Summary: Work or sex? Which one holds the greatest burden?
Pairing: United Kingdom/Arthur Kirkland x United States of America/Alfred F. Jones
Genre: Romance, Yaoi, Slice of Life
POV: Arthur Kirkland, Third person
Disclaimer: All characters used belong to 日丸屋秀和 Himaruya Hidekazu and the world/history
I hope you enjoy. C:
First chapter begins with USUK...
.
.
.
Another late-night work session and Arthur was disappointed in himself for letting the situation get so out-of-hand.
His good mate, Alfred, has always been seen round-shouldered over paperwork, surrounded by a city of white columns neatly stacked with obvious care. The night was at its prime. Sad grey bags surely developed underneath his eyes by now, not growing any tighter with replenished peachy skin. Even the rest of the bloody American seemed to dither from its usual perky glow. And even if he were perky, it has toned down so drastically, Arthur would offend the situation by ever calling it a nuisance.
Every few minutes, a heavy sigh drenched in horrid stress emanated from the troublesome blonde who for some unusual reason didn't care to take off his brown leather bomber jacket as he worked – surely he'd catch an illness making that mistake: the weather was warm enough as it was. To Arthur, as he spied his mate down, peeking over the top of the beige sofa, watching Alfred shake out his strained, over-worked hand seemed to him a slight break, in which his thick brows tensed and furrowed in worry when that hand would return ever more powerfully back to work. Alfred really ought to give himself larger portions of breaks, even if they weren't frequent. Anything would do.
"It's past midnight," Arthur suggested, pitching out his bait for the man looming over his desk. When the blonde dodged his reply and simply carried on scribbling whatever it was he was writing, Arthur continued, masking the possible blunder of embarrassment by dismissing himself. "I'll... be off to bed... Goodnight."
Silence.
He wouldn't even get to see him in the morning.
As Arthur burrowed into his bed, cocooning his knackered body into the white sheets, choking the hems anxiously as he brought them close under his clean chin, his thoughts turned to the worst as he visualised an empty bed by the time he'd wake up when the sun finally made its appearance. A sigh waded past his teeth and he rolled over, filching the sheets with him as he faced the opposite direction of his mate's presence across from the other room. An undying feeling of loneliness panged throughout him, offering him a mourned sleep.
That man was going to be the death of him one day.
...
By the time Arthur roused in his bed, ill of proper rest, he decided his cocoon of sheets were too comfortable to break free from. His eyes were stubborn to open, anyway. What time was it? Surely there was sleep in his eyes: How long was his rest? Not enough to conjure a dream...
As painful as it was to sit up, Arthur reluctantly escaped his sheets and pried his eyes open, groggily scanning the area. Immediately, he drew to the empty space beside him. This bed was too big for just one soul.
Picking himself up, his legs not willing to hold him steady, Arthur staggered toward the portal dividing his bedroom to the open living room where immediately he spotted the blonde whose hair frayed as if electricity struck him. He was still working away as feverishly as ever...
"Were you up all night?" Arthur enquired, his voice scratchy as he raked his hand through his dishevelled sandy blonde hair, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door, narrow, tired old eyes enduring its awakening.
Alfred numbly nodded his head.
Finally. At least it was something.
"Isn't your arse sore at all from sitting down so long?" Arthur attempted, smirking at his own stupid joke. Was it even a joke at all? No one was laughing. A good laugh would have substituted well enough as a response. But the room fell silent. Arthur ditched the frame and approached Alfred whose neck seemed unbearably rigid in its arch over the desk. It would raise a horrid hunch on the man if he kept that up.
"You know, Alfred," Arthur brought up, not even caring at this point whether he'd receive a response or not – it was to be expected, anyway. "You're the most hard-working, extraneous man I've ever met. You weren't always like this."
Alfred kept scribbling. Arthur amusedly ran a finger down the other's nape, inspecting whether it would splinter under his touch. A sharp slap and he retracted his hand. At least the American wasn't completely dead in work.
"You really are different..." Arthur muttered; boring his emerald eyes at the back of Alfred's head, examining the flow of short blonde hair until it thinned to a stop halfway down his nape. His tolerance was diluting. "No man works as hard as you."
The Briton thought himself clever and walked off toward their shared kitchen, pinching himself something to snack on as an excuse for a proper breakfast. Upon his return, he wasn't surprised to see Alfred at least adjusting in his creaking office chair. He should wedge a pillow underneath himself. It would ease something.
The sofa welcomed Arthur as he sat down, chewing away at whatever made itself between his fingers. He found himself staring at Alfred's hunched-over form. It was disappointing whenever Arthur ever needed to do a similar routine just about every day when he comes across his own line of work. This week he had given himself a break from a good few months full of something to do; to do paperwork, taxes: all sorts of tiring rubbish.
"Do you want me to make you some tea, Alfred?" The Englishman propounded, leaning his chin on the top of the sofa, feeling it sink in against his weight.
Again, Alfred didn't bother replying.
Although this sort of thing happened a lot recently, Arthur remained irked by this common silence. He was on break, he deserved a bit of entertainment. He decided to get up again after finishing his make-shift, sorry excuse for a breakfast and rose up to the kitchen once again, cleaning a little as he went, while turning on the kettle. The flat soon flooded with the pot's alarming screech which cut short as Arthur poured himself his morning tea, not bothering for a second mug – only then recalling that Alfred despised tea.
"Will it ever be in your ability to finish all that bothersome work soon, Al?" Arthur questioned upon his return, setting his cup onto a proper coaster latent over the coffee table in front of the sofa.
Silence once more.
He was expecting as much.
Arthur let out a sharp sigh, skirting over to Alfred once again, immediately kneading the man's probably aching back, propping his elbows over the low black leather seat. At least he didn't fight back this time... Arthur leaned in, peeking over the American's shoulders, scanning over his business, seeing this and that of tedious paperwork. At least the load under Alfred's fountain pen was thinning. Arthur continued his massage, turning up the pressure and digging his knuckles into the man's back, seeing no resistance. An amused smile flitted over his mouth as he leaned back; perturbed Alfred might catch his cheeky intentions.
"I know you're focused and I'm sure you have an approaching deadline some when soon but – Oh dear; you do have thick knots in your shoulders – 'tis good to take breaks every now and again. How many times must I remind you of this, Alfred?"
"You're distracting me."
Arthur's eyes lazily blared in mock astonishment, his fingers hesitant a moment until shortly recovering, composing himself, shrugging it off.
"I suppose you're requesting me to stop?" His fingers slackened, acting unsure, "But you're so tense..."
"I never said that." Alfred remarked without peeling his eyes away from his work, still scribbling away. "Just you speaking so much is distracting me."
Arthur's heavy sigh slid out between his teeth and embraced the other's exposed nape, eliciting an even heavier sigh out of the American who dotted his sentence with a final full stop before pushing back his wheeled seat. His glazed-over eyes didn't notice the quick retract of grey socked feet
"Oi! - you could have run over my bloody toes if I hadn't—"
Alfred finally arose, holding his exhausted face, suspending his breath a stitch and stretching his taut muscles, squealing softly as he went, gusting out a deep breath as if he'd just resurfaced from a gaseous room. Not fully attentive, a blurry vision of a figure arrayed in yellows, dots of green and slots of brown. Did he misplace his glasses...?
"Oh, so I take it you're finally finished?" Arthur ridiculed gruffly, recovering from the ricochet of shock. The American didn't reply, instead pinching at his eyes to ease their weariness. He would be smiling as goofy as ever any minute now, just to mask from his stress – like per-usual...
"Or are you taking my advice?" The Englishman huffed vehemently and returned to his tea, picking it up, examining its ardent heat before taking a sip. It was as perfect as ever. Alfred was missing out.
"Bed."
Dubious, Arthur glanced over, one eyebrow lifting toward the ceiling.
"Whut?"
"Bed." Alfred repeated, his voice held between momentousness and jovial tones. His hands searched his face until they met with his silver-framed glasses atop his forehead.
"What? - Are you finally exhausted out of your mind?" Arthur taunted, sipping his tea before continuing, snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, filling his lungs with the scent of herbs right quick. "The bed last night was awfully empty."
"I know."
"Are you saying you want to make up for it? - I'm not tired."
"Sure," The American agreed brightly, as if nothing was wrong. That stupid smile crossing his lips. Arthur frowned in apprehension, in disappointment, almost forming a grimace over his features. "That sounds nice. You're on break anyway, aren't you?"
So he had listened. He thought it went entirely unnoticed.
"But that would be wasting the day away...I'd prefer a walk." Arthur reasoned, drifting his emerald eyes nowhere, seeking anything alluring.
"But then I would be the one alone in bed: I won't be joining you on your walk." Alfred remarked as if it were obvious fact. He provoked a disenchanted sigh from the latter who took one last sip of his tea before returning it to its coaster.
"Then we've run into a dilemma." He claimed noncommittally, digging his knuckles into his hips, finally meeting gazes with the American. He bit his inner cheek.
"We could..." Alfred stopped himself short, busy in unorganised thoughts, making particular faces until it blanked of any wrinkles upon something he considered brilliant. "Why not we cuddle first - then take a walk?"
He truly did remind Arthur of an energetic puppy. A very annoying energetic puppy which he would ask himself everyday as to why he even adopted him.
"That defeats the purpose of my fatigue of staying indoors for such long and dreaded hours." The Englishman dismissed, his thick brows irked at the other's stupidity.
"Well gee - Way to shoot down my awesome idea, Artie." Alfred huffed ardently, crossing his arms over his chest. "What could you possibly suggest that's better than mine?"
"I could think of a million things," Arthur chuckled dryly at his self-proclaimed clever remark "But that would require time in which I don't intend to outspread for any amount here."
"You hate me, don't you?"
"I'll just take a walk..." At the sudden decision, Arthur abandoned his tea and swept up to the front door of their flat. Alfred hastily scrambled after.
"Whoa, hey – Let's not jump to conclusions here, dude." Alfred supplied, trying to be convincing, adding in a pathetic charming smile. "W-We – You haven't even finished your –"
He watched in dismay as Arthur slipped on his shoes. He continued in fretful suggestions
"I-I think I deserve a cuddle, man. Just quit it and listen."
His moans proved inferior as Arthur stood erect, adjusting into his shoes and fishing into his pocket to make sure everything was in check.
"But while I'm away, you could finish your paperwork – You're almost done, as it would appear." The Englishman dismissed nonchalantly, pleased to find his house key safe in his pocket before heading toward the door, disregarding the other's presence. Upon thumbing over the lock, he was shocked into stillness; newly applied heat meeting his backside. His face immediately met the colour of roses as a hand forced him away from the knob.
"Come on, Artie," Alfred begged in his ear, pressing in closer like some persistent child. A horrendously huge child "I have loads more work in my briefcase and in the trunk of my car: You even said a break every now and again is good for me."
"I-It's called a 'boot,' you nob," Arthur corrected on impulse, as if to bend it into a distraction. "And although I said that – and it's true – our needs can't be appeased at the same time. I hope you realise that - and get the hell off me!"
Alfred only nuzzled his face into the crook of Arthur's hot neck longingly, moaning into it as if it could win the Englishman's pity. The cold frame of the American's glasses dug into the other's exposed skin behind his cotton flannel collar, almost wincing until catching himself.
"Surely you need a good stretch as well, wanker!" Arthur stressed, elbowing at the American's side in blind rage.
"But I'm tired." Alfred bemoaned, slipping his arms round his mate, squeezing the worry out of him – to no avail: Arthur wriggled nonetheless.
"Spare me, you blighter!" He hissed, desperately squirming about, searching for any weak spots to set his escape. "I have needs, too, blast it – It's not all about you."
"Could you do it just this once – pleeeeaase? Just this once – I'm crying here, man!"
"You're such an incessant child! Release me at once!"
Alfred only hugged tighter, choking him. He pressed his face harder against the man's skin.
"Not until at least... ten minutes of cuddle-time." He offered without much consideration.
"'Ten minutes?'" The other echoed, dubious and spiteful "That's hardly enough even for you."
"I'm tired: I'll fall asleep right when my body slams into the bed. Ten minutes will come easy."
"But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me joining you?"
"But that's the thing: You'll be with me as I sleep, making up for the fact that you were all by your lonesome last night."
"So you do want to make up that lost time – I knew it from the very beginning." Arthur decided, convinced of his cleverness. His pride drained when his feet no longer held the ground. His breath hitched until it formed into a peeved grunt.
"Quit moving: I'm going to drop you." Alfred demurred pointedly as he targeted his destination, closing in toward it while fighting Arthur's resistance.
"That's the bleedin' point, you berk!" The Englishman barked, kicking his legs about, hoping to jab into something important. Even if he did manage, the pain went unnoticed as they entered Arthur's bedroom, his bed still disarrayed from his awakening. Haphazardly, Arthur landed face-first into the cool mattress. A long-winded groan of disappointment escaped him, muffled by fabric until he lifted himself up.
"You know, I don't appreciate—"
"Aww - Come on Artie," Alfred hummed delightfully as he tossed himself onto the Englishman, barrelling them both over until their bodies fit together comfortably chest-to-back, facing the wall opposite. He slinked his arms tightly round the man's chest protectively, nuzzling his face into the man's nape affectionately. "Just ten minutes – Remember that."
"Shouldn't you be asleep right now?" Arthur discerned in hints of sarcasm, his body still tense as ever, not willing to ease.
"But wouldn't it be...I don't know – romantic or something to indulge in the moment?" The American murmured through thoughts, his breath running warm across the Englishman's shoulder.
"So you do have ulterior motives. What else is new?" He huffed with venomous sarcasm, completely flushed over.
"'Ulterior motives?' Nonsense. I just want to spend some time with you. Is that too much to ask?" Alfred turned his face down casually, his eyelashes tickling the other's skin playfully.
Arthur didn't respond. He was fuming. The bridge of his nose begged to be pinched until a visible mark shown obvious.
"And how long have we been living together anyway? You're still as stubborn from when we first moved in."
Truly stunning: Alfred actually remembered something that far back. Arthur wryly smiled to himself: just another reminder that Alfred really does have a brain in that presumably empty head of his.
"That doesn't necessarily signify that I'm used to you from tip to toe." Arthur muttered spitefully, focusing nowhere.
"Dude, we sleep in the same bed. Surely you're used to me." From under his chin, Alfred could feel the satisfactory heat of embarrassment.
"It's not like we have a spare room..." Arthur countered, displeased by this utter closeness. His saying was final; left unacknowledged as the body wrapped round his turned limp. Truly impressive: Alfred really can fall asleep as quick as a wink. Although when something soft and damp pressed against his flesh, Arthur's conclusion flipped negative. Even if he was fully aware of teeth grazing over him, lips hugging him, tongue savouring him: he didn't except it to work so promptly. The Englishman adjusted awkwardly, somewhat displeased, preferring what was meant to be expected than what he was apprehending.
He wedged his palms at the arms smuggling his waist as his thick brows furrowed in growing frustration, finding no avail of release.
"Alfred, please-" Arthur beseeched bitterly, desiring peace. The mouth by his ear shushed him instead.
"I'm trying to take my ten minute nap."
"In means of slobbering over my shoulder? Get off me."
"I'm tired," The man squeezed longingly, rocking Arthur within his arms, pressing a smile to his ear. "I wasn't doing anything of the sort."
"You're a terrible liar." The tips of his fingers pinched at the hairy arms of the American whose revenge came just as quick. His white teeth sunk into the skin he 'slobbered' over, sucking the flesh harshly as if it were chastisement. The Englishman hardly flinched, having only a frown plastered across his face.
"What the hell are you doing?" He whispered sharply over his shoulder.
"Trying to relax you: you're tense." Alfred explained softly. Arthur could just hear that stupid smile. "Besides, I want to make up for that massage."
"I'd prefer no gift returns." The Briton glowered, strictly pinching at the other. When heat seemed to settle, the man decided to change his mind, pushing himself up from his entrapment of arms, shoving at the other's shoulder, the American gently crying in a million questions.
"And I'd prefer to simply take my walk. I have my shoes on and everything-"
"You're wearing your jammy's, dude." Alfred, giggling, watched the Englishman stand facing away from the bed only to peer down at himself, the tips of his ears flared immediately in beet-red.
"Oh shut it, blasted American!" Arthur scolded over his shoulder, mildly searching the room for any proper clothes within his proximity, desiring not to hear Alfred's obnoxious laughter for being so careless. Unfortunately, Arthur keeps his things away where they should be. He mentally slapped himself, scowling his usual scowl. The American on the bed chuckled.
"You can always find clothes in a closet, Artie." He hummed delightfully, propping himself onto one elbow and resting his ear on his shoulder to watch the Englishman scurry about, searching meticulously for a good and proper uniform. He finally surfaced one until they clattered silently to the floor. Emerald eyes met sapphire.
"Ten minutes is thinning; take your shoes off and let's hit the hay."
Uh?
POFF
"Oi, let me go, wankar!" Arthur yelled; his cheek forced into the mattress by a strong hand. He felt his pyjama bottoms slide down his propped up thighs and he only wriggled more, desperate and irate.
"I guess foreplay isn't an option today," His voice was slick, disgusting; as his free hand smoothed over his victim's bum, sending horrid shocks up and down the Englishman's spine.
"I thought you flippin' well wanted a nap!" Arthur resounded. The back of his head slowly released. A long drag across his spine. He felt his shoes loosen and slip off, one by one, hearing the dreaded thunk of each fall: only then did the man turn over and scramble off, pulling his bottoms up as his back pressed into the neighbouring wall.
"I do," Alfred agreed, crawling up into a fist in his face. "Ow! What the fuck, dude?"
"I don't appreciate being manhandled nor do I appreciate being raped in my own blinkin' room!" The Englishman yelled; kicking at the other whose forearms shielded the front of his face.
"'Rape?' No, no, Artie: You got it all wrong—"
"How on bloody Earth can I misunderstand tha' situation?" He shouted hysterically, still kicking until his foot caught between two hands, pinching through his socks. Arthur wriggled his toes frantically, gritting his teeth imminent to shatter. It constantly slipped his mind that Alfred had always been quite strong...
"I'm tired, okay, man?" Alfred whined softly as if nothing bad happened, toes still restless beneath his fingers. He tried holding the other's eyes. "I thought it'd be nice – I mean: I've been working for so long and get nothing in return. A break like this would mean so much to me—"
"So my body will appease your selfish needs? I don't think so, you blighter." Arthur kicked his forgotten leg at the other's shoulder: no release. Instead, both his feet felt strangling hands and a face met his own, lips brushing against the tip of his nose. Arthur slammed his palm into the side of the American's face, watching it return as if it was never struck. His shimmering blue eyes flooded in distraught, shutting as their lips met to no reply.
"Just this once," Alfred murmured against the Englishman who kept his unruly reddened face stern as a nun, his emerald eyes glaring venomously at half-shut lids. Heat spiked throughout his body when something rubbed the tender spot between his legs. When did the bloody American get this close?
"I-I find this very much – ah, don't bite – unacceptable." Arthur complained gruffly, shoving at the other's shoulders, watching him only return with more passion filling his every movement.
"I know you don't like this," The American stroked the bulge beneath the length of his fingers "You're already hard anyway. No sense stopping..."
"That's – ah – not the point. You're violating my personal space..." He gave another inferior shove at the other man's shoulders, his pale lips taken too quickly, unwanted heat coursing through him.
"I don't see you objecting—"
"What's a fist to the face mean to you, anyway?"
"You're really asking for it, man." A crude smile smeared across his lips as they embraced the other's firmly and openly, molesting the fleshy wet interior hidden behind a crooked white barrier. Feeling the Englishman's tension begin to ease like a tectonic plate, continuing to muscle his escape as hands cascaded throughout the map of troublesome clothes shielding an obviously needy body. Every inch of skin seemed to want to fight, almost exploding when those callused fingers caught into the underbelly of a night shirt.
Restless shoving, thinning the space between surface and edge of mattress, deploring moans echoing through merciless lungs. This battle had no remedy...
The unfortunate fall of articles of clothing, merging into the floor soundlessly like the butt of a gun striking upon sand. Quiet urgencies of rejection and the need for peace fell flat and forgotten as the friction between metals met like a cat encountering a dog.
The room flooded in misery; in pleasure; in torture. Morning sunlight peeked between the curtains, painting the room a yellow and orange tinge; their erupted shadows drew heavy and thick with each creak and groan of veto and ecstasy; of pain and desire.
He hated himself. He hated this man.
He couldn't control it. His body tight, reaching its high.
Release of its degrading discharge. Curses slipping past his throat like a brown river of filth.
His firm bundle of fingers crashing into a familiar cheek. Hearing a delightful heavy thud of a man colliding onto the ground below.
Revenge gave the Englishmen a poisonous apple and his willingness to use it stated higher than Jacob's Ladder.
A well-to-do shower and a hearty walk will clear his head.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. And those who prefer UKUS will be pleased by the next chapter. C:
Reviews would be grand: I'd like to know what you think.