Chapter Text
“You need to take him home.”
“What happened to him?”
“Someone put something in his drink.”
“Shit, shouldn’t we take him to a hospital?”
“I’m fiiine.”
Arthur leaned against the wall, or tried to, because he missed and almost fell. He laughed to himself as he tried to steady himself up, and fell down on an armchair. He was wearing nothing but boots, tight boxers and a lot of glitters.
“Goddamnit, Kirkland, I told you to get dressed!” their boss hissed, but Arthur just rolled his eyes and mimicked him.
As for Alfred, he sighed.
“It’s the third time someone’s put something in your drinks this year, Arthur, you should stop accepting drinks, you know?”
“I get extra tips if I drink a bit with the clients after the show,” Arthur rolled his eyes, his head rolling back. He seemed groggy, and Alfred worried he’d fall on the floor and hurt himself.
So he grabbed Arthur’s trench coat and tossed it his way.
“Put it on, I’m taking you home.”
When he took that job as a strip club bouncer, he would never have guessed he’d ever get close to any of the strippers. He hadn’t been interested in such things either, then.
But then, of course, there was Arthur Kirkland.
He was one of the best of the house, and he could drive any man crazy (and penniless) in a couple hours. He certainly got in Alfred’s head with all his winking, flirting and lip biting when he knew Alfred was looking and while they were chatting before the club opened. Arthur was funny and charismatic, and, well…
The bastard was the definition of sexy, which was great for the business, but terrible for Alfred.
He had to deal with a lot of creeps.
And with Arthur himself, too, because he was careless and was always trying to get that extra dollar.
Stupid bastard.
The drive to Arthur’s place was quiet for the most part.
Until Arthur, lying down on the backseat, asked:
“Alfred, would you fuck me?”
And Alfred coughed out his embarrassment.
Yes, I would.
“Ask me that when you’re not drugged.”
Arthur hummed.
“Write that down somewhere in my apartment so I’ll remember. I’d like that, you know. I’ve… I’ve got a crush on you, you know… big time.”
You always say that when you conveniently won’t be able to remember in the morning, asshole.
“Yeah, I like you too, Arthur.”
There was a pause.
“You do?”
“Yeah, what the hell. You won’t remember this anyway, so. Yeah. I like you.”
“Oh…”
Arthur didn’t say anything after that. Alfred stopped the car in front of his building, and he had to pick Arthur up because he tripped over his own feet leaving the car, and Alfred didn’t want him to get hurt.
Arthur nuzzled on his chest and smiled to himself, arms around Alfred’s neck, and Alfred blushed like crazy.
As he put Arthur down on his bed, Arthur rolled over and grabbed a notepad and a pen from his nightstand, and scribbled something. He looked confused, and then handed Alfred both objects.
“I can’t… write. So. Write it down. That you like me,” he chuckled, his eyes distant.
“How about I say that tomorrow?” he proposed, and Arthur nodded.
“I’d like that…”
Alfred helped Arthur put on pajamas and get under the covers, and then headed to Arthur’s couch. He didn’t want to leave him alone, in case he got sick.
Besides, he needed to have that talk with Arthur the following day. He wrote it down, too, in case he’d chicken out and give up saying anything.