American Beauty, American Psycho

American Psycho

Allen strolled down the street after leaving the hospital, a cigarette in his mouth, hands in his pockets, and a small smirk on his face as he contemplated what he'd just done. He hadn't even thought about it; he'd just gone for it. He's never gonna know, or remember, right? He thought to himself, frowning a little. Nah, he'd never know. I waited for, like, hours for him to fall asleep. Allen ignored the fact that he'd actually only waited a few minutes. And even if he was still remotely awake, he was drugged to shit. He'd probably think he dreamed it. Yeah, he'd definitely think he dreamed it. Why did I even do that? What was the damn point of—no, stop thinking about it. Thinking makes you hurt.

Allen flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground, and continued to think anyway. Why had he suddenly just done what he had done? Something about Alfred's eyes...even when they were drugged, there was still a glint in them that Allen recognized in his own every time he saw himself in a mirror. Why had Alfred come to the gym? It couldn't have just been to punch him in the face. The stuff he'd said he wanted to talk about had to be important. At least Allen had apologized on Matt's behalf in the hospital; that was what was important to Allen to say. He really hadn't told Matt to make Alfred fuck off, but he wasn't about to stop his brother. Yeah, Alfred was a rich shit, but there was something about him that stood out to Allen...he wasn't a jerk about his money. He didn't throw it in other people's faces. He lived in that stupid White House, but he'd probably give it up if he needed to. Allen had a feeling Alfred wasn't like all the other rich people he'd encountered in his life; Alfred was different. Maybe Alfred could make that weird glint in Allen's eyes go away.

As long as Matt never found out.

Allen opened the door into his apartment and jumped when he found Matt watching tv and lying on his couch, sprawled out in his boxers, with an open pizza box on his chest.
"Hey, bro." Matt grinned. "Us Canadians might be better than you at a lot of shit, but you kick our asses with the pizza." Matt muttered to Allen with his mouth full of stuffed crust. "Where've you been?"
"Uh...clubbin'," Allen said quickly, and walked over to the kitchen for some water.
"You good?"
"I'm fine," Allen snapped, regretting it immediately.
"Hey." Matt sat up from the couch, pizza crumbs falling down his toned chest. "You're not okay. You never snap at me and mean it like that. The hell happened to you?"
Allen started to sweat, frantically trying to come up with a story on the spot. "I was out at the club, and, uh, there was this girl. Super into me. Didn't even look like a hooker," Allen said, avoiding eye contact with his brother. "Turns out she was a hooker. Thought she really liked me," he grunted. "Threw my whole night off."
"Chin up, brother." Matt said, handing over a slice of pizza. "Walk it off. There's better catches out there."
Allen grinned a little, warmed by how caring Matt was, even if he'd lied through his teeth to him. He bit into the pizza, then instantly spit it out. "MATT!" Allen yelled, running to the sink to spray his mouth out with the water nozzle. "THAT WAS AN ALL MEAT PIZZA, YOU ASS!"
Matt watched him from the couch and chuckled. "I know."
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As soon as Alfred was released from the hospital, he went straight home, only stopping once to buy a baseball cap from a street stand so he could hide his healing black eye.
Okay, stopping twice, so he could pet a dog.
He went straight into his White House, keeping his head down around his guards.
"Mr. Jones, sir, where have you been?" One finally asked him as he was making his way to his room.
"Uh...baseball game. Wanted to go kind of discreetly, so I gave you all the night off."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, see? My baseball cap. On my head. It proves I was at the game," Alfred said, clenching his fists in his pockets. "I just didn't want an army following me. I wanted to go out and make some friends, not terrify the general public. You guys are good at that."
The guard chuckled. "That's flattering, but next time mention to us where you're going. You're precious cargo."
Alfred perked up at that comment, feeling genuinely appreciated for a split second. "Really?"
"Of course. You're the reason we have our pay!" The guard laughed, walking down the hall. Alfred knew it was only a joke, but it still pissed him off. He stomped his foot lightly as he started walking to his room again, causing the guard to turn. "Sir, are you alright?"
Alfred felt anger rising inside him. "I'm fine," he snapped, immediately regretting the move. It'd draw suspicion.
"Want a Popsicle, Mr. Jones?"
"CHERRY, PLEASE!" Alfred yelled back, walking into his room and tossing his phone on his bed. He sat at his desk chair, spinning it slowly with his foot and thinking about the events of the last evening. He'd gone to Allen's gym, gotten fed up with Allen's attitude, punched him in his chiseled, tanned face, and then gotten his ass kicked by an entire gang. He'd woken up in the hospital with Allen in front of him...they spoke...damn, Alfred could listen to that thick accent of Allen's for the rest of his life. It just got hotter every time he heard it. Then Alfred had began to drift off from the painkillers, felt a sensation on his lips...Alfred sprang up from his chair, suddenly remembering that Allen had kissed him in the hospital. At least, he hoped it was Allen's lips that'd touched his. Did Allen do it on purpose? Did he fall, lips first, onto my face? Does he remember it? Does he...care?
Alfred had to find out. But first, his cherry Popsicle.
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Allen sat on his beaten up, dumpster couch with Matt, barely paying attention to the movie they were watching, and more so paying attention to the open spring up his ass. His mind wandered to his kiss with Alfred; a tiny part of him hoped Alfred had been conscious for it. If he had been, he'd definitely come waddling his arse to Allen's apartment to talk about it in the near future.
And next time, Allen wasn't going to let Matt ruin it.