American Beauty, American Psycho

American Beauty

Alfred tapped the table anxiously and checked his watch every few seconds. It was 10pm, and he was sitting at a reserved table at the Ritz hotel, hoping Allen had gotten his gift and with it, his note. He also wondered (although thinking about it scared him) if he had called his guards back in time. It had taken a lot of selling to convince them that he had called them back on a false alarm; it had taken even more selling to get them to stay home instead of going out on another rogue mission to hunt Allen down. In the end, he had convinced them to stay with a game of monopoly that went late into the night, and he was pleased to find many of them asleep around the game board when he had came downstairs that morning. It meant that those few weren't out hunting the sexy, lonely stranger Alfred had willingly let into his life. If the guards had gotten to Allen, it was over. Alfred shivered at the memory of his guards previously dragging Allen away from his home; he was grateful for Allen's forgiveness. If it happened again, there'd be no mercy. Allen would have all the leverage against him, and all the more reason to never want to see Alfred again. Just as his thoughts began to pull him into madness, he saw a flash of red hair in the doorway. His eyes lit up as he saw Allen walk in, looking handsome and daring in the suit Alfred had sent him.
Alright, pal. Allen told himself in his head. This place has fancy written across the ass. No barfights, no fistfights, don't say any shit that might provoke someone. And don't say 'shit' either. Don't swear, buddy. He took a deep breath. Don't just watch the game or keep your trap shut all night, keep your trap moderately open and keep your eyes off the TVs. Don't order too much whiskey...is there even such a thing as too much whiskey?...whatever, just don't order whiskey. Christ on a bike, is that Alfred? He looks adorable in that tuxedo. Like a ring boy at a wedding. I can turn a good little boy bad. Bad like he was last night--what's happening to me? Get your thoughts back on track, buddy—
"Hi, Al." Alfred's calm but cheery voice cut off his thoughts. "I ordered us whiskey to start. Hope you don't mind," he cocked a half grin that made something deep inside Allen melt.
"Perfect." Allen said, his thoughts clicking into place about the clothes, the note, and the intentions. It was all a little plot by Alfred trying to one-up him at the dating game. Consider me one-upped, Allen thought. "This place is amazing." He sat down at his table with Alfred, still in awe of the whole building and its people. "I've never even seen a place this nice up close."
Alfred grinned a little, proud to have swept Allen off his feet. He took a sip of his whiskey and clenched his fists to hide the burning in his throat as it went down. Allen made drinking liquid fire look so easy.
"S-so..." Alfred began. "H-how...how...how was your...w-walk home last night?" His hands were shaking as he asked.
"Quiet." Allen answered with a nod. "Are you okay?" He raised an eyebrow at Alfred's shaking hands on the table. Taking a leap of faith, he reached out slowly and closed his own hands over Alfred's. Alfred relaxed instantly at Allen's touch.
"I am now," Alfred smiled a little, infinitely relieved that he had made the right call at the right time the night before. He wanted to lean across the table and kiss Allen right there. Maybe do a little more than kiss...but not at the table. He didn't want to subject his food to that.
When the entrees came, Allen stared down at his stir fry. He picked at it with his fork. Alfred frowned. "Did...is something wrong with the order? We can reorder. I'm given to understand you don't like meat. Is there meat in there?"
"No, none at all. It's just...perfect," Allen held up a carrot slice, staring at it. "It's so fresh and...and orange...and all the color..." He began to wolf down his food. Alfred would be disgusted, but he was no better. He gorged his steak, enjoying the perfect cook on it. He glanced up every so often to look at the glint in Allen's eye. He had never been somewhere this nice, or eaten food cooked professionally. Alfred wanted to continue to show him the good life right up until the end of his own. A thousand words couldn't justify what Alfred had felt when Allen had held up his carrot in awe; Allen had looked genuinely happy, relaxed, and trusting. A small part of Alfred had regretted even ordering food, because it meant removing his own hands from Allen's gentle grip.
By the time dessert came, Allen had loosened up. He had opened up a little to Alfred about his life, his brother, and his situation with...everything. His arrests, his odd jobs, his apartment, his relationship history, and his...sexual past. He was talking to Alfred as if they were old friends, but still being careful not to let too much information escape. Alfred appreciated his wariness as much as he appreciated Al's aptness to open up to him. He's beginning to trust me, Alfred thought to himself. He was unable to contain it; a smile crept across his lips as he watched Allen talk, pausing mid-speech to take bites of cheesecake. Allen's suit fit him perfectly, with a hint of tightness around the shoulders that boasted his fit figure; the gap in his mouth where he was missing his teeth flashed Alfred every time Allen spoke; his accent seeped its way into the conversation as Allen began to talk faster. Alfred couldn't believe what Allen had done in his life; crime, strip clubs, all kinds of sex with all kinds of people, drugs, homelessness, fighting, and jail. The only bad thing that Alfred had ever done was not pipe up about a roll of 200 paper towels, that actually had 201.
"And that's how I got banned from the Mets stadium." Allen finished his story and wiped his mouth on his napkin.
Alfred didn't know what to say. He'd never been around someone who'd had the experiences that Allen had. "Uh...well it serves the mascot right for touching you where he did," Alfred took a shot in the dark.
"RIGHT?!" Allen chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "That's what I said to the cops, but they wouldn't listen."
"Pigs." Alfred said quietly, hoping nobody around them had heard.
"Couldn't agree more." Allen chuckled, then glanced up at Alfred and shot him a soft grin. "I loved tonight, Alfred. I really...you have no idea how great today was. Thank you."
If it was a cartoon, Alfred would already be in a lovestruck, smitten puddle on the floor. He said my name. He said my name. Oh wow, wow. He said my name. Alfred wanted to hear Allen say it a million times over. He loved the way his name rolled off Allen's tongue, mixed in with his deep, husky voice and smooth accent. He wanted to hear Allen say it, whisper it, mutter it, yell it, moan it...
Alfred blinked and hid his red face behind his glass. "We should...we should get going. My ding dang guards will want to know where I've been."
Allen chuckled. "It's not a sin to say damn, blond." He stood and pushed in his chair, and held his arm out for Alfred with a grin.
"Thank you kindly, red." Alfred smirked back at him, and took his arm. Together, the two of them walked out of the restaurant holding each other as a couple. Allen opened his mouth, about to ask Alfred when they'd see each other next. "Alfred, I—"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Came a harsh yell to cut him off, and Allen jumped out of his skin when he saw Matt stomping across the street towards them.