A/N : This was written for the Secret Santa that the USUK community on livejournal was hosting. I procrastinated posting it here, because that's what I do; procrastinate. My recipient was 8_bitprincess and her prompts were: 1. Alfred and Arthur decide to move in together, but their cats have trouble taking to one another.
2. America is obsessed with all things space and astronomy and he tries to make England understand his other love.
3. Author's choice - just include some Nekotalia.
I attempted to incorporate all the prompts into a smooth cohesive piece, but ended up with this mutilated love child (or should I say children?) of them instead. All I can say is that I tried and I hope you enjoy it anyway. Also many thanks to my beta liete and my friend ashy-kins.
1.
Alfred is nine and the world is at the tips of his fingers. He can be and will be everything, because that's what childhood is— exploration and limitlessness and flowers. And today he is an astronaut, his arms out stretched as his spins himself dizzy and light headed. He plucks the stars from the sky and sets up constellations that bear his name because, after all, he is a hero. But all heroes have enemies that enjoy spoiling their fun, and Alfred is no exception.
Except instead of a man of sharp angles, pointed smiles, heavy eyes and outrageous make up, his villain is small, fluffy and arguably cute— and seems hell bent on ruining his days. It's obvious in the creature's posture, as it lurks in the bushes waiting for an opportunity to lash at the boy, that it means business.
Its eyes never stray from Alfred's figure as he spins himself silly, its tongue flicking along its lips as though he can taste victory. And he does get his moment— when Alfred's ankle gets a little shaky, and he projects his body outward.
Alfred only has a blurred image of the world at the moment of impact So he misses the pure beauty of predator and prey, or as close to that you can get in the suburb. It comes bubble wrapped in the form of a plump white cat with a mane of brown launching itself at a nine- year -old with a cow lick.
There's a yelp, a hiss and some grass stains and in seconds the cat is thrown off Alfred's leg.
"So we meet again, senior Whisker," puffs Alfred, blue eyes narrowed. He feels a seed of hatred for cats being planted deep with his stomach, ready to settle and spread. (Of course this will exclude his own cat, Excalibur, who's a hero like him. Albeit a grumpy one who tends to sink his claws in Alfred's arms when he's being too forceful with his cuddles, but there will always be forgiveness in his heart for Excalibur.)
You see, Alfred had no qualms about cats before; they had always been cute and huggable creatures to him. But this had all started to change when that new family of six moved down the street a month ago. They came wrapped in stiff posture, awkward smiles and bowed with a funny speech pattern with a cat from the ninth layer of hell. A cat that since they moved here has taken a liking to clawing him any chance it gets.
Said cat that just reattached itself to his leg. Alfred lets out a pain filled scream and what may or may not be a curse word depending on who asks.
Alfred prepares for another battle with the devil cat, shifting so he can at least prop his torso up, and is prepared to remove said possessed cat from his person. Except right as he readies himself to whack the cat off a kid who looks around the same age as him with messy blond hair, huge eyebrows and the greenest eyes he has ever seen comes running.
"Doctor, get off his leg! You're hurting him," the boy yells in a funny voice.
He's now standing above Alfred's legs, prying the feline from them and eventually succeeds. Once in his arms said kitty curls up and purrs against the boy.
"I'm so sorry he did that, I have no clue what has gotten into him! He has been moody since we've moved." The boy smiles unsurely towards Alfred. "Oh, how rude of me, I didn't even give my you name! I'm Arthur and you are?" Arthur extends the hand not cradling the cat towards Alfred to help him up.
But Alfred ignores it and, before he has a chance to censor his words, he's committing the crime of word vomit. "Hey you kind of talk funny ...did you know that? And what's up with your eyebrows, they're huge, like whoa... you have super pretty eyes, the prettiest I've ever seen at least."
Arthur's face contorts into many expressions—shock, anger and what suspiciously looks like a pleased blush that all melts into a look of indifference. He stares at Alfred blankly and the next thing Alfred knows Arthur is dropping his cat onto Alfred's chest.
Arthur turns around and stomps away, only bothering to throw a scathing "have at him, Doctor."
And Alfred, in between the fighting for his life, is excited because he thinks he's made a new friend
2.
"I have to go." The words cut through what was almost a soothing silence; Alfred gives Arthur this look that's a mixture of love and understanding.
The good bye is lodged in Arthur's throat, thick and swelling. These are his last moment with Alfred for six months— his last moments of smiles, insistent chattering and warm hugs from the man he loves. And he can't help but be a little bitter for it.
He knows Alfred is excited to be leaving, to be getting this chance to experience the consequence of years of training and studying. He's jealous of space and its infinite depth and the fact that it has a place in Alfred's heart.
Arthur is aware how childish these feelings are— that he should be secure because Alfred loves him more than stars. He knows that at the end of these six months Alfred will come home to him with a dopey smile and secure hugs, and that- 'No I will not leave you for some metaphoric personification of outer space.' Arthur knows his worry should be on some technical malfunction that causes the ship to expl- and that's where the thought is killed off. He doesn't want to think like that, not until Alfred is on the shuttle, because if he starts to panic about things like that at the moment he's pretty sure he'll kidnap Alfred and tie him to the bed where nothing can hurt him.
His thoughts on flames and irrational feelings are put on standby when Alfred presses their lips together. It's incredibly sweet and chaste compared to the kisses from the night before, which were demanding and needing. Alfred pulls back and gives him his signature grin.
"Do I have your undivided attention again?"
Arthur can't help but snort. "Says the one who might as well have ADHD," And, as much as he doesn't want it to, a smile breaks onto his face, as sad as he is that his stupid sweet idiot of a husband will be gone for what will seem like an eternity. He's happy for him —that his dreams came true and that he's finally getting to do what he's always wanted.
Suddenly Alfred has his arms full with Arthur who's squeezing him hard around his middle with his face buried in his shoulder. "You have to take care of yourself, be safe and don't do anything stupid or 'heroic', as you like to say. I do not want to see some front cover story about an astronaut who gave up his life for the greater good of humanity by trying fix a broken cord with bubble gum and getting sucked into to the sun."Arthur manages to get the warning out in one breath.
"Artie, I don't even... I just... gum?"
"Shut up! Knowing you something like that could happen." But even Arthur knows how ridiculous he sounds. In a quieter voice he mumbles, "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, Artie, but I'll be back in no time. Promise." And Alfred's voice sounds so sincere.
"Shit if I don't leave now I'll be late! Now remember if you need anything or there's an emergency don't hesitate to call Mathew or Francis." One more smile, a kiss, a hug and a meaningful exchange of 'I love you' and Alfred's gone.
Arthur tries to ignore the feeling of loneliness already gnawing in his gut and tries to look on the positive side; at least the house will stay clean for more than a day.
It's an empty consolation.
3.
His finger tips curl into his palms, leaving half moons across the surface. His arms are numb. He can hear a clock ticking in the background, rhythmic, as his heartbeat synchronizes with each tick. He gave up screaming hours ago, around the time the binds cut circulation off from his feet and hands. His throat is scratchy and his cheeks feel stiff from the tear tracks.
It's dark down here, even during the day, with one window that only allows a bleached yellow to bleed through. (How many days has it been since he's seen nothing but washed out sunshine? One day, two days, a week, a month?) It's enough to hurt though; to remind him what's he's missing.
He's lonely. He almost wishes Alfred would come back down here to him, with his love- sick lullabies and daydream words of forever.
Almost —
He hears a rustle in the corner and his eyes drift towards the source of noise. There he sees two pairs of luminous eyes, glinting and shimmering. They emerge from the shadows, the darkness rolling off of sleek forms.
Two cats, (they look so familiar, and he doesn't want to remember) one with marble greens and orange spots and the other with stolen sky eyes and brown fur wrapped around its neck.
Too familiar—
(And his memories come crashing down, hot and bitter, like the kisses he shared with Alfred after the man had his morning cup of coffee. It's a swirl of love and something deeper than hate. He wants to cry, and he can feel his heart ache and pull into two. These where their cats, the ones they saved from the shelter together, came up with corny names together, Scone and Hero. And it's too much. They remind him of stability and happy times, these relics of his old life, of his old Alfred. They remind him why it's so hard to hate Alfred for this. )
And he can't stop himself from longing for something so far gone.
"Here kitties," he rasps out. They comply, moving towards him. One comes and curls itself on top of his feet; he appreciates the warmth from it. The other snuggles into the side of his body that's not shoved against the wall for support. He feels more content then he has in days with a blanket of pretend draped over him.
(He can smell the aftershave and peppermint and licorice that made up Alfred's scent and he can even hear him saying that stupid nickname he loved to call him in a gentle tone.)
"Artie."
His eyes open instantly when he realizes that someone really did say his name out loud and that the steps leading to the basement are creaking.
He looks up in alarm and sees Alfred standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms behind his back and a smile on his face, something sweet and loving, and, god, Arthur loves that smile.
(Alfred is the only non- muted color in the room at the moment—his sunshine boy.)
Alfred's smile widens, a sinister tint seeping in. He brings his arms to the front, a knife limply hanging in one hand.
"Artie, you're calm now, right? You'll listen now, right?"
He wants to scream no, call Alfred every foul name he can think of and trash and snarl until he leaves again. But he can't seem to muster even a sob, his will to fight lost somewhere in the ticking and the warmth of yesterdays. All he can do is avert his eyes away from blue, endless boundless blues.
"Artie, I had to do this. He was- you were—, you guys were getting too close! You and Ivan should never be that close," Alfred states, like he is the voice of reason, like hysteria isn't clawing at the edges.
"So Artie, you'll listen now, right? You'll behave?"
Arthur's heart cracks in two, swift and final. The pieces tumble up into his throat, and he remembers in clarity that he loves Alfred and Alfred loves him and this is good for him.
Arthur's lips twist up, cheeks blooming. "Yes, of course, love. I've been behaving foolishly, haven't I?"
4.
England was livid, and if America didn't tell him where the fuck he hid his bloody tea someone was going to lose their man bits that would then be mantled on his wall as a warning to others. England continued down to America's office area— it was the only place England had concluded America could be considering he had already stormed the rest of the house.
"Alfred, where the hell is my tea" was the first of many questions and threats to slip from England's tongue as he shouldered his way into the room. America, who had his backed turned to the Englishmen as he came in, swiveled around in the computer chair he occupied. And in his lap lay Scone, who he was petting slowly with a smirk that would have been considered evil had it been on any one else but America.
"Oh Artie, if I told you that it'd take from the fun of the game" came from between what were poor attempts at an evil crackle.
"Alfred, I will leave you at Russia's doorstep hog-tied with your lower intestines and a bow on your head if you don't surrender," England seethed, his eyes narrowing to slits.
But America wasn't listening; he was trying to prefect his bad guy laugh.
England sighed, he needed something to hold over America's head... something America cherished as much as England cherished his tea. England's frown curved into a heart stopping smirk. He knew just the thing.
England stomped past America to the desk, opened a drawer and grabbed a lighter. Once he obtained his weapon he calmly walked to the door, turning to America. "You'll regret this," he sneered, and then he shot down the hall with what was the perfect villain laughter.
America's grin fell from his face when he realized what England was talking about. "Arthur no!" America quickly, stood dropping the cat from his lap, and before he could take one step out the door to stop his boyfriend, Scone bit his ankle and caused him to trip in an attempt to not step on the cat.
With a face full of carpet, America knew he had lost. He could hear a sadistic laughter travel down the hall with the smell of sweet chocolate and burning foil. "No, not my chocolate stash!" was all he managed between his cries of pain.
And a few rooms away England watched red flicker at the beloved treats, munching on a piece he decided to keep for himself. England smiled, canines flashing. Revenge really did taste sweet.
5.
Arthur is the first to arrive to his and Alfred's new life together. The apartment is cold and dusted with shadows as piles of boxes are strewn about. They had spent the day with friends and family moving in and out of the complex with their belongings systematically dropping things off then speeding away again.
This will be their first night living together.
The thought rolls in Arthur's head until he's dizzy and his stomach hurts. He will never admit it out loud, would rather bite his tongue through than admit to it, but he's scared; so scared.
He's heard stories of people, of lovers, moving in together only to split at their seams because they couldn't handle it, couldn't handle each other. To become an unraveled mess of old sentiments and twisted smiles at a dingy bar seems like a foolish fear.
It is a stupid thing to worry about. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work, life moves on. But Arthur doesn't work that way, never has and never will. He is the type that will cling until there's only dust left between his fingers and blood on his knuckles, and they will work because they already put up with so much for each other; after all, what difference is just a little more effort?
So Arthur allows his concerns of failure and future to morph into concern for his poor little cat, meowing through the bars of his carrier. This is why Alfred and him arrived separately, they both had to retrieve their pets, the last members of this oh so new living arrangement. "Oh Wallace stop fretting, love. We are here now and that means you can be released." Arthur coo's through the bars. Right as his pale fingers reach for the latch the front door slams open; Alfred tumbles through with the grace of a drugged hippo and his own carrier in tow.
"Artie, I'm home and I brought Clark with me!"
Arthur looks up with a smile from where he is kneeling. "I was just about to let Wallace out. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to introduce them to one another." Alfred sets the holder down and makes a noise of consent, they both pop the latches open at the same time waiting for their cat to enter their new home.
Alfred's animal comes rushing out, his brown main puffing huge, tail swishing erratically, and his head swiveling around the new area with the eagerness of a dog. Arthur's cat comes out at a more leisurely pace, its orange tipped ears pushed towards the front of its head as it calmly examines his bearings. The second the cats enter each other's view their tails and hair spike up and hisses seep through barred teeth, their claws fully extend and ready to strike. Arthur and Alfred interfere without hesitation, water sprayers in hand.
"No Clark, you have to be nice. Wally is your new roommate." Alfred punctures each sentence with a spray.
Arthur does the same to his own cat. "Honestly, Wallace, what has gotten into you," both cats are returned to their separate carriers until something can be thought of to alleviate the issue.
Arthur tries not worry, tries not to see this incident as foreshadowing for his and Alfred's future, so he focuses on unpacking various things and listening to Alfred chatter until it's time for bed.
They curl up together beneath the sheets of their now shared bed, and Arthur finds that he's not sleepy. Instead, he finds his thoughts are taken over by the two felines that looked like they'd gladly bite at each other's throats, and that could be Alfred and his future. Their words sharpened so they cut through just right, just deep enough to break through soft skin. Arthur really doesn't want to think that way, not right now, so he tries to fall asleep and get comfortable. 'It has never been this hard' he thinks, as he shifts his body to find a good position, 'especially not when I'm next to him.' Still though, sleep continues to avoid him likes he's done something to offend it, and knowing his sometimes-harsh-words, he probably has.
"Ugh,"
"Artie, you okay?" A half awake mumble from a droopy eyed Alfred interrupts the thoughts.
Arthur turns to face Alfred guilt evident in his voice "don't worry about it love, just go back to sleep." but Alfred is already beginning to become more alert, and his hands wrap around Arthurs stomach and in the sweetest voice he asks; "what's wrong?" Arthur cracks under the tone and confesses every thought, Alfred just smiles, big and stupid, as he releases a deep chuckle. Arthur glares with red blooming across his cheek.
"It is not funny," he huffs in an almost whiny tone. Alfred just smiles before he gives him a quick kiss.
"Don't worry so much, babe. I think we're too stubborn to fall apart," he says it so sure and so confident that Arthur can't help but believe him.
"But, you know, if you truly can't get your mind off of it I know of some…activities that may distract you," Alfred's hand begin lower in a not-so-saintly manner to a not-so-pure location. Arthur just smiles, lips curling into the definition of mischief.
"I don't know love, I'm pretty worn out, and now that the hero has saved me from my thoughts I think I'll be able to get some sleep."
"But Artie, the hero always gets some for saving the damsel!"
"If you call me damsel on more time I will abstain from having sex with you ever again."
"Not-uh you'll totally cave the second you see me shirtless, because you know I'm temptation with legs!"
Arthur couldn't help but smile. The banter was so familiar, so safe, and that's how it stayed until they fell asleep, filled with laughter and smiles and taunting. It made him think; 'yeah, maybe things will be okay,' that they won't hate each other at the end of this, that the cats will learn to like each other, and that, even if they don't, it's not some divine sign marking the end of their relationship.
God Alfred always manages to rub his optimism on him, and makes his chest cavity swell with a mixture of pleasant things. And Arthur loves him for it; he really does.
Some more notes: Iggy-cat's names throughout this were : Excalibur, Scone and Wallce (named after the Flash, who i adore)
Ameri-cat's names were: Doctor (named after Doctor Who), Hero and Clark (named after Superman)
I may revisit one of these AUs again. They were fun to wright!