me scrub down or something. Fucking hell."

"After," Arthur bit out, returning the favor from earlier and biting the supple flesh of Alfred's back as he leaned in closer, slowly adding another wet finger into the American. "After I've finished shagging you into the wall; after you can't stand any longer; after you're so utterly spent that you can't even remember how to get home. Then you may scrub – if I let you."

"Controlling much?" Alfred mumbled, although he pushed himself against Arthur's nimbly moving fingers all the same. "Fucking hell, if I wanted to be told what to do, I'd be having sex with my mom."

Arthur groaned in disgust. "Does your mouth have an off switch, perchance?"

"Does your egotistic retardation have one too? Maybe then this'll work out nicely."

"I hate you."

"Then shut up and fuck me."

Arthur glared at the back of Alfred's head, his golden hair damp and sticking to the canvas of his tanned neck. He could almost see that lecherous smile and he added another finger with a scoff. It wasn't long after that that Alfred had finally shut up, his face flushed and panting with his legs spread as far apart as the bath would allow. Seeing the smart-mouthed American prone and willing; it made Arthur's insides twist into a heat and urgency that he wasn't used to encountering during his escapades.

He glanced over the hotel shower provisions: shampoo, soap, and conditioner. But then he decided he was still upset with the boy for – well, a lot of things – and decided that water was probably the best lube he deserved. Without much warning, Arthur replaced his working fingers with the head of his cock, watching with lustful green eyes as Alfred's ribs shuddered in a way that told him the American was attempting to repress gasps and moans. "If it feels good lad, just say so," he purred next to the shell of Alfred's ear, taking a quick nip at the cartilage.

Alfred wheezed out a slow laugh, pinching his voice a bit as Arthur began pressing himself further and further inside, enjoying the way Alfred's body nearly shook with anticipation. "You'd like that too much," Alfred managed to say, attempting to push his rear further towards Arthur, but the musician caught his hips in a hard grip. Alfred growled in growing sexual frustration. "C'mon, you… ugh… limey. Fucking limey; slow ass fucking limey."

"Limey," Arthur repeated headedly. He smiled a bit before snapping his hips forward the rest of the way, relishing Alfred's startled, yet smothered, cry. "You must be running out of names, love," he teased. And holy fuck was Alfred tight, hot and sweet against his cock. He rocked into the American's body with a pleased hum. It hadn't been that long since his last shag, had it?

Gradually he picked up his pace. Alfred's hands splayed out on the tiled walls for support, his back rising and falling with each shallow pant he made, the steam from the shower making both their heads feel light and their limbs jittery. Arthur reached around Alfred, taking the American's cock in his hand as he pressed closer, resting his cheek on Alfred's back and listening to each, "Mmn," and tiny, "Aah," or a light smack of his lips as the musician continued his relentless pace, nipping at the flushed skin before him.

Alfred came with a sharp hiss and no warning. Arthur fought back a moan as the American began clenching about him, squeezing him just right as he continued to thrust with his last resolve. He spilled himself into Alfred with a jerk, his hands starting to spasm their grip on Alfred's hips until he was spent.

"Jesus H. Christ," Alfred mumbled, pressing his face into the tiles with a tired sigh. "Didja have to come inside? And shit, my back's gunna look like I got attacked by a bear or something. I could feel you biting me the whole time!"

Arthur just gave the American a satisfied smile, adjusting the showerhead so the lukewarm water sprayed over his own head and shoulders. "Why don't you clean up, love, and I'll order room service. The least I could do for the shag."

The American gave Arthur and almost stupefied expression. "Liked it that much, huh?" He gave a short laugh. "Hell, if the food's good, I might even let ya have a second go." Alfred grimaced. "But get out; I need to get your gross cum out of my ass."

"Vulgar, vulgar," Arthur tatted, as he opened the shower door, grasping a thick white towel and wrapping it around his waist. Once he was out of the bathroom, he sat down on his bed, letting the past events wash over him like a tsunami. He had just fucked the McDonald's employee that had not only rejected him, but had also spat in his sandwich. And now he was offering the boy food? He should be shoving Alfred out of the door – half naked if he must – to happily slam the door on his face. That's how most of his one night stands went.

But somehow he felt Alfred was different. The American's vocabulary had something to be gained, but the lad was smart and bitter – about what, Arthur almost wanted to know. Alfred didn't ask him what it was like to be famous; he didn't seem to care about the other members of the band, or anything of the sort. It was as if he had no prior credit with Alfred, a clean slate, and there was something about that that drove him mad.

Quickly he picked up the provided phone and dialed for room service, ordering the steak and the fish, knowing that he'd eat either of them, but would let Alfred chose which he wanted – just for a shot at that second round the American had mentioned. The shower soon cut off and Arthur grasped for the remote, turning on the telly hastily to make it look like he was doing something other than wait for Alfred to rejoin him.

Alfred ambled from the bathroom, a towel around his waist and a smaller damp one draped about his shoulders. His uniform was crumpled up in his hands, and he raised a shapely brow at Arthur. "What're you lookin' at?" he asked gruffly, tossing his clothes on the floor by the foot of the bed.

"A bloody moron," Arthur replied easily, shrugging and attempting to peer around the American to see the television.

Alfred paused a bit, his stance tense with hesitation. "Didja, uhh, actually order food?" he asked quietly, biting his lower lip a bit as if he were trying to calm himself somehow.

Arthur's brows knit together in confusion and he sat up, crossing his legs and double checking that his dampened towel still hid his manhood. Sure he'd just had sex with the boy, but that didn't mean he felt he could just parade around naked all the time. He was that much of a gentleman at least. "I am a man of my word," he answered haughtily.

For a moment there was only silence between them as Alfred seemed to scan Arthur's face with suspicion. "Awesome!" the American proclaimed suddenly, falling onto the bed next to Arthur and spraying the musician with errant droplets of water. "I could probably eat a damn horse right about now."

"The shag was that great, was it?" Arthur found himself asking with a quirk of his brow, his green eyes narrowing in what he knew to be sufficiently seductive.

The grin that Alfred sent him was sharp and promiscuous. "You mean that foreplay in the shower?" he murmured, slowly inching his way across the bed towards Arthur, making the Briton's breath hitch in anticipation, "The real fun is still coming – after some grub and with some lube." He pulled a sudden face. "Definitely with lube. A guy can only take it raw so many times, you know?"

Arthur sighed despondently. "So vulgar," he grumbled as he fixed his towel around his waist. And he'd almost been turned on, too. "There's lotion in the end table, I'll have you know. That's as good as you'll find." He crossed his arms as a sharp rap came to the door.

"Works for me," Alfred said nonchalantly, beginning to rummage through said end table drawer as Arthur got up to answer the door.

"Room service," a meek young boy chimed as Arthur pried the door open, hiding behind the wooden panel to keep himself decent.

Arthur nodded, grasping the handle of the pushcart that they boy handled. "Thanks, lad. I'll call again for clean up." He pulled the cart inside the room, wheeling it towards the bed before kicking the door closed without another word to the boy. "Steak or fish?" he asked Alfred, pulling the silver tops from the two dishes and setting them on the underside of the pushcart before sitting himself on the bed.

The American's lips pursed heavily, his bright, sickening blue eyes trained on the meals settled before him. There was a long, tense moment of hesitation before Alfred sucked in a large breath, as if to muster his courage or gather his wits, and quickly grabbed the plate with the steak. "I ain't much of a fish guy," he said tightly, watching Arthur through narrowed eyes. "I know how they make that shit at Micky D's – no thank you."

"If you hadn't noticed, this isn't your pathetic excuse of a food chain," Arthur huffed, taking a fork into his hand and stabbed at the fish, watching with a pleased smirk as moisture beaded up around the punctures. Perfectly done – he wouldn't settle for less.

It wasn't until Arthur took his first bite of the fish that Alfred seemed to relax and begin cutting his steak with haphazard movements of his knife. They ate in a relaxed silence, watching the news on the telly. Arthur could feel himself relaxing with this boy – this stranger. He watched Alfred eat for a moment, his own meal finished (or at least mostly). There was something about the American that intrigued him so intensely… And suddenly there was a prominent thought on his mind, and it bloomed into a cascade of words and melody that hummed in the back of his skull.

But before he could think more on "A sharp smile caging that venomous tongue and words so sweet and vile", Alfred pushed away the cart and dishes, maneuvering onto his hands and knees to crawl up onto Arthur's lap. "So," the American practically purred, taking off his glasses and carelessly tossing them aside. "Round two?"

Arthur quirked a smile at Alfred, his fingers winding into the fluffy white towel that wrapped around the American's waist. "If you think you can handle it," was his reply before he threw caution into the wind and leaned upwards, taking Alfred's lower lip into his mouth and biting. Normally he found kissing to be more intimate than the deed itself, but he was infuriatingly curious about that quick tongue and all the things it could do.

Alfred seemed almost as surprised as he was at his own actions, but he adjusted quickly, pulling his lip from Arthur's teeth only to reassert himself with heavy nips at Arthur's mouth, his swift tongue lapping at teeth and tongue and cheeks and is all Arthur could do was let it happen – to try and not moan with want or submit himself to such a wonderful pleasure without getting his own taste, nipping and licking back with just as much fervor.

"You're not too bad at that, lad," Arthur breathed out when they parted for air. The fingers in Alfred's towel slowly began tracing the trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton, up and down, up and down.

Alfred's breath hitched a bit, his abs tightening with the lazy movements of Arthur's fingers. The American gave a repressed sigh before roughly pushing Arthur down onto the bed, his towel falling away with the movement. "I ain't gunna say this again – so listen close. I want to hear your voice, don't hold back, 'coz… it's beautiful and shit." Alfred flushed; his face was the very image of flustered petulance.

"Beautiful and shit, eh? I can honestly say I've never heard it phrased so eloquently," Arthur teased, prying off his own towel as Alfred settled himself on his thighs. "So tell me," he began, his fingers beginning to massage the inside of Alfred's thigh, slowly working his way inwards. "Do you listen to my music?"

Alfred's face pinched at the corners of his eyes as he attempted to keep a straight face through the sinful ministrations. "Y-yeah," he grumbled. "Kind of… Eee-Eliza let me borrow your guys' first album… and – woh…" He stuttered when Arthur began to fondle his balls, the pads of his fingers rubbing sensual circles in the sensitive flesh. "Shit. Fuck. Shit. I-I haven't… listened to any of the others… Haven't had… money… Nngh."

The Briton stopped his lavishing for a moment to look up at Alfred. "Our first wasn't… well received."

"So?" Alfred huffed indignantly, leaning forward to cage Arthur's torso between his arms. "I like it. So what the fuck does it matter?"

Later on it would be that comment that Arthur would blame. He would blame it for the way it made his heart thunder and stop, for the closeness he suddenly felt to someone who was a stranger to him, for how naked and raw he felt under that scrutinizing blue gaze.

Arthur clasped his hands behind Alfred's strong neck, his damp hair tickling at the insides of Arthur's wrists as he pulled the American down for a long, wet kiss. He could feel Alfred smile before taking a bruising bit at his lip, pulling away and dragging his teeth along the supple flesh. "Lemme grab that lotion," he mumbled, licking Arthur's abused lip before slipping off the musician's thighs, not without purposefully rubbing their groins together.

"You are… unbelievable." Arthur hummed as Alfred returned, easily positioning himself on Arthur's hips, popping off the top of the lotion with a thumbnail.

Alfred chuckled deeply. "I think you meant to say 'irresistible'." Arthur scoffed, but choked when Alfred began to grind against him, leaning forward to flick that amazing tongue across one of his pert nipples. "Remember what I said about your voice," the American mumbled, his fingers, slightly calloused, climbed their way up Arthur's sides until they met his chest, touching and flicking and rubbing.

Arthur tried not to gasp at the pleasure. Instead he let out a long sigh that hitched into a whine when the American bit down on the edge of his collarbone. One of Alfred's hands inched across the blanket, retrieving the opened lotion, his other hand teasing Arthur's pink nipple as the musician threaded his fingers into Alfred's golden hair, tugging until he heard the American hiss against his skin.

With a quirky squeeze the lotion splurged out of the bottle and onto Arthur's stomach. "Ahh-ha!" the Briton exclaimed breathily, his stomach muscles clenching at the sudden cold. "W-watch what you're doing… bloody idiot."

Alfred only smiled against Arthur's neck, slathering his fingers into the ribbons of lotion, dipping his finger into Arthur's navel briefly. "I'm warming it up, duh." His breath was hot and thick and Arthur shivered, pulling Alfred's hair tighter.

Once his fingers were thoroughly smattered with lotion he reached down between their legs and took Arthur's cock into his hand, squeezing it a bit as his hand began to slowly slide up and down. His smile turned into a sharpened smirk and he lifted his face from the hickey that would surely be on Arthur's neck in the morning. Arthur flushed, panting between his teeth, allowing his fingers to disentangle from thick locks of golden hair to follow Alfred's neckline, down to his shoulders, to splay his fingers across Alfred's built chest as he bucked up into the American's greased palm.

"Ahmnn – W-would… just – bloody hell…" Arthur grunted out, thrusting again in hopes to get more friction. Frustrated he tweaked one of Alfred's nipples, earning a startled yelp and a curse. "Don't be a tease," he growled at Alfred's indigent look.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you seriously have some fucking problems. Can't you just enjoy it for a minute?"

Arthur bit his lip, wincing slightly as his teeth grazed the swollen skin. His hips bucked up almost on their own accord and Alfred was sitting there, erect, with a shit-eating grin, his hand flexing around the musician's cock in a way that drove Arthur mad with lust. He wrapped his hands around Alfred's neck, pulling the American down once more to bite at the lobe of his ear, licking the shell before whispering hotly; frustrated, "Fucking get on, or I'll toss you to the floor and shag you so hard, you won't walk for a month."

In response Alfred nipped the soft skin under his chin. "Mmn, feisty and impatient. Fine. If it'll make you shut up and start moaning."

Alfred sat up, maneuvering himself onto his knees before taking a hold of Arthur's cock once again, running a greased thumb over the head and slit, causing the Briton shudder. Slowly, teasingly, running his tongue suggestively across his teeth; Alfred guided Arthur's cock to his entrance, allowing the tip of his cock to brush and circle against the puckered muscle, smearing lotion and precum, before settling himself down roughly.

"Auhh – fuck, yes." Arthur's hands dropped to Alfred's hips, feeling the American's muscles twitching beneath the pads of his fingers. Alfred pulled himself up, splaying his hands into the blankets on either side of Arthur's chest, before pushing himself back down, his face pinched and flushed, but his eyes – so startling blue – remained trained on Arthur's face as he began riding him in a steady rhythm, occasionally swirling his hips to get a new angle that had Arthur biting back gasps.

Arthur let his hands roam free, exploring the dips and curves of Alfred's legs and backside. The American's thigh muscles quivered as he repeatedly pulled and pressed himself onto Arthur with small pants and smacks of his lips as his tongue darted out to lick at his drying lips.

It wasn't long until Arthur was thrusting up into Alfred with a sense of urgency and want, pushing himself in further and deeper as his wandering hands found their way to Alfred's blushing cock, his fingers wrapping around the engorged organ and squeezing. Alfred whined a bit in his throat, but remained focused on keeping his tempo, a light sheen of sweat tantalizing his tanned skin from effort.

"Don't be shy," Arthur breathed, letting out a particularly pleased groan when Alfred clenched his cheeks and slid down. "Your voice isn't all that bad, either…" And before the American could make a smartarse retort, he brushed his finger along the underside of Alfred's cock, beginning to stroke and squeeze each time Alfred went down. His fingers rubbed in all the ways he knew would drive any man crazy.

Alfred came with a strangled noise, his cum spurting onto Arthur's stomach to join the smeared mess of lotion and sweat. The American gave no warning as he shook, his muscles tightening and flexing about Arthur's buried cock, his barrel-shaped ribcage heaving with his shuddering breaths before he fell forward onto Arthur, his lips brushing against the Briton's collarbone as he mumbled. "So fucking good…"

Arthur chortled, pushing Alfred to the side and snapping his hips back into the American. "We're not done yet," he growled as Alfred gasped in surprise. Possessively – and oh God was he possessive over this boy already – he bit down onto Alfred's shoulder as he thrust desperately, grasping at his finish until he came inside Alfred for the second time that day.

But what surprised them both – or maybe it had disturbed them, he couldn't remember – were the words that tumbled from his lips during that climax; lusty, thick, and tight.

"Be my groupie."

End of Part One.

Wow… uhm. Yeah. There's only three parts in total – and this one is probably going to be the shortest of them by far. There's a plot to this… I promise. ^-^;; And there will be USUK in the future chapters… not just UKUS… Yeah.

/goes to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment