So I had another free minute and I wrote another thing, honestly idk what time period this is set in, I imagine something vaguely Victorian, but I'll leave that open to your imagination. Rose is my name for fem!England, so that's who that is... I don't think there's any more so I'm just gonna let you read.
Enjoy! ;)
(Edit: I realise I posted the wrong ending. There's only like a sentence in it, but it explains Rose's character motivations more)
If there was one thing Arthur was absolutely sure of, it was (and he most certainly was not being a pervert, nor was he going out of his way, he just so happened to take his morning tea looking out of the back window of his rather large house) that his gardener looked entirely too good in the early morning sun, bending over to tend his beloved roses.
Perhaps the fondness he held for his roses helped, his gardener (a Scotsman by the name of Alistair) always handled them so carefully, yes, certainly that helped, but for the most part it was the generous curve of his thighs to his behind to his back, which he knew from experience to be as pale as the perpetually dreary sky at the beginning of the day, and as red as his pretty, fiery hair by the end (no matter what the weather, it seemed). His hair was pretty, soft and clean or sopping with sweat Arthur didn't mind, and he wasn't sure if he had a thing for redheads or just the unique (he'd had his fair share of the unique) but he really...
Really wanted to-
Luckily though, he was content to watch from afar. The last thing he needed was another scandal, "Arthur Kirkland Sleeps With His Male Gardener!" He could practically see the headlines now. He took a thoughtful sip of his tea, no, that was certainly something he wanted to avoid.
Still, there was something in the way the man worked that refused to release Arthur's attention, even for a moment. And that wouldn't be so bad if Arthur had much else with which to occupy his thoughts, but as it stood he found his often unoccupied mind often occupied by the man he was currently rather keenly observing.
He wondered idly how his gardener would taste, homey and natural, like sweet honey that he sometimes caught him collecting. Did he have a sweet tooth? Arthur hoped he had a sweet tooth, because then that honey could be put to good use.
His gardener turned around, wiping his brow, taking a heavy breath which pushed out his defined chest against his shirt. He frowned a little, looking up at the sky, which was strangely clear, letting p the sun beat down mercilessly on him, and pulled his shirt up over his head.
Arthur licked his lips.
He wanted to touch that chest. He wanted to run his hands up it and feel every muscle, every hair, every scar. He wanted to keep going until his hands reached his gardeners neck. He wanted to feel him swallow under his fingers, his nervous and excited breath against his face. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted it hot and fast. He wanted it warm and slow. He wanted everything in between.
He wanted Alistair.
He wanted him all.
His gardener turned his head, seemingly feeling his employers eyes on him, their eyes meeting. His eyes were such a lovely shade of green. Almost like Arthur's own, but deeper, enough to soak up the very soul that looked into them and make them belong to him completely. Those were eyes that stole hearts.
And Arthur's had gone rather willingly, he was ashamed to admit.
His gardener stared for a moment, running a hand through his hair and squinting through the sun. Then he smiled, and Arthur felt his head spin, greeting the mans wave with a slow exhale and a weak but proud wave in return.
Behind him, his sister let out a snort, "Don't even try," she said, and Arthur tensed, his longing heart pausing its rhythm.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your own desires might be sick, but Alistair is a good man, he'd never want you."
Arthur grit his teeth, not in pain, in truth he wasn't sure he could name the squeezing of his chest. "I know that full well," he said, as calmly as he was able, "I am well aware I won't be adding this one to my collection."
"You disgust me."
Arthur laughed, a hollow sound, "I disgust all who meet me, my dear. I'm well used to it by now."
"I will watch as you burn in hell for your sinful thoughts and desires," she said, malice thick on her tongue, "And I will laugh!"
Arthur smiled, more of a grimace really, "And I will watch as you lie next to me, and my own laugh will down out even your screams."
His sister snorted a noise of disgust, turning on her heel, but before she could leave, Arthur spoke again, "Your beauty is wasted on you, Rose, truly, the flower that is your namesake is now more thorn than bloom."
"And there is little nobility that can be attached to you, Arthur," she replied derisively, "Keep your filthy sins to yourself, drag as few people down to your twisted hell as possible."
Arthur smiled gently, a little hauntingly, "It's too late for that, love."
And then Rose left, with less than a word and only a rumple of her skirt.
"Sir?"
Arthur whipped his head around to the familiar, deep voice that rung from the other door to his tea room, "Yes, my old chap?"
His gardener seemed a little lost for words, his beautiful eyes filled with... Arthur wasn't sure. He found himself standing, taking a few steps toward the man, who seemed to tense as he approached, making Arthur hesitate, "What i-"
"What did you mean when you said you wanted to..." He hesitated for a brief moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. Arthur wanted to suck on it. "To add me to you collection?"
Arthur's heart stopped.
His breath quickened.
And he felt a stirring in his gut which he allowed to settle heavily as he took another step forward.
"Do you really want to know?"
His gardener didn't respond. But neither did he back away.
Arthur touched him. Touched his chest. Felt the muscles against his fingers through his shirt. Felt it rise with his gardeners sudden inhale.
Felt his own breath hitch as sparks shot through him.
"I want to-" he cut himself short, leaning up a little further until he could feel their breaths mingle... Oh and it was just as sweet as he thought it would be.
He smiled, "I think you know exactly what I mean," he breathed, sucking in as his gardener breathed out, one wanting, one unsure, both unsteady, "And I suggest you leave quickly if you don't want to be my newest piece."
Arthur prepared for the worst, closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch his favourite ones turn away and find new employment.
His gardener didn't turn away though, only let out another breath, "Could I be the last addition to your collection?"
Arthur smiled.
"No promises."
From behind the other door to Arthur's tea room, Rose grimaced, feeling bile rise in her throat at having to see that beautiful man in the arms of her brother, "Have fun in hell, brother. I'll laugh asyou both burn." She said, and whipped around so she didn't have to see the sight any longer, ready to do anything it took to stop this.
Because if she couldn't have him...
No one would.