Blue Shell
Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.
He did it. He actually just fucking did that.
Seriously?
"You… you…" Alfred cannot find words. He has literally been rendered speechless, gaping at the screen, his brain unable to comprehend the scene playing out before his very eyes.
He can actually legit feel the burn of tears forming behind his eyes.
He'd been so damn close.
He doesn't turn his head but he instinctively knows without looking that Arthur is fucking preening beside him.
"Better luck next time Alfred," Arthur patronizes and Alfred feels his shoulder being pat in mock sympathy.
Alfred ignores the touch, instead looking down at the Wii wheel being held in his slack hands and back to the screen where it's still showing Yoshi zooming away on his little motorcycle, those soulless eyes of his taunting Alfred. Yeah, well fuck you, you stupid little pixelated hellspawn.
Back to Alfred though. How could he have lost? He, the self-proclaimed king of video games, had lost to a dirty, cheap trick and goddammit he was going to sue Nintendo for ever thinking that fucking blue shells would be a good idea to introduce to their game.
Motherfucking blue shells.
"Fucking cheater," Alfred grumbles and he feels so defeated that he can't even muster the energy to properly yell at Arthur and convey just how pissed he is even though he can hear Arthur trying to stifle his laughter.
"No need to be a sore loser about it love. I never cheated once."
That little fucker, he'd been planning this all along hadn't he! As soon as the race had started he'd dropped down to last place and stayed their until he got his hands on a blue shell. Then the sneaky bastard had held onto it and worked his way back up to second place and waited until Alfred was mere feet from winning before unleashing that godforsaken little shit on him and stole his place.
Alfred should have known something was up the moment Arthur suggested it for their date. Especially when he'd made a bet on the outcome of who won the most points in the tournament.
Naturally, Alfred had won the first three races with Arthur finishing in second each time, but with Arthur now placing in first and Alfred finishing in fifth (goddamn you baby Peach with your stupid fucking bullet bill crashing into him and letting Luigi and Diddy Kong past) it was very likely that Arthur would win the bet.
Which meant…
… Oh god...
Arthur has to be, by far, the kinkiest bastard Alfred has ever had the (mis)fortune of meeting. Francis doesn't even come close.
Alfred can't bring himself to look at anything but the carpeted floor beneath him (the janitor really needed to do a better job next time, it looked filthy) as he walks into the meeting room. As expected, the entire room fell silent upon his entry and his face, already a bright red from the simple knowledge of exactly what Arthur had forced him to wear before they left this morning, turns even darker as he feels everyone's eyes on him.
Normally he loved the attention. Right now he wishes he could crawl under a rock and never come back out.
"Alfred… are you wearing a collar?" Alfred flinches and he knows that his entire fucking body is scarlet at this point, because yes he is wearing a collar, a black, shiny leather choker with golden studs to be exact. He's at least relieved by the fact that he'd gotten Arthur to leave the leash back at the apartment.
"Alfred… come here." Alfred finally glances up to see Arthur gazing at him, a lazy smirk crawling up his face as he crooks a finger in a 'come hither' gesture (and okay so maybe it's fucking hot as hell but fuck it they're in a meeting and even he knows they're supposed to act somewhat professional).
Alfred wants to make some smart ass comment but, as per the terms of the bet, he silently goes over to him and takes the empty seat beside him. He tries his best not to squirm in his seat when he feels Francis lean into his personal space.
"Ohohon what do we have here?" he asks, one of his fingers lightly flicking a stud and Alfred has to restrain himself from jumping up and throttling the Frenchman.
"Hmm, Property of Arthur Kirkland eh?" Francis muses, loud enough for everyone to hear as he read the tag on the collar. Alfred wants to die as Arthur practically oozed self-satisfaction.
Motherfucking blue turtle shells.