April 18, 2012

This is another quick oneshot I sat down and wrote in about an hour. My attempt at fluff, since I find myself better at writing angst and (something else). Please give me some suggestions as to how I can improve my fluff writing? ;P I hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

Let's Stay Like This

I can't help my lips from stretching as my cheek bumps against Alfred's glasses. Well, guess he doesn't want this. I lean back and sit on my heels on the carpeted floor as I watch Alfred's chest lift up, then down, with his arms and legs sprawled all over my couch. A corner of skin is showing, the part where his hips start and the hoodie he's wearing is scrunched up.

I have just gotten back from the errands I had to go finish this morning, and when I stepped in my own house, I find this spontaneous American sleeping soundly in my living room. Dropping my keys on the counter and pulling off my boots, I walked over to him. I kneeled on the floor and watched his sleeping face. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it was the long night I had, but I missed my aim as I tried to give him a peck on the temple.

So, I sit here, mesmerized, until the stabbing pain in my legs forces me to change my position. I curse my legs for falling asleep. I stand up, wincing in pain.

1…2…3…4…

It's getting better. Alfred still doesn't stir. I sigh, deciding to let him be and make myself a cup of tea before…

I look back at him. A sudden mischievousness comes over me; having known Francis and Gilbert for most of my life definitely has its toll.

I forego my tea and make my way back to the couch. I lean down, crawling over Alfred, my hands on both sides of his head, and swing my leg over his side, hovering above him. He begins to stir, groaning at gaining consciousness. Immediately, I pull off his glasses and set it on the coffee table. Smiling, I see his eyelids blink open and he stretches.

"Arthur?" he mumbles. I don't reply, waiting for him to wake up.

Finally, he sleepily says, "Hey," and already he has that dazzling smile lighting up his face.

"Hello." I duck away from his hand as he reaches for me, but our situation really leaves me with no choice when Alfred still catches the back of my head and pulls me forward.

"I missed you," he whispers in my ear and sighs. I don't remember smiling as much as I am now than I did these past two weeks. I bury my face in the nape of his neck, smelling him, feeling him, knowing him.

I feel him press his lips against my hair and maneuver my arms around him as I lay on top, shifting my legs between his.

A few minutes pass, and I almost think he fell asleep again, until I feel him squeeze me in his arms and him rubbing his face into my hair.

"God, I missed you," he breathes. I smile against his shoulder, my face heating up. After three years of being together, I am still not used to all this. Not that I don't want it almost every second I think of Alfred: to snuggle with him, to feel him, to have his arms wrapped around me.

"Why are you here?" I say into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

" 'Cause I missed you," he replies after a small, comfortable silence. "Way too much…"

Reluctantly, I push myself up to look at him. He's smiling at me, his eyes genuine and unwavering. I can feel myself flush just by his gaze.

"C'mere, Art." He tugs at my shirt, pulling me down, aiming for my lips. I let him, anticipating the moment we'll meet…the moment we've been wishing for…but I skim away just as our faces are millimeters apart.

His blue eyes are confused, and I can bet mine are delighted.

"It's been so long," I say, never breaking our gaze.

"Then—" Oh, he is so confused.

"Shush," I coo. My arms are getting tired; I drop my head onto his warm chest, feeling the beat of his heart. He wraps his arms to the middle of my back.

"So long, Alfred." I'm not getting to the point. It's hard.

"Art," he begins.

"It's embarrassing," I rush out, trying to muffle it with his hoodie.

His silence tells me that he finally understands what I mean.

"Hey," he says. His fingers trail up to my chin, drumming them against my skin before tilting my face up to look at him. His face is serious before his eyes get a twinkle in them.

"I love you." He is so certain, so confident, so…so…

"Alfred!" I shout, biting my lower lip as I shoot up, trying to run away and disappear. Oh, I bet my face is bright red right now. Oh, this is way too embarrassing.

I barely notice the smile on his face when he sits up, too, and hurries to grab me in his bear hug.

"Haha…hahaha!" he chuckles into my ear. I half-heartedly punch his chest, my cheeks burning.

"You—are you saying that was a joke?" Ah, screw me.

His laughing stops, but as he pulls me away by the shoulders, the laughter is still in his expression. His eyes are gentle.

"No, of course not."

When I don't reply, he continues, "I love you. And wait," he hurries on, "I'm not joking. I really do. I only wanted to come by and see you…but, right now, I want something even more." His eyes drop down to my lips and comes back up. "Please? May I kiss you?" He asks, almost desperately, pleadingly.

I wait a few seconds, and each passing second Alfred's grip around me tightens. I smile at that. "It'll be all your fault whatever happens."

With that, I tackle him. My hands mess up his locks and I slam my lips onto his, wanting to taste the usual hamburger and soda on his tongue, wanting to smell the smell of Alfred—of fried food and freshly cut grass. I tug on his hair, and I hear a soft hum from him. He rubs his arms along my back in a soothing rhythm, in contrast to our hasty kiss.

It's been so long that we refuse to part for air, opting to pant harshly and sucking in gasps as quickly as we could afford. I take one breath, and Alfred is already leaning into me again, closing the distance, his tongue darting out to slip back inside my mouth.

And we continue that for I don't know how long. I would think it actually lasted a few minutes.

Somehow, Alfred and I have switched places, and I am sitting on the floor with my back against the couch and Alfred is on top of me, his knees on either side of my legs and his eyes happy, excited, and shining.

"I missed you so much," he repeats, leaning his forehead onto mine, brushing our noses together. "It hurt."

I smile; when did I ever smile this much in less than an hour?

"Art," he says, though it sounds more hesitant and…something else I can't quite put my finger on.

"Yes?"

"I love you—"

I open my mouth to speak—

"But sometimes…I just can't help but wish you'd tell me more. I know you feel the same way, but—I just—"

I look straight into his eyes.

"Did that just now not confirm anything?"

He lowers his gaze, embarrassed.

"It—it's just that I…I love you so much and you're so beautiful and smart and hardworking and talented and—and—and so fucking perfect that I don't know why you would like me when I'm so—when I'm—"

I shut him up when I place my hand on the side of his face. "Shush," I say for the second time that morning. He still looks utterly—and adorably—insecure. Although as bad as it may sound, a warm feeling pools in my stomach at the sight. Who knew the loud, brash, overly confident American could look like this?

I already feel absolutely tingly at Alfred's rushed explanation. I lean in to kiss him, but sensing his anticipation and anxiety, I decide against it.

I can feel him tensing when I sigh; inwardly, I'm smiling. "So you're saying you want me to say it to you."

"N-no! Not if you…don't want to." He's such a bad liar.

"Alfred, I swear you are the most confusing person I have ever met." I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head to settle on my shoulder. "I don't know why you would think otherwise, but I love you. I just don't believe words are enough to express it. You mean everything to me, and every time you tell me 'I love you' or say 'I miss you' to me, I can't help but fall even more in love with you.

If you can't see your charms, then that's fine, because I know all of them, and what you see as faults have become parts of you that I love, too. So whenever you are feeling down, or insecure, or just anything, come talk to me and I'll tell you all this again. I may get mad at you from time to time, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

When I try to lift his face, I can tell he's trying hard not to cry, so I let him be. I pressed my lips to his forehead, and whispered, "I missed you, too. Thank you for coming."

I could feel his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him. "I love you, Arthur. So damn much."

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Thank you for reading!