Summer Freckles
Half the morning had been dreamt away and the summer light had become honeyed and drowsy. Alfred hummed appreciatively at the sight of it. Summer was his favourite time of the year. Arthur would start spending more time in the garden and come back into the house smelling of apple fields in fragrant heat and cherry blossom nectar. Alfred could drink sharp-sweet lemonade until it became sickly and he vowed he wouldn't drink it again which was never true. Best of all, Arthur's winter-paled freckles would darken and dwell on his shoulders and face, appearing as if they had been smattered there by a paint brush.
Alfred was devoted to those freckles. The ones that collected across the Englishman's slightly upturned nose and the ones that made up cosmic constellations on his upper arms.
He couldn't see any freckles at the moment; Arthur had his back to Alfred, busying about with something on the kitchen counter, and he was fully clothed in his typical shirt, sweater-vest and slacks ensemble. Alfred's lips quirked at that.
"You left me all alone in bed," the American mouthed into the juncture between Arthur's neck and shoulder blade. "It's a Sunday, babe, let's go back to bed."
"It's nearly half past ten," the smaller man responded serenely. Alfred hugged his body against Arthur's back and decorated his neck with teeth indents. When the air snagged in Arthur's windpipe, Alfred thanked his ability to know when the Englishman was feigning neutrality.
Alfred's hands encompassed Arthur's hipbones, drawing the other man closer to him.
There was a 'tink', a sound that had become synonymous to Arthur, when the smaller man tapped his spoon against his teacup. His favourite teacup. The inside was scalloped and purple; it looked like the interior of a seashell cradling dried lilacs. Alfred had bought it for him from a vintage trinket shop in Brighton when they'd been sightseeing there about five years ago.
There was a sturdy mug of coffee next to the steaming tea. Alfred smiled against Arthur's soft throat.
"Let's go back to bed," Alfred whined. He pushed his luck and unbuttoned the top button of Arthur's shirt. He wondered if he'd get in trouble for leaving a rosy love-bite. Probably. Arthur would say they 'were too old for that sort of thing now'. Personally, Alfred didn't think he'd ever be too old to enjoy leaving his mark on Arthur.
"I'm awake now, Alfred, as are you. Neither of us will be able to get back to sleep, you are aware of that."
Arthur took a sip of his tea. Alfred nibbled on that impressionable area above Arthur's collar bone, where the skin was thin and compliant. The smaller man almost dropped the teacup as his head dipped back a little.
It wouldn't take much more before… ah, there it was. Arthur's head slumped totally, supported by Alfred's shoulder, and his neck was sumptuously bared. There was a pulse of enlivenment in Alfred's body and his lower belly tensed with anticipation.
Two more buttons were undone. Kisses were peppered on the underside of Arthur's chin and Alfred's hands went back to his boyfriend's hips. He wanted to swallow the sighs that travelled up Arthur's throat. Each one of those sighs were tiny, handwritten letters of submission and love.
Witnessing Arthur's slow sink into giving himself to Alfred was one of the sweetest things on earth. And Alfred could read Arthur's body and mind better than Arthur himself.
He untucked Arthur's shirt and sweater vest and shimmied the material up a little. Arthur's hipbones bore paths of sun-flourished freckles and Alfred groaned.
"I never said we would be sleeping," the taller man said indulgently into Arthur's ear, pulling on the lobe like they'd just shared a naughty playground secret. "I wanna follow these cute freckles, see where they stop," Alfred suggested, fingers ghosting across Arthur's belt where the skin speckles trailed underneath.
Arthur hummed. The noise was low and inviting and it coiled under Alfred's skin in a manner that only Arthur could inspire in him.
Alfred canted his pelvis against Arthur's rear, Arthur rocked back and pleasure fizzed along Alfred's nerve endings. Alfred was hard now, really hard, and as Arthur blinked up at him, pulling his bottom lip under his teeth as if it tasted of apricot flesh, the American figured they wouldn't make it to the bedroom.
"I hadn't realised my freckles made you so excitable," Arthur pointed out, his accent heavy and heady. "And I think you know very well where they end, Mister Jones, heaven knows how many times you have seen me… disrobed."
Alfred let out a hearty laugh. "I've seen you more than disrobed sweetheart–"
"Morning guys," said a third voice. "Oh good, you made coffee. Do you mind passing me the coffee pot, Al?"
Alfred had completely forgotten they were staying at his brother's.
Both he and Arthur looked akin to owls, eyes wide and glued to Matthew, who was juggling his six month old baby and a bottle of milk, waiting patiently for the coffee pot.
Flattening himself against Arthur, Alfred chuckled awkwardly. He couldn't get the coffee pot without walking over to it and he couldn't walk over to it without revealing… the difficult situation he was in. Cotton pyjama bottoms and erections weren't the most dignified of combinations.
"Uh – I'm pretty comfy right now, Mattie, can you get it yourself?" Alfred didn't feel great about himself for having to say that.
His twin didn't know how to respond for a moment. "Are you serious?" The baby gurgled and Matthew fussed over him until he was content. "I've kind of got my hands full at the minute, Al; the coffee pot is right next to you. Pass it over and stop being weird."
"I–"
"Your brother has a problem right now," Arthur said in the tone he used when he was especially uncomfortable, prim and starchy. The tips of the Englishman's ears were ruddy and Alfred wished he just spontaneously self-combust to save himself, and Arthur, the embarrassment. "Do you mind… perhaps, turning around for a moment?"
"A problem?" Matthew frowned and tilted his head to the side, clearly mystified, until, after glancing at the way Alfred had pushed his lower body against Arthur, realisation visibly dawned across him and the only person whose cheeks weren't enflamed was the bundled baby in Matthew's arms.
Matthew wordlessly turned his back to them and almost instantaneously Alfred was shooed out of the kitchen by an exigent Arthur. Scampering away, the American perched in the doorway and waited as Arthur situated the coffee pot by Matthew and moved to join Alfred.
"Thank you Matthew," Arthur said tautly.
And they'd very nearly escaped but then Matthew quipped:
"No more pitching tents in my kitchen, Alfred."
Arthur with freckles. Alfred going crazy over Arthur's freckles. Very, very important headcanons.
Just a short drabble, nothing particularly incredible! I have a thing for putting Alfred and Arthur in uncomfortable situations... and for Mattie getting the last word in! Oh, it's not mentioned but Matthew's baby is a product of CanUkr - a ship that's very dear to me.