"Do you mind? You're hovering."
Arthur murmured irritably over his tea in dangerously quiet tones, eyes fixed on the newspaper before him, deliberately not turning around.
"I'm not hovering,"
Came the reply, along with a small downpour of crumbs directly onto Arthur's head. Alfred was hovering behind his chair, scone partly stuffed into his mouth, trying to read the paper in the other boy's hands.
Arthur put the thing down all at once, head whipping around to glare at him as he quickly brushed the crumbs out of his hair.
"God damn it, you little sod, watch where you're dropping that…get yourself a plate and sit down properly….bottomless pit of a boy…"
Alfred gazed back defensively for a few moments before walking to the couch at his side, sitting down without a plate and reaching for the remote.
"You'll get crumbs on the couch," Arthur said, "you've already gotten crumbs all over yourself, what am I going to do with you? Your clothes are a mess, and your fringe is too long, bloody miracle you can see anything—"
"My what?"
"Your fringe."
"My what?"
"Your fringe."
Alfred gazed cluelessly at his older counterpart.
Arthur looked up and stared back for a few seconds before putting his paper down. He motioned to the wisps of hair protruding at his forehead.
"Fringe! Your fringe!"
Alfred stared back for a few seconds before at last the meaning registered.
"Oh! My bangs."
Arthur made a face, smirking sarcastically.
"Bangs…"
He mumbled, but he may well have said, you come up with ridiculous names for just about everything.
Blue eyes rolled up as Alfred stretched his bangs downward as far as they would go, and he murmured with quiet amusement,
"Yeah, guess they've gotten kinda long, haven't they…"
He gazed through the long wisps at Arthur situated on the other side of the coffee table, sighing in surrender as he sipped his tea.
Same story every day.
Wake up, cup of tea with breakfast, two sugars and cream. Bacon and egg sandwich for lunch with another cup of tea, then two more cups till dinner, one at dinner, and one more or less every two hours after that until bedtime.
What was with this guy? Tea smelled nice, sure. But it tasted like water and had virtually no caffeine compared with a cup of coffee or a can of soda.
Blech.
When Alfred was very little, he'd sampled Arthur's tea, small hands gripping the cup and bringing it tentatively to his mouth.
It was no good.
He'd spat it back into the cup, much to Arthur's dismay, and he wasn't really allowed near Arthur's tea for a long time after that, until he got to liking it enough that Arthur could charge a nice tax for it. This went on until Alfred expressed his sentiment about that, when, sticky with tears and red in the face, he glared bloody murder at Arthur as he flushed the tea he gave him down the toilet.
This was many years ago, and now Alfred found himself staring at Arthur bringing the flowered cup to his mouth, slender fingers delicately grasping the handle in quiet contentment. His single greatest pleasure in life.
God only knew why.
"Well, I'ma get ready for bed,"
Alfred announced, long limbs rearranging as he climbed down from the couch, brushing the crumbs off his trousers and onto the floor as he headed to the stairwell.
"Make sure to wash up,"
came the reply, Arthur not bothering to turn his gaze away from the paper.
Finally, he thought, I can embroider in peace.
***
XXX
Alfred's toes fanned out at porcelain edge of the tub, legs far too long, limbs far too slender.
Warm droplets of water streamed down the length of his feet and to his ankles below, wet steam all around—
He bit slowly into the apple in his hand, trying to focus as he stared at his book—
His glasses fogged, and he wiped uselessly at them with wet fingers in what was to be the last in a tedious series of attempts to clear them, to no avail. He put the book aside, turning to focus deliberately on the matter at hand.
Just what was the deal with Arthur…?
Hair wet, Alfred pulled at the wisps at his forehead, thinking of how Arthur had called them his fringe. He chewed slowly, placing the apple core at the edge of the tub; his lips still tasted sweet.
Every Sunday, Arthur made roast dinner. It was beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, gravy—or that's what Arthur claimed it was, anyway.
Alfred didn't really mind; he really was a bottomless pit.
He poked one pointed index finger at the flat expanse of his abdomen and murmured aloud, I'm totally not putting on weight like you say.
Arthur was weird. He was weird and annoying, filled with harsh criticism at one moment and crying drunkenly the next, all the while mumbling incoherent, murderous threats of eternal vengeance at Christ only knew what—
He was this crazy little ball of bitterness and thorns who could engage nevertheless in uncharacteristic hours of embroidery, drinking his tea.
Alfred closed his eyes and touched himself, long fingers of his free hand finally releasing the book, dropping it to the wet bathroom floor with a soft thud. His breath echoed quietly throughout the empty room, ghosting wet and warm, the low sound of water swaying, the tap dripping, the rain falling outside—
He loved Arthur all the same.
***
XXX
There still was a dim light emanating from downstairs when Alfred stepped out of the bathroom. Drying his hair, he headed to the stairwell, naked as the day he was born as he walked down, vastly content with the prospect of giving Arthur a speech about forgetting to turn off the light.
When he stepped into the family room, however, he found to his astonishment that Arthur had fallen asleep in his chair, paper hanging loosely from one hand, head tipped backward and a thin stream of drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.
Alfred smirked.
Senile old man, he thought as he walked closer, arms crossed at his chest, towel still hanging wetly from his head. There, on the table, there still was Arthur's flowery cup of tea, having gone well cold at this point, probably even more disgusting than usual. Within it there swirled the white blotch of cream, having surfaced, long untouched.
Alfred climbed quietly into Arthur's lap, far taller and larger than the other boy but affectionate no less, and gently wrapped his arms around him. Blue eyes darted across Arthur's face, his thick eyebrows, yellow eyelashes, lips slightly parted and thin—
"Morning, sunshine,"
He crooned, leaning in to kiss him very slowly,
"You fell asleep with the light on, wasting electricity like that…"
Arthur stirred, murmuring incoherently, sleepily kissing back.
"Nnn—"
He mumbled,
"Alfred…what time is it…"
"I'd love to tell you,"
Alfred mouthed as he kissed him again,
"but you see, I haven't got my watch on—"
Arthur crumpled his face softly in discontentment.
"You're wet, your hair's dripping water on my face—"
"Yeah, a little bit."
At last, green eyes went open and Arthur scanned the other boy's face with mild disinterest.
"Get off, you're heavy,"
"Not until you realize you've fallen asleep with the light on,"
Alfred grinned,
"You think electricity comes for free…"
"I'll bet you find this well funny."
"Hilarious."
Alfred kissed him again.
"You taste sweet," Arthur said, "like…"
"Like apples,"
Alfred smiled, gently biting at Arthur's lip.
"You'd like me better if I tasted like your tired old tea, wouldn't you."
Tea, that's what Arthur tasted like. He watched with quiet curiosity as Alfred turned partway around, long arm reaching for his forgotten cup from before.
Alfred held it to his nose, inhaling tentatively.
That's gone cold, don't drink that, Arthur meant to say, but the words remained curiously lodged in his throat as he waited to see what the other boy had in mind.
"You like this?"
Alfred asked softly, inspecting the drink as he brought it to his mouth,
"me, drinking your tea like this—"
Soft blue eyes gazed at Arthur through too-long bangs as Alfred tilted the cup.
Cold. Sweet, a little like Arthur, odd—
For some reason, Arthur found this infinitely charming, and he couldn't help smiling just a little, even though his boy was so unbelievably hopeless.
"The whole thing,"
He whispered as Alfred began lowering the cup,
"Drink the whole thing."
"Nn—"
Alfred moaned as the other boy held his hand steady on the cup, tilting it again into his mouth.
Blue eyes watched helplessly as the drink went in, cold and watery as it washed past his tongue and down his throat, a thin stream emanating out the corner of his mouth and down to his chin from there—
Arthur licked at it slowly, finally moving the cup away. He gazed up at Alfred, whispering,
"So what's it like?"
They kissed very slowly, Arthur tasting the sweet flavor of tea on Alfred's tongue, and yes, yes, he did think he liked him better like that—
"Like you," Alfred said, "it tastes like you—"
Arthur's tongue ran slowly along the wet surface of Alfred's lower lip, sucking on it gently, teasing, and the slender digits of his hand reached to remove the towel that still hung loose from the other boy's head.
He tossed it to the floor, hands gentle on either side of Alfred's face.
"Am I gonna make a proper man of you after all,"
He crooned as he kissed him again,
"teach you to drink tea instead of all that disgusting cola—"
"You'll never make a proper man out of me,"
Alfred's voice came hoarse and breathless, daring, and Arthur then seized his mouth with strange hunger.
"Undress me,"
He crooned, taking Alfred's hands and bringing them to the buckle of his belt, and Alfred complied, the metal clinking softly between his long fingers,
"You're hard, Alfred, does this get you off—"
"I was thinking about the hot women in the Pepsi commercial," Alfred teased, breath warm against Arthur's mouth, "mmm…makes me wanna go out and get a two-liter…"
"I ought to spank you for that,"
Arthur's voice came brittle as he felt the other boy's fingers slide past the elastic of his briefs.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you. Dirty boy. "
"Maybe I would,"
Arthur gasped, seizing Alfred's mouth with unrestrained fervor. He closed Alfred's hand around his hard member beneath,
"I love you, Alfred—"
He whispered, expiration humid and hot, and, leaving the boy's hand in place, he reached his arms around him, drawing him closer, hands sliding gently down the slender back.
"—you didn't use to mind tea so much, what happened—"
he kissed Alfred's neck, biting gently at the soft skin,
"You taxed it too much,"
came the reply. Alfred pressed him closer, moaning softly at the feel of his fingers sliding along the curve of his behind.
Arthur was wet against Alfred's hand, fluid running clear and warm in thin rivulets from the tip of his member to the long fingers beneath,
"I want you," he whispered, and Alfred gasped, rising to his knees on either side of Arthur's legs, hair falling wet over his forehead as he gazed down at the other boy.
"I know," he replied with a little smile, "because I'm so hot."
"Dream on, I only want you because you taste like tea."
Alfred laughed.
"There's no helping you," he said, voice tender, blue eyes twinkling with affection.
They kissed very slowly, lips wetly clinging, Alfred's hand on Arthur's member as he gently guided him in place.
"I love you, too,"
he whispered,
"Even though you suck."
"Cheeky little—"
Arthur gasped, breath ragged as he felt himself beginning to slide in.
"God—"
Alfred breathed, long arms sliding around Arthur's shoulders, and he didn't speak for a long time after that.
The gentle sound of rain outside, the quiet ticking of the hallway clock, the warm breath of expiration, soft and humid, wet, Alfred's yellow hair swaying, still messy, still damp; Arthur placed small, affectionate kisses along his chest, biting gently at the naked skin.
He tasted of sunlight, laughter and stamina and youth, wholesome and strong, beautiful, the reassuring embrace of his arms, the fresh scent of clean—
"You're hopeless, Alfred, you know that,"
Arthur whispered with knowing cynicism, his slender arms wrapped all around his back, head tilted backward, spiky hair hanging down against the nape of his neck.
"Drop dead,"
Alfred said, voice ringing with kindness and genuine love. He smiled, transparent eyelashes fluttering shut as he leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder. There was silence, light and shadow and the fluid motion of bones and muscle beneath wet skin, the echo of breath and the sway of hair, until, with the relentless grasp of fingers on each other came at last release, hot and real and liquid, and both remained still for a long time, exhausted and spent, curiously at a loss for words.
Alfred's voice came brittle, uncharacteristically vulnerable as Arthur gently pulled out.
"Ah," he said in mockery of reprimand, "you've gone and made a mess of my clothes."
"Your fault, leaving your clothes on like that..."
Arthur slowly pulled his briefs back up and fastened the bindings at his fly.
"Still no proper manners,"
he sighed, holding Alfred in his arms as he rose to his feet, beginning despite his size to carry him away.
"H…hey…what are you—"
"I think we both need a bath again."
"I can walk, you know—! I'm not a little kid!"
"Could've fooled me, you certainly act like one."
"Hey! England, put me down—!"
Alfred continued fussing on their ascent up the stairs, and all throughout the bath that Arthur gave him after that.
***
XXX
The next day, Arthur awoke very early, groggily rubbing his eyes as he made his way downstairs when he realized with strange astonishment that already there emanated from the kitchen the distinct aroma of tea.
He stopped at the entrance, gazing with curiosity at Alfred, whose back was turned to the door, seemingly deep in thought as he stared down into one of Arthur's flowery cups.
Still naked as the day he was born.
Very quietly, Arthur paced toward him, arms sliding all around his slender waist as he kissed the nape of his neck.
"Keep that up and I'll start taxing it again," he whispered.
Alfred startled, head whipping around in surprise, cheeks lightly flushed.
"Hahahaha! This—this isn't what it looks like," he laughed, "I was just—"
Still in Arthur's arms, he slowly turned to face him.
"You were just…?"
Arthur smirked with vast contentment, mentally planning already how he was going to inform everyone that America loved his tea after all.
"I was just trying to see how great my tolerance was to this disgusting stuff! Blech! Ew! Nasty! Haha, how can you even drink this—!"
"You love my tea."
Arthur laughed, index finger poking at the other boy's chest.
"I hate your tea."
"Ungrateful little wanker—!"
"Wanker? What does that even mean?"
"Wh—you know exactly what it means…!"
"Oh, wanker, like wanking, like what you do all day?"
Arthur turned beet red.
"Why I ought to—!"
"That's right! You do! England, you pervert…!"
"Me the pervert? You're the one who came up to me last night and…and…"
"Last night? And what?"
"And—"
Arthur blushed, looking aside in embarrassment.
Alfred laughed.
"You're so cute like that," he laughed, lips grinning as he leaned to kiss Arthur's cheek.
"H…hey…I'm older than you, you can't talk to me like that…"
But, grinning despite himself, he couldn't help kissing him back.
"You know," Alfred murmured with quiet introspection, gradually relaxing in the other boy's arms, "maybe…."
"Maybe…?"
Alfred looked away, suddenly feeling like a little boy again, arms coming all around Arthur, England, Engwand…!
"Maybe your tea doesn't suck all that much."
Tea was strange, and tasteless—but, very subtly, also gentle and sweet. Like Arthur.
Green eyes gazed up at Alfred with knowing kindness, and his lips were warm when then they kissed.
"You cheeky little bugger," he said softly, "I love you, too."
End.