— 3. Exposition —
It was a Friday, only one week into Arthur's new job. The sun was bearing down upon the set with a vengeance, relentlessly beating upon the backs of those working underneath. On any other set, morale would likely have been quite low, but Tino always managed to keep the spirits up with his rallying and well-placed encouragement, along with the very persuasive promise of good fortune. Of course, this didn't mean that the actor and artist duo weren't thankful for their reprieve from the blazing heat by the mercy of their air-conditioned trailer (which, incidentally, really was "theirs" now; rarely did anyone come in or out but either Arthur or Alfred).
In the one week that the makeup artist had been working for Alfred Jones so far, Arthur could already easily see why Francis had said that with this production, there would be doing one job and one job only. Arthur simply had no space to hold a position in any other movie, though the artist would have thought that such business for only one production would have been impossible before. However, Tino Väinämöinen seemed to have a goal in proving otherwise.
When Arthur wasn't actively doing the makeup, either on set or within the trailer, he was right by the director's side, watching and taking notes. Some other artists bypassed this offer, or were not even presented the opportunity at all, but Arthur took his job seriously. And as good as he was, it was a great difficulty keeping up with that high caliber every single day. Thus, he was in with the director as often as he could, living and breathing "Viewfinder" like everyone else on set seemed to be.
Tino had a very specific vision for what he wanted each scene to look like, and he often called together meetings to explain to all the artists just what he wanted them to create. Usually very sweet and mild mannered on the whole, Director Väinämöinen was, however, ruthless and adamant when it came to how an actor was portrayed and how he or she would fit into the scene. The director didn't know much when it came to the actual theory of makeup artistry, but he did know when something "looked right" or it didn't—and that was enough.
This being Arthur's first time working on a Väinämöinen production, he had to try extra hard to get used to the way things were run. It was different from most other movies of which he had been a part before, and not only because his specific acting charge was a large conundrum all unto himself—though that was indeed a large part of it.
Arthur had a hard time adjusting, and it was mostly thanks to Alfred that that was the case. The Briton considered himself very much a professional, meaning that he was quick to adapt and quick to learn the ropes of a new set of routines. Tino's way of doing things was definitely more involved than usual, but understandably so, and it had only taken Arthur about three days to get on top of that.
Alfred, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.
It wasn't that there was anything wrong with Jones—but, on the contrary, it was just that. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with Jones. He was all smiles and helping hands wherever he went. Arthur would turn the corner to find the actor lifting up some heavy equipment for a cameraman, or come back from a tea break to see the actor talking about superheroes to one of the overly-pimpled teenage caterer kids who was undoubtedly helping out for free just to get a chance to step foot on such a magnificent and legendary set.
Alfred floated around upon a bright cloud of his own. It was a ridiculous notion, but he seemed to have no idea that he was filthy rich, no concept of the fact that he himself was a man worth millions, no knowledge that so many would kill to be in his shoes. In fact, he sometimes seemed just like any other average twenty-year-old boy, only fresh out of his teenage years but still as innocent and naïve as ever. Not too old to be disillusioned by the world just yet. It was like Jones was fresh out of a movie himself.
In the face of all of this evidence to the contrary, it was incredibly difficult for Arthur to hang on to his former anti-Alfred Jones prejudices—but hang on he did.
After all, there was the mysterious matter of the constant change in makeup artists over the years, not to mention a variety of other situations over the week into which Arthur's active imagination might have been reading too much. But still, never in the Briton's whole career had he ever encountered anyone that could be so perfect and selfless. It was vaguely unnerving, and wholly unreal. In the show business, one did not get places because one was nice. One got places because one knew just how good one could be. Perhaps even in an overestimation, but arrogance was better than humility—though only if you disguised it well behind pleasant smiles and well-placed pandering. It was an art, and one that Jones didn't seem to have a handle on whatsoever.
Or maybe he was just that good.
Whatever it was, Arthur was having a terrible time acclimating himself to the reality that this actor presented him. Even a week into his new job, Arthur stubbornly clung to his former opinions against the actor, despite all roads leading to the contrary. The artist actually considered himself wise in this effort, and he thought himself careful, which was better than stupid. Careful could save your arse, whereas stupid only got you benched.
Ah, the things he learned in his younger days.
As it were on this particular Friday afternoon, Alfred was preparing for his third drastic scene and lighting change of the day, calling for yet another clean upheaval and redo of his makeup and color composition. Considering the complexity of each and every shot in "Viewfinder"—a result of the highly creative and ingenious vision that stemmed from Tino Väinämöinen's brilliant (and expensive) mind—Arthur often found himself running around doing touch ups, subtle changes, recolorings, etc., tailing after Alfred everywhere the actor went. Makeup didn't do well under the blazing heat, especially with the large amount of close up shots.
However, this was one of the longer and more involved makeup sessions, during which the crew would film other scenes that didn't involve Alfred until the actor was prepared once again. Multitasking at its best. This actually gave artist and actor a nice time to talk as Arthur worked—something that they had begun to do every so often here and there, despite Arthur's best attempts to keep the chatter to a minimum. The Briton didn't like wasted air.
Nevertheless, talk he did. Because the questions had started innocently enough—which, incidentally, was just how Alfred had laid down his trap.
"Hey Arthur," Alfred started, his eyes moving slightly beneath their closed lids, causing for a very subtle change in shape that made Arthur tsk in disapproval. He used a Q-tip to wipe away his little mistake just then—one which only a handful of people in the world might have noticed—and shifted slightly to the left to try again.
"Don't talk," the artist muttered, more tersely than he had meant to. In his defense, it was the fourth time he had requested such in just this one session alone. But Alfred seemed more persistent than usual this time around.
"I've told you before," Arthur continued, his attention clearly on his work rather than his words, judging by his distracted tone, "talking changes the shape and elasticity of your skin. I need your muscles to be lax and neutral for things to come out well."
The actor chuckled, a rumble from his throat that was surprisingly deep, considering that boyish face and gentle personality. It had taken Arthur a few days, but the artist had gotten used to those occasional fluctuations in tone by now. It was more the personality to which he couldn't quite accustom himself just yet.
"Yeah, but I'm bored," Alfred whined, faking a pout. "I've been sitting here for god knows how long, and my butt hurts."
Arthur blushed at the mention of Alfred's pert behind, the picture of that perfect curvature covered by delectable designer jeans popping into his mind immediately. Apparently, he had been staring far more than he had thought he had over these past few days, considering how quickly he had managed to pull the image up just then. Arthur was very glad that Alfred's eyes were closed at that moment. He could have done without the mentioning of his furiously rouge cheeks.
The artist betrayed nothing of his expression with his words. He swallowed inaudibly, choosing to ignore that comment instead and fall back on silence with his work as if nothing had been said.
It was true that Alfred had welcomed the silence that had accompanied Arthur's methods at first, but as the week wore on, and as his fervent desire to get closer to his unique artist grew, that opinion quickly changed. Though Alfred liked having this chance to relax away from the constant hubbub of work… well, he had to admit that he liked Arthur Kirkland's lilting voice much more.
It wasn't often that Alfred was around English accents, especially in such an all-American production. And even when he was, Alfred realized now that no one's quite compared to the low timber—or should he say "timbre"—that was Arthur's. That voice, however gruff, was not unlike the roughness of pumice over skin. In other words, it might have grated on some people's nerves, but Alfred had had enough massages to know just how smooth his arms would feel after a nice treatment of that stuff.
It was a shame that the makeup artist was often silent, either too wrapped up in concentration or too lost in his thoughts. Well, Alfred was going to change that, plus he had a capture-and-keep plan to carry out. Two birds, one stone.
"Come on, talk to me, please?" Alfred beseeched, though it only earned another frustrated tsk from Arthur, who once again had to remedy another mistake with a Q-tip doused in makeup remover.
"Fine," the artist gave in, deciding that, ironically, talking to Alfred could actually get him to shut up. Plus, it wasn't like Arthur hadn't been faced with chatty actors before. He simply had been under the impression that Alfred might have been different… although considering how energetic the kid usually was, Arthur now couldn't quite remember why he had ever arrived at that conclusion in the first place.
"Great," Alfred grinned, opening his eyes by accident to shoot a beaming grin straight at Arthur. That earned him a glare from the serious artist, who stepped back, his left hand on his hips as his right hand still held the small applicator.
"Try not to move?" Arthur requested, tight-lipped and a bit exasperated. It was too hot a day, and Francis was off cavorting who knows where, skipping any heavy, responsibility-ridden duties as usual. Not to mention it hadn't rained in ages, and call him crazy but Arthur liked rain. He also liked getting work done in a timely fashion. Uninterrupted.
"Okay, okay," Alfred conceded, settling back in and closing his eyes once again, temporarily satisfied with this little bit of progress so far. He couldn't help the smug grin that manifested upon his lips as he felt Arthur start back into work once again.
"So… favorite color?" Alfred ventured to ask. He was good enough at isolating lip movement that Arthur actually didn't notice when the actor had begun to speak, too lost in his work once again. Alfred had to reiterate once more, with an added chuckle, before Arthur even heard.
"Color?" the artist mused absentmindedly. It sounded like a "getting to know you on a first date" sort of question to be honest, but in this case, it actually had a bit of relevance. Thus, Arthur decided to give the matter some thought, though it didn't take long.
"Hm… MAC's 'Goldmine,'" the artist concluded, of course naturally speaking in cosmetics terms.
That surprised Alfred, in spite of himself. Truth be told, after seeing Alfred's bright eyes, most makeup artists—actually, all makeup artists up until now—would automatically blurt out a shade of blue in reply to that question. Arthur had been the first to say something different, and that intrigued the actor even more than he had been already. (Though truth be told, the fact that Arthur didn't say something along the lines of blue did irk the actor a little bit; Alfred was of the opinion that his eyes were quite special indeed.)
"Why?" the actor continued, shifting a bit. That answer did ruffle his feathers, after all.
"If I said something regarding Maybelline's 'Enchanted Forest' eyeshadow quad, would you understand?"
"Nope."
"Well, too bad," Arthur replied with a small shrug, "because that's the best you're going to get."
Alfred let out a small laugh, which heaved his shoulders a bit in a way that Arthur did not appreciate. But Alfred couldn't help himself. He had already decided really quickly on that first day that he liked Arthur's sense of humor very much, and that had only served to further Alfred's desire to make the artist his and his alone. By the end of this, Arthur would never want to work for anyone else ever again—or that was the plan, at least.
"Favorite place, then?" Alfred tried again.
"England."
The reply was automatic. Arthur often missed home, especially since his circle of friends living here in Hollywood consisted of only that idiotic frog and a huge amount of people whose names Arthur could barely remember without the aid of a business card. Of course, it wasn't like his terrible brothers were any better, but at least it was England. And England was home.
"A bit patriotic, aren't you?"
"You're the one with the American bomber jacket and a—poorly Photoshopped—picture of a bald eagle and the United States flag as your iPhone background," Arthur scoffed, as he finished with the right eye and moved over to start upon the left. "And how could I forget your signature ringtone of 'The Star Spangled Banner,' too?"
"Hahaha, you're right, you're right. I do have a soft spot for home, I guess," the actor admitted with a smile. Though home wasn't specifically Hollywood, technically, but that was another story for another time. It was one thing they had in common, and so far, it might have been the only thing they shared between them, aside from gender.
Though that did bring up an important question…
"Hey Arthur."
"Hmm?" The reply was soft, absentminded. Alfred really did admire Arthur's ability to focus in on his work—but then again, the actor was very much cut from the same cloth in that sense. They both possessed great skill in their respective professions, a skill mainly borne out of a desire to do only one thing and do it well. Hard work and all that.
All right; two things in common, then. Here's to hoping for the lucky three.
Alfred cleared his throat. "Arthur…" No point beating around the bush, though he wanted to give the impression of at least a little hesitation. It was only natural.
"… Are you gay?"
"What?" Arthur replied, actually stunned enough by the sudden question to stop working and move back. "Excuse me?"
Alfred opened his eyes, temporarily marveling at the fact that he couldn't tell the difference between his left and right eyes in level of makeup completion simply by way of weight and feel, which was once again a testament to just how skilled Arthur was at what he did. Makeup done by the Briton felt like a second skin to the actor, and when standing under that blazing Californian summer heat, dressed for a movie placed mainly in autumn, such lightness was a godsend.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Arthur sputtered.
"It doesn't," Alfred admitted. "I was just curious, that's all." That, and he had the vague idea that he already knew the answer. Just confirming to leave no stone unturned.
"I don't see any reason you ought to know," Arthur replied stiffly, his thick eyebrows furrowing in a way that most people would have pegged to be comical, but Alfred only found to be endearing. And, oddly enough, a turn on.
"Ah, I didn't mean to offend you," Alfred spoke, his voice all innocence and apologetic sincerity. "I'm sorry, Arthur. Forget it."
Alfred smiled sweetly up at the artist, his blue eyes clouding over ever so slightly in a way that Alfred knew would come across as vaguely ashamed and very earnest. At the age of twenty, he wasn't a three time Oscar nominee without good reason.
"No… You didn't offend me, Jones," Arthur muttered at long last, rolling back his shoulders and stretching a little from his bent-over position. (Arthur had never called Alfred by first name throughout the whole time they had known each other thus far, and he wasn't going to start now.) "It just… it took me by surprise, that's all."
Alfred held back his smirk. This was bordering upon laughably easy. He almost felt bad for it, actually. But considering the long-term goal, "almost" was as far as feelings went.
Arthur shook his head and pushed gently but firmly upon Alfred's shoulder in a not-so-subtle message for him to sit back and close his eyes once again. They were so close to finishing with this section, and Arthur didn't want the production to slow down because of him, of course. That was the epitome of unprofessionalism.
Alfred complied. He was about to add something else to his apology in order to push Arthur further into answering when the artist continued, apparently not yet finished with his reply.
"To answer, yes. I am," Arthur stated simply, as he gently brushed the top of Alfred's eyelid once again. "I guess it does no harm for you to know, and it's not like it's much of a surprise that I would be, considering my profession." Of course, Arthur knew that there were plenty of heterosexual male makeup artists in the world, but were any of them nearly as brilliant as he was?
Yeah, he didn't think so either. It took a certain fabulous flare to willingly involve oneself so deeply in such a rainbow of colors every single day.
Arthur wasn't exactly a homosexual, to be honest, but if it came down to it, and he really had to give an answer, it was his adjective of choice. But in reality, he considered himself to be generally asexual, just with a strong affinity towards men. Women's bodies didn't do for him remotely what men's bodies could. They did not elicit the same responses, bring about the same desires, etc. But the reason for the asexuality simply stood as the fact that Arthur had never fallen in love before. And to him, love was the main definer of sexuality, not lust. Thus, he still didn't have much to go by.
"Hey Arthur?" Alfred murmured, his minty breath brushing up against Arthur's hand in a way that made the artist shiver—and Alfred could feel that slight quaver, due to their proximity. It brought a smile to his face.
"Mm?"
"Thanks for telling me."
Alfred's tone and expression was dulcet beyond compare, his smile absolutely endearing, but the internal emotions that accompanied those words were anything but. Smugness and triumph coursed through the actor, as he knew he was yet one step closer to sealing his deal.
"Really," Alfred emphasized. "Thanks."
"You're… welcome, I guess," Arthur replied, frowning ever so slightly. He had a vague feeling that there was something he hadn't caught onto, something he had missed a second ago.
Whatever. That was probably just because no one had ever thanked him for revealing such a simple fact before. Probably.
Their conversation continued in little spurts here and there, but with nothing nearly as revealing and involved as that one question that had been enough to make Alfred's day. Of course, he wasn't one to be easily satisfied, but he was at least sated enough to last through the next few scenes before the next round came along.
Arthur watched as usual when Alfred stepped onto the set, the same inscrutable expression upon the artist's face as he observed. Perhaps part of what intrigued Alfred so much about the Briton was the fact that Arthur rarely betrayed his thoughts upon his countenance. A lot of people looked at Alfred with hate, pride, envy, adoration, etc. but at least they all had one thing in common—they looked at him with emotion. But Arthur was unreadable half the time, if not practically all the time.
Alfred took one glance at his artist hiding in the shadows before he closed his eyes to take his ritual final breather before a scene. When he opened them again, he was James Hatchfield, secret agent of the CIA and on the run from a powerful Austrian crime lord.
It was one of Alfred's first leading roles in a serious thriller, and many in the industry believed he had no place or use in any film other than in feel good movies. But Tino Väinämöinen believed otherwise, and apparently, so did Arthur Kirkland. Because when filming for that set of scenes finished, Alfred turned around to find that the artist had disappeared. There was only one reason why that would be the case, Alfred was pretty sure. It put a smile on his face.
The actor made his way back to the makeup trailer, even though most of the actors had headed over to the more luxurious rest areas for their break period. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door and stepped up. Looking in, Alfred came face to face with Arthur's back, which looked delightfully slim yet sturdy underneath the thin material of that simple green shirt. Alfred couldn't tell what Arthur was doing, but that wasn't important. What was important was the fact that Arthur was even in the trailer at all.
"You disappeared," Alfred commented with a smile.
"How astute," Arthur replied, his back still to the actor. He cleaned up a few more things in front of him, organizing his supplies with care, before finally turning around.
"What brings you here?" Arthur asked. One of his thick eyebrows was raised in mild surprise. "Shouldn't you be with the rest of your above-the-line crowd?"
"Perhaps," Alfred replied, bounding over and plopping himself into one of the cushy chairs. "But I'd much rather be here," he admitted, still smiling. "Plus, I wanted to know why you'd left."
In all their days of filming since Arthur had begun work on "Viewfinder," the artist had always stayed through the filming of every scene involving Alfred, opting to do any of his other work when the actor was off set. This was to "make sure Alfred didn't make a fool of himself," as Arthur had stated once before. After all, the artist's reputation was at stake too, even though Alfred was quite sure that his own acting skills had nothing to do with that quarter of the industry and wouldn't affect Arthur's rep in the slightest. But Alfred would let the artist believe what he wanted.
"Why I left?" Arthur mused. "Why wouldn't I? Acting isn't my realm of expertise. And I'm quite busy." Not too far from the truth.
"You know why I'm asking," Alfred said. "You've just never left during filming before."
The artist shrugged, picking up his mug and taking a slow sip of tea. He was somewhat on break as well.
"Had enough of my pretty face?" Alfred asked, his jesting tone light though his eyes were careful.
"A little arrogant, isn't it?" Arthur's eyebrow quirked up. Arrogance wasn't one of the traits that Alfred was known for, or one of the sides that he had ever displayed during the week thus far. Was this finally something...?
"I'm joking, Arthur." Alfred laughed. "There are plenty of people who are far better looking than me."
"Beg to differ," Arthur muttered before he could stop himself, thinking of all the times he had managed to see Alfred in just the perfect soft lighting to really bring out the shine of his natural beauty. God those moments were breathtaking, and Arthur had almost dropped his mug once or twice while he sat next to the director. He was in the habit of putting it down on the table now.
Arthur's cheeks tinged crimson when he realized what he had said, and he had to avert his eyes, cursing. It had been said softly enough that the actor could still hold out hope that Alfred hadn't heard.
The actor smiled, but let it go. There was a time and place for teasing, and that wasn't now. But it would be soon.
"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"Err—nothing," Arthur said, rolling back his shoulders and taking another sip of tea. "Anyway, you seemed to have things under control," Arthur stated, his tone as mild as his expression. He had recovered quickly, a trick of the trade.
Alfred's smile widened. In other words, though it had taken a week—longer than with any other artist—Arthur had finally started to believe in Alfred's skill. The artist finally had faith that Alfred could pull off his own acting and movements well enough to really complement Arthur's work. Shine good light upon it, if you will. Well, the day was looking up.
"Although," Arthur added, "that's clearly thanks to me and my work."
The corner of the artist's lips perked up ever so slightly as he glanced Alfred's way, showing that he had partially intended it as merely a jest. However, this was the first joke that he had broke with Alfred, and the actor didn't take that lightly. Who knew that Arthur Kirkland's scowling face disguised such a nice smile, however slight?
"Of course, of course," the actor laughed. Although there was still quite a full schedule left to the day, he didn't mind for once. He felt energized and excited. And that's when an idea struck.
"Arthur?"
"Hm?" The artist had returned to his organizing, though it was more halfhearted than before. Alfred's dazzling presence permeated the room and was highly distracting, though Arthur would never admit that, dead or alive.
"This might sound crazy, but…" Alfred hesitated, for effect more than anything else. He had no problem with his plan. He thought it quite brilliant, actually. But he had to make Arthur believe in his goody-goody-two-shoes image for just a little longer before he could cinch the deal.
"Yes?" The Briton looked up.
"Well," Alfred began, "don't artists generally like to know their actors more in order to get down their habits and behaviors and stuff? Like how they move under the light, how they react to certain situations?"
Arthur frowned. He had never heard of that before. Actors were actors because they could change who they were for the camera. Thus, even if an artist knew the behaviors of his acting charge, it wouldn't—and shouldn't—affect who the actor was during filming. But now that Alfred mentioned it, it did sound like an interesting concept.
"Sure?" Arthur said. "I guess."
"Well I've been thinking… We see each other plenty during work, but what about sometime off set? Away from Sunflower Studios and all of… of this?" Alfred waved his hands around vaguely, gesturing to the door outside of which all the equipment was laid out and hundreds of people were gathered to work.
Arthur's noticeable eyebrows furrowed. "What are you suggesting? An off-work relationship?" His mind flashed back to that question about his sexuality earlier in the day. Could Alfred have been…? No. A guy who was that attractive and good with his fangirls could in no way have been gay. Arthur dismissed the idea without any further thought.
"Not exactly," Alfred laughed. "I just… well, I just have some time to relax on Sunday, and I figured for us to work together better, we should strive to have the most comfortable relationship that we can. So if you're free…"
Alfred trailed off, letting the question hang in the air. The silence spoke for itself.
Arthur paused his work and sipped some tea as he thought. The actor watched his artist carefully, trying to read that expression which was sadly as inscrutable as always.
At long last, Arthur detached himself from the table and nodded. "All right. Fine. I'm free Sunday as well, and I don't see how this would be anything but beneficial." It would do him good to learn more about Alfred's behaviors, Arthur figured. Plus, it would also be a chance to study that miraculous skin further under different types of lighting. Possibly the chance of a lifetime.
"Really?" Alfred perked up.
"Sure," Arthur nodded again. "Though not as a date, right?" He smiled a bit, though he was only half joking.
"Of course not," Alfred replied, having the decency to blush as if the mere idea of it was embarrassing. Little did Arthur know…
"Good." Arthur took another sip of his tea. "Good, good." The Briton opened is mouth to say something else, but Alfred took a quick glance at his watch and sprung back up.
"Ah! Late for the meeting with the director," Alfred explained, though he still had plenty of time. "Sorry!" He made his way for the door in a rush before turning back around last minute. "I guess I'll see you in a few for makeup, Arthur," Alfred spoke, smiling brightly before he practically skipped out the door.
It had all happened a bit too quickly for the artist to even fully register before Alfred had disappeared into the sunset, so to speak. But when he did manage to gather his wits again, all Arthur knew was that he was blushing furiously, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.
Dear Lord, had he really just agreed to go spend time with this twenty-year-old actor off set on Sunday? Arthur hadn't even cleared it with Francis, though he was sure it'd be okay. The Frenchman probably had plans to go clubbing with Antonio anyway.
Arthur slowly got back to arranging the rest of his supplies, though his movements were lethargic and his thoughts distracted. He just couldn't get the image of that parting smile out of his head. It was so bright and so sweet, and dare Arthur admit that he was even quickly growing fond of it...?
Arthur sighed and shook his head. It seemed that he really did have some strong misconceptions about Alfred F. Jones coming into this job. Perhaps this could be his chance to remedy those ideas.
Well, time to start thinking about what to wear for your average day out with a world class actor.
Author's Note:
God, the egos that these two have could sufficiently fill up all the Ivy League schools combined. SHEESH. (But jk I really love the fact that they're both so confident in themselves and so set in their ways. It makes Arthur more fun to break, and Alfred more interesting to develop.)
As I mentioned before, this is not a fic to look for if you want thrilling twists and turns, rising action, extreme character complexity, deep plot, etc. This is just a warning, before you go further. I'm just writing this one for the fun of it, which means that I barely have planned ahead what I want to do (I have a few sexy scenes here and there, sort of like one-shots that belong to this AU, but I have no idea how they fit in just yet with the story as a whole).
With that said, I'm not looking to change this and make this into a more involved fic. ANSCR is enough for me in that stead, and handling two such complex works at once is way too much.
Bearing that in mind, I hope you enjoy the rest of this, though I understand if you stop reading because it's going to be far less "multidimensional and woah there, CAREFULLY PLANNED PLOT" and far more "goddamn why is Alfred so sexy and why is my OTP so hot together asktjlstjlkasjtks." Fair warning. ;D
Happy reading!
Galythia
P.S. Gonna take a break from this fic until I manage to update ANSCR. So apologies for the short pause until I get something up for that.
