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Alfred was 6 years old when his parents passed away in a tragic accident. His immediate family were pretty small, there weren’t many willing to take in a small child, and the possibility of him ending up in foster care is high until word from across the sea arrives that he has English cousins who were willing, when no one else was.
Everyone was surprised, because the Kirklands had already had four children of their own, three grown, and one shortly due to leave the nest soon. Arthur was their youngest at 19, still living at home with plans for university. A small boy being introduced into an environment that had already seen growing pains, domestic bliss, and dozens of family trips already taken could have proved disastrous for him– after all the parents had seen and done, they were just getting used to being able to do things on their own again. It was why they had relied on Arthur so heavily when Alfred arrived. Alfred wasn’t a shy boy, though definitely subdued after suffering the trauma of losing his mother and father, but as soon as he was introduced to the youngest Kirkland son, even so much older than him, he took to him so easily, opened up so freely, that the family believed they’d truly made the right decision.
Alfred was like a little duckling, following Arthur around everywhere he went, always wanting to do everything his older cousin did. Arthur for his part cared for him the way no one could have really expected, being so introverted and somewhat rebellious and troubled throughout his teenager years. But with Alfred’s arrival, it seemed to have matured him.
He held Alfred’s hand whenever the little boy asked, took him to the park for ice cream, allowed him around Arthur’s friends, and let him to nap in his bed when Arthur couldn’t go out because of his studies. He played games with him, sat through every teeth grinding rewatch of Alfred’s favorite Disney films, just because the boy would sit on his lap and look at Arthur like he was his whole world instead of the movie playing on the telly. Arthur was there when Alfred got his first pair of glasses at 8 years old. Alfred cried that he didn’t like them, until Arthur said they made him looked distinguished. When he broke them during play with the kids at school, Arthur was always the one to repair them. Arthur walked him to classes during the week and picked him up in the afternoons before his part time job, helped him with his homework, tucked him in at night even when Alfred was ‘too old’ for such things, and he would tell everyone else he didn’t need such things– but he accepted them from Arthur, nobody else.
Arthur treated him just like the little brother he’d always quietly wished he could have had, with a love that was bright, and warm. For him, it was so easy. For him, calling Alfred his ‘darling’ escaped him as easily as breathing.
To say Alfred was attached, then, would have been an understatement. A grave one.
Alfred was 10 years old when Arthur moved out. He was devastated, inconsolable even when Arthur promised him they’d see one another again, that of course Arthur would always come back to visit. Now, Alfred could focus more on making friends his own age, on cultivating hobbies that weren’t Arthur’s, and growing up into his own. This was the natural and correct response, but to Alfred, it made no difference. To him it sounded like rejection. But, because he loved Arthur, he did try. He did make friends, naturally charismatic and charming. He started to get taller, a little broader, the babyish softness around his face and middle began to melt away. He joined sports, took well to his studies, became less of the ‘foreign American boy’ who talked differently and instead grew into a very popular, well liked social butterfly.
Every time Arthur came home for visits and holidays, Alfred looked just a little different, acted just a bit older, though he always saw the little boy he had always kept so close to heart. Alfred still loved him too, as strongly as he’d ever had. More than anyone really knew. He didn’t quite see Arthur the same, though. He still hoped that if he did really well, if he really became as successful as Arthur believed he could be, then Arthur wouldn’t leave or go anywhere else. They could be just as they always were. But the years went by, and something else had begun to grow inside of him. ‘Attachment’ was no longer the right word, and Alfred could admit that to himself. After puberty struck and he’d learned what it was to want people and not just things, to have desires and express them, and he did know who it was that kept him up at night, occupied his thoughts, it made him ravenous for just a bit of attention. Attention Arthur still tried to give, but it was never quite enough. Like pouring liquid into a glass filled with holes. Alfred would run out of it far too fast.
So he went on his first dates, learned how to kiss, practiced how and where to touch, and knew how badly he craved control. He got really good at it, too. Only thing was, none of them were Arthur. There had never been a gradual transition– he always saw Arthur’s face in his mind when he kissed, when he touched, when someone else put their mouth on him, he imagined pale green and freckles and the lily soft caress of the hand that used to cradle his like a treasure.
When Alfred turned 16, Arthur brought someone home with him. It wasn’t really a special visit, not any real sort of occasion, but they’d made it one. The someone was a boyfriend, to whom Arthur had apparently been seeing for the last two years without anyone knowing at all. Because Arthur was still quiet that way, and kept many things to himself.
He’d used to tell Alfred everything, though, that much Alfred knows, so to meet this person for the first time in the middle of the living room, a good looking stranger with a nice smile, it’s a shock and a surprise of course. Arthur’s parents are nothing if not delighted. They fawned over him, welcomed him to their table, while Arthur preened and smiled and laughed like none of them had ever seen him do for years now, so much rarer had his visits become.
So Arthur had a boyfriend. Fine. Alfred had girlfriends, and boyfriends. People he still had in his phone that he kept around for when he needed a fix. But as Alfred listened, watched the way the stranger touched his hand over Arthur’s on top of the table while talking about them getting a flat together, having a little space where they could coo and cuddle and fuck or whatever it was that they did, something shattered inside of him. Alfred took two bites of his food, stood up, and left the dining room. He might have pushed his chair in a bit too harshly, because the rattle of dishes and cutlery followed him out of the room, but so did Arthur.
Arthur came straight into his bedroom, though not before knocking first. He never used to knock. He’d never had to. It just made Alfred angrier.
As Arthur came and sat next to him, trying to soften the blow that had come from watching Arthur look at someone with all the same urgent, desperate need that Alfred felt for him, he fully lost his temper. A bit. Where as once Arthur could have calmed him with a firm but gentle voice, it wasn’t going to work now. Alfred could shout and curse with the best of them. He told Arthur to fuck off, to get out of his room and out of his life and that he didn’t care if they fucking /died/. He said every awful, horrible thing he could think of, anything that would make Arthur’s face crumble and his eyes glisten with hurt, because at least he was looking at Alfred now. All his attentions were on him, all of his focus was on trying to calm him, to expend emotion and effort the way he used to when Alfred was scared and would come running to him for anything and everything.
Alfred was scared.
And when Arthur tried to reach for him, sorrowful and so beautiful, Alfred grabbed him by his pressed shirt collar. He forced his head back against the nearest wall, and crashed their mouths together in a vicious bite more than a kiss. Arthur was shaking when he forced himself away and out of Alfred’s grasp, a spot of vibrant red at the corner of his lips. He couldn’t seem to speak, his throat working around words– admonishment? Disgust? Despair? – before he gave up. Feebly, he stumbled out of the room.
Alfred didn’t come back out until it was time for the happy couple to leave, during which he found all the graciousness his older cousin had taught him once to have. He apologized to Arthur’s boyfriend. Lover. Whatever. His family didn’t have to know whether he meant it or not. He only cared that Arthur heard him, peering only at him as he said the words, and Arthur may have still been trembling. He’d ignored his boyfriend’s hand reaching for his as he stared back at Alfred, whose remorseful look had changed very slowly into a calm, and all too knowing grin. Alfred would go on that night to fist his cock raw to the lingering taste of Arthur in his mouth.
And after that, he made a plan.
--
“Alfred,” Arthur greeted him with all the wariness of someone who wasn’t sure how the other person had their home address. The thing was, Arthur had given it to Alfred over a year ago, he’d been here once or twice, but it was far out of the way and Arthur had always preferred to come back to his parent’s house. But that had been before the dinner two weeks ago. Before Alfred had put the slow healing nick at the corner of Arthur’s mouth with his teeth.
“I came to say I was sorry, for the other night. Can I come in?” Alfred asked, with the same impatience and eagerness Arthur had once found endearing. It seemed to unnerve his cousin instead. Ah well. Though, he did take a step back, observing him, and allowed him to step inside.
Alfred toed off his sneakers, tossing his backpack off to the side along with them. He’d come straight here after school, without bothering to tell Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland, but he figured once he did let them know where he was, they wouldn’t mind. Wouldn't even think about it. Arthur started to speak, seemingly having gathered some of his usual calm as he shut the door. He really seemed to right himself and let his guard down a little as Alfred acted normal, unbothered, very much the messy teenager he had become.
“Alfred, I don’t really understand what happened the other night. It’s good you’re apologizing, I’m not angry with you, but how you treated my–”
“Is he here?” Alfred deliberately cut him off. He didn’t give a shit what the guy’s name was, he’d already forgotten it.
“...No, but–”
“Good.”
The reply seemed to agitate Arthur. Alfred could literally count on two hands the amount of times Arthur had openly been annoyed or angry at him about something. Maybe even only one. It wasn’t a look he was used to, but it also didn’t really deter him.
“You were very rude to him. I’ve never seen you behave that way with anyone! You know better than that.”
Alfred, bored of talking about the stupid asshole who was encroaching on Arthur, moving himself into Arthur’s life, shrugged his shoulders. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he looked around, not doubting the words, but curious about the little touches around the apartment that were new to him.
“I apologized, Artie.”
The nickname is familiar. Alfred called him that more often when he was still tiny and it was easier to say around the slight lisp he’d grown out of. He didn’t see anything of note, just a couple of gross touches here and there. A few framed pictures of the couple on the table, one on the wall by the stairs, a pair of ugly shoes that Arthur would never wear in the foyer. He took note of them, before glancing back at Arthur, who finally had the courage to approach him.
“...I think we need to talk about what happened.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Alfred asked, smiling.
Arthur didn’t return it. “About…”
“About?”
The pause afterwards was very uncomfortable for him, Alfred could tell, but he wasn’t about to save Arthur from it. Not after he’d spent the last five years pining like he had, just to find out Arthur had been giving himself to somebody else.
“Why did you kiss me?”
It came out in a rush of breath, like Arthur couldn’t bear to say the words, but once they were out and in the air, the shame that followed them was poignant. Alfred took it in stride as he stepped towards him, happy when the other man didn’t step away from him like he could have. Like he probably wanted to.
Alfred stared at his mouth– stared down at it. He was half a head taller than Arthur and still growing. “Why do you think I kissed you?”
Arthur’s face was turning red as he turned over the question, swallowing. “I-I think you were perhaps confused–-"
“Nope,” the harsh pop over the ‘p’ as he denied him completely had Arthur flinching, but still standing. Still within reach. Arthur didn’t know what to say, clearly, lips working soundlessly, so Alfred decided to give them something better to do. He took hold of Arthur’s arms, dragging him towards him. Even though Arthur had always been bigger, older than him, he was light as a feather, weightless, even a little frail. Alfred had to marvel at the way his own fingers could wrap nearly all the way around his upper arm. He pulled him close, pulled him up until Arthur had no choice but to look up at him, eyes wide and fearful, and Alfred made his apologies again.
Their second kiss was so much sweeter, so much nicer.
Alfred could be an asshole, but only when people made him mad, and he wasn’t mad right now, not entirely. It helped that Arthur was alone, and had let him in so easily. The first touch of his tongue to his lips had Arthur squirming though, his arms coming back to life, flailing and bending and pushing at his chest, like he’d just woken up again. Alfred didn’t let them part until he was ready.
By the time they did, Arthur’s expression was no longer dumbstruck, but almost dreamy. Alfred would choose to believe that the dazed, glossy expression mirrored the awe that blossomed inside him, finally so happy to share a kiss with the man he loved that wasn’t on the cheek. It was gorgeous, whatever it was, Arthur’s pink lips shiny and wet. He had to have another, and so he took, licking soothingly over the old bite he had left.
“Break up with him,” he commanded, after the third.
Arthur was shaking, just like had that day when he looked at Alfred like he no longer knew who he was. “Alfred–”
“Break up with him.”
“What are you saying!”
Blood rushed in his ears as Alfred forced them together again, one hand on his throat, and this time it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. He kissed Arthur until he could feel his chest rising and falling, until Arthur’s slender fingers tore and grasped at Alfred’s shirt, desperate to breathe, desperate to get away as he squeezed against his adam’s apple just slightly, tenderly. The blue in Alfred’s gaze was electric when he stopped, for the last time. “I waited for you. I got better, I learned shit, did everything I could to be ready for you. But you didn’t wait for me.”
--
There was only one reason Alfred could think of as to why Arthur did not resist when Alfred dragged him into his bedroom and forced him out of his clothes. Arthur cried, a little, weakly pleaded with him that this wasn’t right, this wasn’t the way, whatever the fuck that meant, but he didn’t do anything more to stop him. He didn’t fight as hard as he knew Arthur could have, his strong, big “brother” who had protected him from the moment he’d stepped onto these shores. Arthur didn’t do anything but cry.
It all suited Alfred fine, really. Maybe he thought Alfred would stop if he just went along with it, if he just got it out of his system, and he could respect that because it was a fair assumption, even if it was wrong.
His wrists were so, so small in Alfred’s grasp. He kept them both pinned with one hand to pillows that smelled of two different shampoos. Alfred could tell which was Arthur’s, and he tried to hang onto that, while the thought of someone else sleeping at Arthur’s side every night drew him into a frenzy. He bit and kissed his way down his chest, every mark for where he imagined /the stranger/ must have touched, until his skin was mottled with purple and blue and pain. He wrapped his lips around Arthur’s cock, lathing over the shape of it with his tongue and suckling at him hard enough to bruise again while the man beneath him screamed and begged for rest, for purchase.
He chose to bring him to the edge instead, repeatedly, swallowing every tremor. He made sure he was overwrought, gasping as tears rolled down his cheeks, painting himself in streaks of white, and then until every orgasm was dry and his sensitivity painful yet intoxicating to see.
For every time Alfred had masturbated to photos of them together, tucked beneath his mattress for safe keeping, he made Arthur come twice.
When it seemed he truly had no more to give, Alfred shoved down his trousers, hitched himself over Arthur’s chest, and shoved his dick against his panting mouth.
“Does he like getting you dirty?” Alfred asked, smile tight and humorless. He would have gone flaccid talking about someone else but Arthur’s eyes were so wide and his lips so pink stretched around the head as he pushed forward, he managed to keep it up, “Doesn’t matter. He won’t touch you again.”
It was all heat, all the way down, as Alfred pressed himself inside until he reached the back of his throat. Alfred was still growing. His dick might only get a little bigger, but it seemed to be just the right size to fit. As Arthur choked and gagged prettily, Alfred allowed himself to simply rest on his tongue briefly as he pulled out his phone. Alfred took photos and videos of lots of things, but he’d deleted a lot before coming here just to make room. His thumb swiped over the ‘record’ button as he began to move his hips, feeling Arthur swallow around his girth. He was getting used to it.
“This is for me, and you, and him. It’s the last he’ll see of you.”
He wouldn’t last much longer. The urge to finish inside his cousin’s throat or all over his red face was a struggle, but he decided he couldn’t think of anything better than covering Arthur head to toe with himself. Nothing would get him harder, faster, again.
It worked well when he pulled out, pumping himself easily over his hair, his eyes, nose, his mouth. It was everywhere. Arthur would have no choice but to swallow some of it anyway.
Arthur just looked at him, through cum-soaked lashes. The tears had stopped and he was just staring. Alfred didn’t know why, and might have asked him, curious what he might say. Through his phone screen he watched him raise his hand. He thought it would be to push him away, to knock the phone from his fingers, to slap him. But no blow ever came. Alfred inadvertently zoomed in on Arthur’s face as Arthur reached up to touch his.
“Are you going to fuck me now?”
Alfred froze.
“You’ll feel better if you do. I… I don’t mind,” Arthur whispered, in the voice Alfred always heard in his dreams, fragile as glass. It couldn’t be called tearful. It didn’t waver once. “You were scared without me. I understand now..."
“Arthur–-”
“You don’t have to be scared, anymore. I won’t go. I won’t leave you.”
He loved Arthur so much. He loved him so fucking much.
He held up his phone, stopping the recording, but allowing it to play from the beginning, the sound halfway up as it blasted the evidence of what he’d done, echoing off the walls of the darkened room.
“Break up with him,” Alfred said. His voice sounded hoarse, broken, needy. Like the child he used to be and still should have been. “I’ll delete it if you do. Please Arthur. Break up with him. Just fucking be with me and I swear to god I’ll make you happy. I swear it. I swear–”
Arthur didn’t even glance at the phone. Instead, he reached now for Alfred’s other hand, cradled it, and brushed the most tender of kisses to his knuckles. There was still cum all over it, but he did not seem to care. It was a weary, but open gesture. The light in his eyes was no longer dark, fear in them gone, still and calm as a quiet lake.
Alfred knew, Arthur loved him too. He knew Arthur would always love him the most.
“I will, darling. I will.”
Alfred would fuck him, later, to the point of unconsciousness. Before that, he allowed Arthur to sleep briefly, utterly spent and curled beneath the sheets, Alfred found his phone. The pin was Alfred’s birthday, because of course it was.
He found the boyfriend’s number, typed it into his own phone, and sent the video anyway.