Alfred was not a man of words but of actions.
Words got in the way of things; they meddled with emotions and often were misunderstood, but actions, actions were clear, decisive, and not open for misinterpretation. Alfred watched his sometimes-father as he cleared away some clutter in some room, leaving him alone in the veranda to the tea and half burnt scones he had left out for him. He was getting irritated. Here he had gone out of his way to invite Arthur to come visit him and all he could do was try and clean his house.
Just like always.
Alfred sighed and got up, leaning against the door frame he glared at the shorter man over his glasses,
"Stop cleaning."
Arthur flicked a passing glance over to him, "I wouldn't have to clean if you kept the place up yourself. Go sit, I'll be done in about an hour."
Alfred narrowed his eyes. Words, words were useless on him. So he took action. In a few quick strides he was by Arthur's side, one quick jerk and he knocked the papers and files he had been trying to organize out of his hands. Before Arthur could even protest he had his face in-between his hands forcing him to look up.
"Hey-! What in the bloody hell do you think you-"
"Shut up."
He ripped off his glasses letting them fall to the floor with an indifferent crack as he crushed his mouth against his, prying open the resisting lips with eager strokes of his tongue. He kissed him thoroughly, breathing in the musky scent of the tea, and running his hands through the messy blond hair. Lips tinted pink and swollen Arthur stared up at him breathlessly as he pulled back,
"…what are you doing? Why do you…"
Alfred's face twisted slightly
Alfred was not a man of words but of actions.
Because he could not say the words his body acted in the name of.
Because…I love you… stupid.
"…can't you just know?"
Alfred released him,
"…tea's getting cold. Let's go back to the veranda."
The taller man nodded, picking up his broken glasses before following his father out.