Chapter Four: In Which Alfred Gets Excited Over Small Things

Matthew was almost at the point where he shoved a shot of whiskey under Alfred's nose and told him, despairingly, to just get some damn dutch courage and get out there. Almost. But the way Alfred bounced up and down while Matthew looked him over and decided whether or not he was in date suitable attire was just so- Matthew would have felt like he was kicking a puppy had he shoved him out there without reassuring him that Arthur wasn't about to ditch him in the middle of the date or somehow mysteriously decide he hated him halfway through the movie. But after the seventy third time Alfred took a deep breath and huffed it out and asked Matthew in a plaintive voice if he thought it was okay to hold hands during dinner, Matthew was going to crack. Seriously.

"Mattie?" came Alfred's voice, backed by big watery blue eyes. "What if-" Matthew held up a hand and cut him off, one hand going to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Alfred Freedom Jones, if you don't go out there-" Alfred backed off quickly, eyes widening a little in fear.

"Don't, please, I'll stop asking, just don't try to style the cowlick again," he said, backpedaling through the doorway into the living room and nearly flipping backwards over the couch, managing to crash into Arthur along the way, the two of them stumbling until Arthur had fallen against Alfred, pressed up against the couch awkwardly. Matthew's ire melted slightly at the sight of them babbling, stuttering as they attempted to untangle themselves, a vivid blush on his brother's cheeks and Arthur's viridian eyes averted. He felt like he was intruding slightly as he watched the way Alfred tried to pass off a wholly unconscious reach of his hand towards Arthur's cheek as a maneuver to brush a piece of lint out of Arthur's hair.

"There you go, no more fuzzies," Alfred said, laughing awkwardly. Matthew shut the door between the kitchen and the living room, returning to the sink to wash out the coffee mugs as Arthur stared uncomfortably long at Alfred's face, opening his mouth to say something. Matthew wasn't sure he wanted to know what that something ended up being, because it was most likely a painful wound to his own self proclaimed romanticism. He rued the day he got all of the romance genes in the family: Alfred could have stood to gain a few. But at the end of the night, Alfred was progressing (with help), and Arthur wasn't entirely hopeless, so Matthew could, perhaps, persuade his mother hen tendencies when it came to the two to calm down a bit and let him watch a hockey game in peace. Yes, he decided. Hockey was good. Hockey was low stress. Hockey was not a touchy subject about his bumbling house mates.

Hockey was good.

"So," Alfred said, standing a few feet away from the line to the movie theatre, rocking on his heels. "You're totally okay with seeing X-Men? Like, completely? Cause we don't have to, really, we can see a romance movie. Or somethin' like that." Arthur smiled up at him, squeezing the hand that Alfred had gracelessly insinuated against his on the walk from the car park.

"Totally." He said, tugging him towards the line. "I am totally okay with seeing it. I want to see what the hype is about." Alfred grinned, laughing sort of nervously.

"Okay, cool, great, I'll just, uh, I'll just get two tickets for that, then." Oh god, he thought to himself. Please don't let him find out that this movie is the reason I sometimes pretend he's Charles and his accent is stronger and he telepathically dirty talks to me. Please. Or the one about me as Erik, that'd be bad too. He mentally bemoaned his position. Actually, just please never let me blurt out any of my fantasies, okay? Particularly the pirate one.

Alfred was obviously trying very hard to make this the best possible night out for Arthur. He'd graciously deferred to his choices in movie candy, gotten him his favorite soda, going so far as to hold open all the doors for him. Even the door to the restroom, which was slightly strange but charming in an all-thumbs, fumbling sort of way. Arthur didn't mind much that he picked seats in the very back of the hardly crowded theatre, despite all their choices closer to the screen. The movie was really quite interesting, actually. There were many moments where Arthur found himself truly engrossed in the play of characters, the dynamics between Charles and Erik. He watched the scene on the beach with apprehension, tensing up when Charles fell at the bullet. Alfred's thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of his hand, leaning in.

"Hey," he whispered gently. "Don't worry, it turns out okay." Arthur turned to make a sharp retort about he was completely not worried about the fictional character gasping in the sand, only to find Alfred's blue eyes reflecting the changing scenes on the screen far closer than he'd thought. And he thought, for a brief moment, that maybe Alfred wasn't talking about Charles and Erik.

"I-" Arthur started, then stopped, swallowing. "Yeah, it will be." Alfred smiled softly, nodding his head to the screen just in time for Arthur to catch the former Hellfire club and its new members linking hands and vanishing from the beach, leaving the rest empty-hearted and missing a piece of themselves on the blood and shrapnel soaked sand. He let himself lean his head against Alfred's still almost too close shoulder as he watched Charles roll along the pathway at the mansion, as the credits rolled and the lights slowly returned. When it's time to leave he doesn't quite have the heart to let go of Alfred altogether, because over the course of the movie, in such a short period of time, it's become apparent that he rather likes Alfred's warmth beside him in the dark, a rock to hold on to while he is tossed through the journey of the movie. And there are other things he'd like Alfred beside him in the dark for, but that's a thought too far along for him to really fully think out, so he abandons it for now and settles for happily swinging their hands between them as they walk out of the theater into the cold night air.

"Did you like it?" Alfred asks unnecessarily, simply talking to fill the space between them, a space that is rapidly becoming one not needing small talk for comfort. Arthur takes a deep breath, looking up at the stars above and then letting it out, cold mist towards the specks of light he wants to futilely reach up at and attempt to capture. The stars remind him of Alfred, of how Alfred used to talk to them when they lay in their tree house during the summertime. How Alfred just seemed to know what was up there, how he wanted to tell Arthur all about it so he could share it with someone. With his very own someone, his most important someone.

"I did," he says after a period of nostalgia, a fond glance over at the taller blond. "It was... nice. Yeah, nice. Of course, not as nice as A Room With a View, but still... Charles makes an acceptable diversion from Lucy." Alfred laughed, his head thrown back and voice clear in the deserted park they're walking through to get to the parking garage where the car is. It's really so perfectly lovely to Arthur, the line of his jaw against the navy blue night, the way his eyes glint too candy sky sweet when he looks back down at Arthur, and he can't really help himself. He's not completely responsible for what happens next, because really Alfred should stop being so unconsciously good at doing things Arthur finds perfectly lovely, but he supposes Alfred might be forgiven because it didn't really turn out a disaster.

He kisses him.

It's not really an action movie style kiss, where all of the sudden there's tongue and they're groping and their desire is unlocked like a wildfire of pent up passions. It's not a romance movie kiss either, because those are usually less awkward. Or a period drama kiss, complete with dipping and bending and torrid revelations about feelings. But it's a nice kiss, a gorgeous kiss.

It's a kiss where Arthur tugs a little at the collar of Alfred's bomber jacket and bends him down in a sort of uncomfortable position so he can reach his lips, missing by a centimeter and really Arthur just hits him with a soft kiss halfway off his mouth and basically centered at the right corner of his lips. And then he lets go, he turns away like nothing happened, like Alfred isn't staring, and keeps walking towards the car. It's not quite the moment of a lifetime in the terms of cinematic brilliance, but it's enough. It's more than enough. And it's far more than enough to make Alfred so happy the feeling swells up inside his chest to the point where he can't even barely choke out words on the drive home. Arthur just switches on the radio, a small smile quirking his lips, not minding the silence because it's a fine end to their date, just winding down as they get closer to the apartment. Well, Arthur's winding down and Alfred's winding up and up and up to the point where once Arthur's hung his coat and hugged him briefly goodnight before retreating to his room, Alfred muffles a screech in a pillow and does a silly little dance with lots of punching the air and tiny squeaks of success. Matthew watches him indulgently from the couch, smiling widely until Alfred calms down enough to collapse against the cushions of the loveseat.

"I take it went well?" Matthew asks unnecessarily. Alfred grins, his chest still feeling too full.

"Dude. Dude. Bro. We held hands," he says dreamily. Matthew nods approvingly, surreptitiously rolling his eyes a little bit.

"Impressive. What progress." Alfred closes his eyes and leans his head back, his fingers tapping, his whole body all jacked up on happiness. He doesn't know if he's ever felt this good.

"We made it to first base," he sighs. Matthew arches an eyebrow.

"Really? Tongue already?" Alfred sits up quickly, looking suspiciously over at his skeptical brother.

"Wait, wait. There had to be tongue?" Matthew nods again, and Alfred groans. "Man... So close. Can we call it, um, a hit? Cause, there wasn't tongue, but our lips were all touchy sort of, I mean, he kissed the corner, that counts, right? Sort of? It was kiss, totally. Cause lips were definitely pressing against my face and stuff." Matthew heaves a sympathetic sigh and pats Alfred on the shoulder, getting up to get another cup of coffee.

"You'll get there, Alfie." Alfred groans, falling back against the couch back again.

"Foiled again," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth still because let's face it- Arthur's lips were on his, if only partially, and that's more than he's ever had before. And it briefly occurs to him that 'foiled again' seems more like something a villain would say, but honestly he's still so blissed out on the progress that he doesn't mind if he has to be the Magneto to Arthur's adorable Professor X. As long as the story changes so nobody gets paralyzed and they stay together, he doesn't care.

Because in the end he's always closer to Arthur, no matter how you look at it.

And closer to Arthur is always where he wants to be.

So here we are, the first 'date'. Progress, people, progress. And a little insight into Alfred's fantasies about being a super hero with Arthur as his stunning sidekick in spandex. :D

Thanks for all the great reviews, they make me so incredibly happy, and I'm honestly astounded with the sheer amount of feedback I've received. So thank you soooo much!

I don't know when the next update will be, but hopefully soon. -MM