“Seven minutes where?”
Alfred simply smiled expectantly, holding out a hand. The music was loud, but you had actually heard him correctly, and he knew this.
“Alfred, you must be drunk if you think I’m going into any sketchy closet with some stranger chosen by pure chance.”
“It’s not chance, it’s fate!” Alfred encouraged, ever the optimist. “You could meet the love of your life in that closet.”
You rolled your eyes, following him to the semi-circle of sofa strewn with empty cans and bottles and buzzed partygoers, and sat next to Antonio. “I’ll watch but I’m not participating.”
This remark was immediately met with groans and appeals of “Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Try it once,” Alfred proposed, straddling a plastic chair in the center of attention, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll take ya home.”
“To my place,” you specified.
“Yes, to your place,” he chuckled, reaching for a pink, plastic bowl by Francis’s feet. He shook out the yellow, greasy crumbs onto the floor and offered it to you. “Okay, put somethin’ in there.”
Sighing, you slipped off the red-white-and-blue rave kandi Alfred had given you at the beginning of the night. As the bowl was passed around, it filled up with various trinkets until it came back to Al, who pocketed his keys and placed his Captain America lanyard into the mix. “You first, Artie.”
“Awh, why can’t I go first?” you groaned, eager to be done with this.
“’Ang on, don’ start withou’ me,” interrupted Arthur’s redheaded brother as he entered the room. He placed a lit fag in his mouth and reached around behind his head to unclasp a silver chain from which dangled a small crucifix. He placed it in the bowl and nudged Arthur’s leg, grunting forcefully and sprawling himself out lazily on the end of the sofa when his blond brother begrudged to budge over, nearly forced into Francis’s lap.
His iris blue shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to the fourth button, which struck you as a bit immodest and highly distracting. You watched his freckled cheeks hollow out as he took a long drag and removed the white stick with his index and middle finger. The area quickly filled with the musty, synthetic smell of cigarette smoke. “Carry on,” he prompted, legs spread casually and cigarette arm slung over the back of the sofa.
The game still started with Arthur, Alfred a bit too distracted by the Scotsman to re-assign the bowl. He withdrew from the bowl a little purple bow and received a death glare from Vash as he escorted the 14-year-old to the closet. You knew Arthur would just feel completely awkward, and then proceed to tell the girl all about his imaginary friends, and all the while Lily was dead drunk and fantasizing about all the things she would do to Arthur if she were only a bit bolder.
Francis was the next to draw, and Arthur looked about to be sick when the drunken Frenchman withdrew his ornate silver ring.
A warning of “Only seven minutes, Francis!” from Alfred followed the two into the closet, and he started the timer with a look of absolute glee.
From the sounds of it, Arthur spent the first five minutes frantically rejecting and avoiding the advances of the other man; but in the last two minutes there was a thud, a chuckle, and a “mmph!” and then silence. Well, silence until Arthur’s eager moans sparked some laughter from the group. Without warning, Alfred opened the door at the seven-minute mark to find Francis and a shirtless Arthur snogging desperately on the floor.
“Wh--! Close the bloody door! Francis, stop,” he added to the blond man nibbling on his neck.
“Sorry, Artie. Seven minutes are up.”
Every seven minutes seemed to take longer and longer, and all the moaning didn’t help. The more time went by, the more smoke clouded up the room, though once in awhile Arthur’s brother would actually take a little break from smoking. Francis could not keep his hands off of the poor blushing man, and you found yourself contemplating stealing Alfred’s keys to either drive yourself away or offer them some privacy.
What’s worse is that for a lot of the time, you found yourself gazing distractedly at the exposed bit of the redheaded stranger’s chest. What was his name again? Oh right it was A—those legs were spread so far apart, and those jeans were pretty tight in the first place. You soon grew jealous of the orange tip on his lips. When he laughed it sounded so…thick, and somehow dirty. Perhaps that last adjective could be attributed to the fact he was laughing at the thuds and moans coming from the closet. In any case, it made you squirm.
You weren’t aware of how focused you were until the sound of your name snapped you out of your stupor. “Huh, what?”
Alfred raised an eyebrow at you, holding out a stopwatch. “Distracted? Take the timer, Sam got me.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.”
The two left for the closet and you started the timer as soon as the door shut. There were the awkward, muffled sounds of Alfred trying to start up a conversation. Sam snapped at him over and over, possibly sitting in the very corner of the closet at this point.
“Tsundere,” Kiku muttered, snuggling up to the large-breasted girl with whom he had been fortunate enough to end up in the closet.
Sam gave in a lot sooner than Arthur had with Francis, but you paid little mind, focused again on the smoking Adonis across the room. Yes, as cliché as it was, you were seriously comparing his flawlessness to that of a god.
As soon as he heard the timer, Sam busted out of the closet, red and flustered and matching up buttons with the wrong buttonholes with a grinning, giggling Alfred at his heels. “C’mon, Sam, just a little longer—“
“S-seven minutes is seven minutes! God…”
“All right, your turn!” Alfred laughed, picking up the bowl off his seat and offering it to you. There were only a few items left, and no one had picked you yet. Maybe you would pick yourself! Hopefully that was allowed…
You dipped your hand in, without looking, and touched a thin, firm thread with the tip of your finger. Not your bracelet. But when you reached around to find your trinket, Alfred scolded you.
“Hey, no. First thing you touch is yours!”
It suddenly occurred to you that the chain belonged to a cross necklace.
Your eyes widened and you drew it out, heart and stomach aflutter. “Uh…”
“Oh, no…” Arthur groaned. “I apologize in advance for Aly.”
“Dinnae ca' me Aly,” he grunted, standing. As he did, Arthur swiped something from his back pocket. The redhead reached back around with fire in his eyes and smacked his brother upside the head, snatching back the pack of cigarettes and shoving them into his back pocket.
“Aly. Alistair, yes, that’s it,” you said with a lightheaded nod. He stood with a lopsided smile and shoved his hands into his pockets, removing one once he reached the door to open it for you.
Your heart nearly punched you in the chest with the click of the doorhandle. The room was completely dark, save for the low glowing tip of Alistair’s cigarette. “Here, sorry ‘bout tha’.” The smoldering tip flew to the side and you heard him stub it out on the wall.
“H-hi, it’s nice to officially meet you,” you stumbled, hating yourself for being his nervous. “I’m—“
“Ah ken who y’are,” he said casually. The sound of his voice, his sexy, rough, Scottish brogue was the only sense in the room, and it made you whimper. He chuckled. “Bet nervous, are ye?”
You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you. “Yes, a little…”
“Well we don’ have much time to waste, seven minutes isnae a lot.” Your head buzzed from the proposition and it took a good several seconds for your brain to catch up with the sensation of his warm, strong hand on your back after it grazed your side, leaving behind tingles. His lips touched your eyebrow, your cheek, and finally the corner of your lips and then he kissed you, fisting his other hand in your hair while the one at your back pressed you into him. Your knees buckled and you whined high in your throat. He was supporting all your weight now.
As he backed up against the wall (and you were stumbling to get back on your own wobbly legs), your eyes adjusted to the dark and you could see the long, black lashes tracing his closed eyes. You melted like butter against his body and hooked your arms behind his neck, fussing tentatively with the back of his hair.
“Mmh, don’ be afreed to pull, lassie. Ahmnae fragile.”
You took the invitation with vigorous desire, tugging his red hair back and plunging your tongue into his mouth. He played right along, bracing you tightly to his chest with both arms wrapped around your back, his tongue tasting of alcohol and stale cigarettes as it ravished your mouth. His hands scraped down your sides and he pulled your shirt up and over your head. You followed along, fidgeting messily with the buttons on his shirt. He chuckled and kissed your cheek, taking over while you satisfied yourself with kissing his neck, biting and sucking gently.
“Whatted ah say? ‘M no' fragile.” He pulled you swiftly to his bare chest again and you took a deep breath, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck. “Ach…yes, ah…ohhh yes…”
His moans spurred you on along with the steady rise and fall of his chest. You did your work on his neck and his fingers danced surely and patiently on your bare back. Your own hands ran down over his chest and his belly and when your fingers came into contact with the trail of hair below his navel you whimpered wickedly, sliding your lips up behind his ear. His breath caught and he pushed out a short exhale, fingers faltering on your waist…but only for a moment. With one hand clamped around your jaw he smashed his lips back over yours, his other hand pushing and kneading at one of your breasts. The hand around your jaw left to join its brother and you keened aloud, aware that you were both slipping to the floor with you on top of him.
You spanned your thighs out across his hips, biting your lip and then his. Alistair rolled his hips and growled; you nearly choked a moan but held it back instead, trying to keep from being the loudest couple to play.
From Alistair’s next actions, you could swear he had understood this goal and was now going to try to ruin it. Hands firmly grasping you behind the knees, he sat right up with no effort, tucked his legs and pushed you back and suddenly he was above you, groin pressed hard against yours while he bit and licked and kissed your lips and your neck and your chest. The straps of your bra slid down off your shoulders and your breasts were exposed to this man in the dark, and boy were you glad of it. You would never have known how to even wish for the pleasures his tongue and teeth stirred in you, all the while leaving you panting and keening.
“Mm, haha, ya like that, aye?” he nearly purred as his lips continued to raise goosebumps and his hands gripped you bruisingly in multiple locations. Once in awhile he would rock his hips forward, sending a shock of pleasure into you enough to make you gasp for the air that had abandoned both your lungs and your diaphragm.
“H-ah, Alistair…ohh…” you sighed, combing his hair back and pulling, kissing his lips hard and panting, tightening your thighs around him because it felt so good and you wanted more, right here, in this closet. You wanted him to take you. Your hands clutched him all over; his muscular shoulders; his shoulderblades; the slick contours of his back; his clothed, gloriously firm ass.
“Tell me…” Those words were all growl and no voice; all growl with accent. “What is et ya wan’ me t’ dae te ya?”
You couldn’t but moan in reply and he unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, shoving a hand down the front and beginning to pet. You cried aloud.
“Tell me…what ya wan’…” His fingers moved quickly, unforgiving as they made you pant into hyperventilation. “Every dir’y thought ye’ve got on yer mind…an’ I’ll gie it to ya…”
The door shot open, light nearly blinding you. “Time’s--! Oh…”
You couldn’t tell whether the stares bothered you or not, and you didn’t have time to figure it out because Alistair had already pulled you to your feet and swept you away from the closet and semi-circle of stunned players. You clutched your bra to your chest, keeping your flushed face pointed down.
“Hah, ye’ve got a pure reddener,” your partner chuckled, one arm held tightly around your waist. He kissed your cheek, lips lingering, and nibbled at your cheekbone. “Ye wan’ a finish this upstairs?”
Your eyes practically begged him, which was a bad idea because the moment you took your eyes away from your path, you stumbled. He tightened his hold on you to keep you from falling and chuckled breathily, easily lifting you into his arms as he carried you bridal-style up a carpet staircase.