Actions

Work Header

Too Close for Comfort

Work Text:

This was his last night of freedom. And he was going to fucking enjoy it.

Alfred ran his fingers through his hair and pushed back his bangs in an attempt at suaveness, which made him look like a nervous adolescent more than anything else. No one seemed to mind him as he walked through the mass of sweaty bodies, though, so perhaps his hair wasn’t as much of a catastrophe as he had thought.

Which was a good sign, all things considered. He wanted to look his best tonight. After all, he couldn’t let Gilbert win their bet (his pride wasn’t even the main issue- Alfred didn’t have twenty bucks on him). Alfred was just as capable as any other eligible bachelor to secure a night with a hot stranger.

As he had talked himself into forgoing his wallet, said stranger was going to have to be loaded. He was celebrating his last night out before starting a real job, the kind his father had wanted for him. He’d be damned if he didn’t down at least one fancy drink.

The bartender smiled at him when Alfred took a seat at the bar. “Would you like to order a drink?” he asked, gesturing to the colorful display of bottles behind the counter.

Alfred shook his head. “Not yet, thanks. I’m waiting for someone to pay for me.”

“I see,” the bartender smiled knowingly at him before turning to reach for a glass. “Something tells me you won’t be waiting long.”

Alfred’s eyes followed the bartender’s gaze until they fell on a man making his way towards the bar. He couldn’t see the stranger’s features clearly with the colorful strobes above, but his hair was most definitely blond. As he came closer, Alfred could see that the man carried himself with an air of dignified importance, which was unusual for a clubber.

He liked it.

He most certainly liked the way the stranger’s (oh, they were green) eyes studied him when the man took the seat next to him at the bar. He didn’t mind the warm weight of the stranger’s hand on his own, either.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the man said, his English accent stalling awkwardly on the blatant American abbreviation. His voice was rich and smooth, however, which more than made up for it. Be it out of amusement or pleasure, Alfred smiled, and that was apparently what the stranger had been aiming for if he were to judge by the matching curve of the lips.

Alfred took a good look at the man. He looked loaded what with his dress shirt and tie. The type wasn’t uncommon- plenty of frustrated businessmen frequented clubs at the end of their shifts. They also tended to be free with their money, which was a considerable bonus to the stranger’s appeal as far as Alfred was concerned.

He was good for the night, and he hadn’t even been in the club for ten minutes. Take that, Gilbert!

His smile widened into a pleased grin as he turned in his stool to face his companion. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” Alfred replied, mimicking the other’s emphasise on the ‘a’ in ‘aren’t’ with a good natured wink. “But your cheesy pick up lines can use some work, dude.”

The stranger shook his head. “It worked, though, did it not?”

“Maybe,” Alfred pulled his hand from under the other’s palm. “Depends on if you’re planning on buying me a drink.”

Smirking, the stranger turned halfway to the bar and flagged down the bartender, who had been eying them from the opposite counter.

“A shot of whiskey,” the man called out before indicating his hand towards Alfred, “and anything he wants for the rest of the evening. On me.”

Alfred snorted. “I asked for a drink, not the whole bar. You’re gonna regret that."

The stranger leaned in close, close enough to be heard above the music even as he whispered, “not at all. According to my plan, you are not going to remain here very long.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred inquired, though he thought he knew the answer. Just in case, he lowered his hand beneath the counter and settled it heavily on the other’s thigh. He could feel the man stiffening beneath his fingers, but the moment passed and the muscles relaxed against his palm.

“I mean for you to return with me to my flat,” the stranger elaborated, exhaling hotly against the shell of Alfred’s ear. “And to rid you of that awful pair of trousers you’re wearing. That is,” his confidence faltered, “if you’re interested?”

Alfred drew back and turned to the bartender. “What d’you think? Is he an axe murderer tempting me into his lair....Tom?”

Tom (or so claimed his nametag) appeared to contemplate his question seriously as he placed the shot of whiskey in front of the stranger. “Well if he is, he’s a handsome one,” he replied slowly before breaking into a saucy smile. “I certainly wouldn’t mind spending my last night in his bed.”

The stranger’s face was turning a pretty shade of red when Alfred wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Hey!” he exclaimed with a dramatic flair, “quit hitting on my handsome axe murderer!”

“For the love of--” the stranger began but never got to finish, as Alfred had taken the liberty of crushing their mouths together in a clumsy twist of limbs. Despite the discomfort (or perhaps the man was a masochist, one could never tell), the stranger pressed back in eager determination, taking control of their kiss which was mostly a series of stinging nips and clashing teeth. They would have to work on their coordination later on that night, Alfred supposed, but the thought was brushed aside when his arm was gripped tightly.

“Should I take that as a ‘yes’, then?” the man insisted, brow furrowed in concentration.

Either his benefactor was slow, or he didn’t have much luck scoring. Regardless of the reason for the man’s caution, Alfred shook his head in amusement. “What do you think?”

The man suddenly let go of his arm and swiveled to face the counter, grabbing the shot of whiskey and downing it in one go. He began to struggle with his pocket, pulling out a wad of tissues before unearthing his wallet and pressing a bill into the bartender’s hand.

“Keep the change,” he said distractedly before climbing off of his stool and offering Alfred his hand. “Shall we go?”

Alfred looked between the offered hand and the empty glass next to him. “What about my drink?”

The stranger gave a sharp bark of laughter. “My flat is stocked with all the alcohol you can drink, love,” he indicated towards the entrance of the club. “I swear you won’t leave before you’re properly hung over.”

Climbing off of his barstool as well, Alfred cast one last longing glance at the counter. “Do you promise?”

His hand was enveloped in the other’s warm grasp and pressed against his lips. “How else am I to get you into bed with me?”

Honestly, the man had some serious issues. It was kind of cute, though. Maybe spending the night together would do more than satisfy their needs for a few hours. He liked the idea- he’d be getting lucky and do a good deed all in one.

“Oh, I bet you can think of something.”

.x.

When the stranger had briefly described his flat to Alfred in the taxi, he had failed to mention the white suede couches and the large windows granting Alfred a starlit view of the city. He had been aiming for someone loaded, sure, but hadn’t really pictured himself standing next to a window half his height, staring out at the breathtaking skyline with a glass of champagne in his hand.

Well wasn’t he feeling fancy?

“Like it?” a pair of arms circled his waist and pulled Alfred back against the stranger’s firm chest. The man was a little shorter than him, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. The mouth pressing hot kisses to the column of his neck was doing wonders.

Alfred settled back, relaxing his muscles and closing his eyes as he enjoyed the man’s ministrations. “Let’s just say I didn’t imagine myself ending up in a place like this when I left for the club,” Alfred commented idly, lifting the flute to his lips and finishing the last bit of his drink. “It’s not half bad.”

The man chuckled. “One of the benefits of having an interior designer for an ex, I suppose. I came home one day and found my entire flat redone.”

Opening his eyes, Alfred fiddled around with the glass and glanced at their reflection on the window. Their edged were blurred and the colors a little faded, but there was no mistaking the wistful expression on his host’s face. Not that it really mattered in the long run, but Alfred wondered if he was a rebound fuck.

“Is that why you broke up?”

“No,” the man shook his head, “Francine had a terrible temper. We both did,” he conceded, looking out the window at the scenery as well. He paused for a moment, brows creased in a contemplative  frown before apparently remembering the man in his arms. His grip tightened around Alfred and he rested his chin on his shoulder with a sly smile.

One of the hands unwound itself from around Alfred’s waist and reached up to grab the champagne flute from his hand, casting it aside on the coffee table. Returning to Alfred’s body, the wandering hand was joined by its twin as they both fingered the hem of Alfred’s shirt before delving beneath the fabric to explore the warm expanse of his skin.

Alfred inhaled sharply at the cold touch but didn’t mind it, not really. The cold was refreshingly acute, making him aware of every patch of skin the man’s fingers brushed against. He found himself arching against the other’s back, his own hands making quick work of his jeans. He could feel his host’s interest pressing lightly against his ass when he bent down to pull his pants off completely. Next time he would wear a looser pair.

The man leaned forward, pinning Alfred to the windowpane so that he had to press his palms against the glass in order to keep his balance. “You don’t mind undressing in full view?” he said softly, tracing his way down Alfred’s sides until his hands came to rest on his hips. “I never thought I was bringing an exhibitionist home with me.”

Heat flooded Alfred’s face, but not the embarrassed kind. He hadn’t really considered the possibility of onlookers from below, but now that it was mentioned, he found that he didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked it. It was new and risque- just what he wanted before being dragged down by boring routine of a regular job.

“Is that a problem?” he questioned, looking straight in the eye of the man’s reflection, grinning. “We can do vanilla if that’s the kind of thing old men like you are into.”

The man issued an indignified snort. “You don’t even know how old I am.”

Alfred shrugged. “I can tell.”

“In that case,” the man said slowly, “would you prefer I didn’t do this?” He slid his hands to the front of Alfred’s underwear, cupping his balls through the cloth. He squeezed and then relaxed his grip, pulling back. “Am I too old to touch you?”

His hands leaving a sweaty mark on the window, Alfred reached down to grab the man’s wrist with a low growl. “Don’t you dare stop,” he warned, grinding back against the other’s crotch. “You promised. You said you wanted to fuck me into the mattress.”

The man hummed. “I might have said that. My memory tends to fail me, though- old age and all that, you know.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and pried himself out of the man’s grasp. For a moment, the man looked surprised, but his surprise soon turned to a heady smile when Alfred fell to his knees in front of him and began to fiddle with his belt.

Alfred stroked him and looked up with a smirk.

“Maybe this will refresh your memory.”

.x.

Waking up with a pounding headache was not on Alfred’s to-do list. Yet there he was, curled up in a duvet that smelled strongly of lilacs, nursing one of the worst hangovers known to man. Or to Alfred, at the very least. The next time he saw Gilbert, he was going to strangle him.

Okay, so maybe drinking throughout the night before a new job wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. A couple of Aspirins and he was good to go, though. Right?

Alfred groaned loudly and stretched his limbs, expecting to feel a solid weight behind him. He felt nothing but the cool sheets, however, and when he reached out, all his hand grasped was empty air.

Slowly, slowly, Alfred opened his eyes and sat up, gasping at the pang of pain at his temple. He swallowed thickly as he blurrily surveyed the room and took note that indeed, he was alone.

The events of the previous night resurfaced, revealing the chain of events which had landed him in a stranger’s bed in God knew where. What he didn’t know was where his companion was.

Alfred reached out to the bedside table where he remembered to have left his glasses, grinding his teeth as his whole body protested the sudden movement. Instead of grabbing his frames, though, his hand circled around something cold and smooth. After a few more moments of blind groping, Alfred found his glasses and put them on, blinking as the world came into focus.

The cold object on the table turned out to be a glass of water, set next to two white pills. A green post-it note rested next to the glass, covered in a flurry of script. Alfred reached out for the pills first, popping them in his mouth and washing them down with the water before picking up the note and studying the writing carefully. He had never been left a note before.

I apologize for not being there when you wake up, but I had to leave for work. Judging by the amount of alcohol you imbibed last night, I expect you’ll be needing these pills. You weren’t joking when you said you could drink the whole bar, were you?

Feel free to remain in bed as long as you like. When you leave, please lock the door and leave the key with the doorman- I’ve left you one on the counter, as well as some cash for a taxi. You’ll find your clothes on the chair.

It was nice meeting you. I can only hope that you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.

Alfred smiled, considering to scrawl some saucy comment about enjoying himself when a trickle of fear pooled in his stomach.

...but I had to leave for work.

What time was it?

Leaping out of bed, Alfred scrambled across the room towards his pile of clothing, neatly folded on a chair. He dug through his pocket and fumbled for his phone, pressing it on and hoping for the life of him that-

shit.

It was ten thirty.

Alfred swore. He yanked his clothing back on frantically, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and the sore ache of his limbs. He grabbed the key and bill from the counter and rushed out, pausing only to hand the key to the surprised doorman before flagging down a passing cab.

By the time Alfred arrived at his new workplace, he looked worse than he felt, which said it all. His hair was messy (even though he had tried finger-combing it on the way), his clothes were wrinkled and he was out of breath. The receptionist wrinkled her nose at him when she saw him walk in.

When he announced that he was a new employee, she frowned. “Are you sure you’re in the right place, sir?” she asked him skeptically, but after he insisted that yes, indeed, he was, she allowed him to follow her to the office.

“Stay here,” she ordered him shortly when they reached the door. “The supervisor will see you shortly.”

As she disappeared beyond the door, Alfred surveyed the hall, wondering if this was the first and last time he would be walking through it. His father had been so proud when he found out that his son had gotten himself a respectable office job. Was a silly bet and a lone one night stand worth being fired on his first day?

The door opened. “Mr. Kirkland will see you now, sir,” the receptionist beckoned to him and stepped back to allow him to pass her. Once he was inside the room, she closed the door behind them with a loud thud.

She obviously wasn’t expecting their conversation to last long if she didn’t plan on leaving them alone.

“Mr. Jones,” a rich voice greeted him stiffly from the front of the room. A blond man, dressed smartly in a grey suit, was sitting down behind a desk, looking through a pile of papers. Alfred held his breath.

No. There was no fucking way-

His supervisor- mr. Kirkland, apparently- shook his head and looked up from his desk. “In all of my experience with this company, it is safe to say that this is the first time a new employee arrived two hours after- good lord!

The receptionist, who had been nodding reproachfully in Alfred’s direction, turned her eyes to mr. Kirkland with a worried frown. “Sir? Is everything alright?”

Mr. Kirkland stared unabashedly at Alfred, who stared right back. Fleeting images of their night together presented themselves in the forefront of Alfred’s mind as if to taunt him and judging by the expression on the other’s face, mr. Kirkland was experiencing the same. Alfred hoped his face wasn’t as red as the other’s, at any rate.

Looking back at that moment, Alfred couldn’t help but laugh.

Who knew that the loaded Brit who had offered to buy him a drink would turn out to be his boss?