Above The Line

Chapter Eighteen

"Dude, what-"

"Put this on," Arthur muttered, handing a bag over to Alfred. He had left the actor seated in the car in a remote corner of the parking lot for only half an hour before returning with what seemed to be a bag of clothing in his hands.

Alfred laughed. "I don't need anything else to add to my vast wardrobe," he commented, digging through the contents anyway out of curiosity. "What is all this?"

"Your disguise," Arthur answered, sliding into the driver's seat once again. "I said I wouldn't want anyone to recognize you if you came with me, remember? So I went ahead and bought clothing that I'm quite sure you would never wear."

So that's why Arthur had told Alfred to wait! It all made sense to the actor now, who had been sitting in the car with unquenchable curiosity ever since Arthur had cryptically gone off on his own with nothing but the information of Alfred's clothing sizes. But the artist had promised he'd be back soon, so Alfred had stayed. It was surprising how much Alfred was able to trust and take Arthur at his word. Perhaps that was because Arthur was one of the few people in the industry who Alfred knew would never lie to him, with good news or bad; he just told it like it was, and that was refreshing, as things always seemed to be around the artist.

"Never wear?" Alfred chuckled. "How do you know what I would and wouldn't-"

Alfred paused as he pulled out a puce-colored sweater vest with turquoise designs periodically stitched on in truly horrendous patterns. Where in the world had Arthur even found this thing in a place so fashionable as the Beverly Center? This color and style was definitely so two-thousand-and-never. Elizaveta would have fainted-and that thought actually made Alfred laugh.

It began as a small chuckle, but escalated into a full on guffaw by the end. Alfred couldn't help himself. God, this weekend was going to be great and ridiculous; he could already feel it. How long had it been since he had worn something that Elizaveta didn't approve? It wasn't as if he couldn't do so; he just never had the chance to, and it was easier just to listen than to decide for himself sometimes.

This outfit (which included a pair of capri shorts cut off at exactly the wrong length, especially for Alfred's model length legs) should have made Alfred puke, honest to God. But instead, he actually found himself liking it quite a bit. It had its charms, and though he would never deem it good fashion by any means, he was surprisingly excited to wear it. It was the symbol of complete freedom returning to him, after all, even if only for a little bit. And this freedom wasn't even something he knew he had wanted until Arthur had come along.

Without a thought to the matter, the actor began to undress right there in the car. He untucked his shirt from his pants and was halfway through pulling it off his head before he heard Arthur sputter from the seat beside him.

"Wh-What do you think you're doing?" the artist yelped, surprised at Alfred's boldness. Of course, it made sense, since the actor probably spent as much time almost fully unclothed in public as he did clothed, hence the lack of embarrassment. Still, that didn't make it any more stomachable for Arthur, who was finding it suddenly very hard to breathe within the confines of the small car.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, lowering his shirt a bit, just enough so that he could look over the edges at Arthur. The moment he saw that crimson face and trembling green eyes staring right back-at Alfred's flexed stomach muscles, that is-the actor immediately understood the situation. His eyes narrowed a bit, and a devious smile returned to his lips, though they were hidden from Arthur's view by the semi-upturned shirt-not that the artist was exactly looking up there anyway.

"Enjoying the show?" Alfred chuckled, his voice only as teasing as any generally good-humored actor would get. Now wasn't the time to give away too much about his more devious side.

"What?!" Arthur stammered, eyes widening in alarm as he looked away, a deep crimson tingeing his cheeks. "Pah. Don't flatter yourself, you twat," he muttered. "I just-I err, wasn't expecting it. That's all." Arthur cleared his throat and opened the door, stepping out once again despite the fact that he had gotten back in just a moment ago.

"Just hurry it up," Arthur chided, trying to cover up his flustered complexion. "I'd like to be home for tea."

Alfred bit his lip to keep from laughing as Arthur slammed the door and made to lean against it, back turned to the car's interior. The actor had never seen Arthur's face that red before, nor had he ever witnessed someone so utterly riveted by his abs as the artist had been just a second ago, all fangirls included. It was clear that Arthur was at the very least attracted to Alfred's body, if not to the actor's personality as well. But that was already half the battle, and the rest Alfred was confident could be done over this weekend, just in time to clinch the contract by Monday. Signed, sealed, delivered, neat little British bow and all.

Arthur heard scuffling from within the car as Alfred changed, and he had to resist the strong urge to turn around and take a peek. This wasn't like him, to be so utterly unable to withstand the physical attractions of other men. But Arthur was quickly learning that Alfred wasn't like other men, both in looks and in personality, though Arthur couldn't quite place his finger on what was different just yet, or decide whether or not he liked the change.

After all, like had been shown today, Alfred could be a stubbornly annoying little git about things. But on the other hand, he was a caring, well-meaning, drop dead gorgeous annoying little git who had a smile that could send blood rushing to Arthur's face and a body that could send blood rushing to... well, Arthur's pants were uncomfortably tight at the moment, and that didn't happen often to the usually well-disciplined Brit.

When the door opened on the far side of the car, Alfred released a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His face was still red, but at least his heart was a little calmer. Despite his best efforts, Arthur had been unable to rid himself of the image of Alfred's flawless, chiseled body, close enough inside that car for Arthur to touch, or even to lick... Well, that was an absurd thought, and it certainly wouldn't be happening any time soon.

Scratch that. It wouldn't be happening any time ever.

Alfred was just another bratty, spoiled actor-and one with a mysterious and vaguely dangerous history with makeup artists to boot. But that was all. Arthur didn't even trust the kid, though oddly enough, he had to force himself to remember that.

"So? What do you think, Arthur?"
---
Small cliff hanger, sorry!
- NZ