Warning: violence, injury, long chapter
It has been a long and adventurous ride. After the first successful hunt the amount of change in his life he experienced would take hours to list; not to mention the improvement he went through. Studying thousands of pages of psychology, criminology and law Arthur has become an unofficial criminologist and detective, all at once. He has accompanied Alfred on all patrols the man had, listened to his elaborations when he drew profiles of criminals. The cases varied but Alfred himself stated that since Arthur is an absolute newbie, he picked only low-rated and easy targets even if this shrinks his own reputation in the profession as well.
Once Arthur will develop his own preferences, once he will trust his surroundings along with his own boundaries, he'll pick another hard case... until then, only vandals or scared-off fugitives.
. . .
Their last hunt has also been successful and in the morning Arthur left early for his morning-shift. He still remembers the sight of his partner dozing off in the bed, wearing nothing just a tank top with briefs and covered by the duvet only up to his waist... the man woke only for a few minutes after being disturbed by Arthur who was shifting from his arms and leaving him alone. He remembers the expression Alfred had; bitter, hurt and forlorn, Arthur could swear the man shut his eyes only to avoid seeing him getting ready to leave. As an apology Arthur reminds himself for probably the twentieth time that day to buy ice-cream, marmalade and milk on the way home so he could bake pie for the hero.
Frowning, he fills a nearly empty shelf with the needed books... since when should he apologize for leaving to work in the morning? Since when should he feel guilty for leaving Alfred to sleep alone? Since... since when does he feel guilty for climbing out of the warm shelter of the other's arms and leave for a day before seeing him again? He tries to dismiss the thought that it can't be helped.
His heart clenches, aches and beats painful thumps of longing. Five hours left, and he'll see him again. Five hours. Two from his shift and then three before Alfred comes home. Has he become over-sensitive or not but every time he hears the bell of the door he glances up and reminds himself that Alfred is also at work. Just because he hopped in once several months ago don't mean he'd hop in again, nevertheless agonizingly Arthur admits the shameful and pathetic fact: he misses Alfred.
. . .
The pie is still warm, ready to be eaten... coffee-machine ready, laptop on the table... bed made, sheets clean. The ruined uniform from weeks ago became a cloth for wiping dust, he has that among his fingers when hears the doorknob turning. As a habit he and Cookie exchange surprised, excited looks and both of them go to greet the tired hero after his day of work. Though Alfred is exhausted and takes his black BestBuy jacket off with careworn moves and stretches his shoulder before turning but in the very instant his eyes are laid upon the two eager members of his tiny family, his scowl vanishes. His eyes, grumbling ocean blue lightens up with a spark of freshness that clears all clouds and lets the shine beam through along with the warm, grateful smile he welcomes them. Arthur feels his own heart leap, it's nearly painful how harshly it pumps against his ribcage, almost trying to crave itself into Alfred's embrace; with an apologetic smile he accepts the man's tight hug and holds him close by curling his arms around the wide, firm shoulders. The cat meows and brushes itself against the man's shins, demands attention but is neglected until Alfred feels content and sated enough to move his cheek and nose from Arthur's neck, slowly peeling his arms off the man's figure.
These times, no matter how piercingly true it sounds, Arthur wishes he'd have the opportunity to greet him every single day like this, in the rest of his life. The brush of Alfred's lips on his skin sends warmth through his entire body along with the realization how bad he wishes for more.
Alfred breaks all physical contact soon and turns towards the kitchen to start is daily routine of making coffee and food but the sight leaves him astounded.
Pie with ice-cream on top, coffee, laptop ready to be used... Alfred turns around and before Arthur could resist, places a kiss on the man's cheek which runs jolts of electricity through the Englishman's skin into his entire body, "you're incredible, Arthur. And I don't even have a birthday or anything." He sighs and sits in wonder, marvelling the sight in front of him. The pie is slightly burnt on the sides and on the top as well, but it's well hidden by the ice-cream topping... he tried his best, after all. This grumpy Englishman who objects in every single strategy he brings up, in every single plan he'd have in mind and every single time they are in the supermarket. The only person who taught him how to use the kettle and make tea, how to wash uniforms separately and when to use bleach and how to fold his underwear space-efficiently instead of throwing them in the drawer. Such simple things about life that no one has taught him before and Arthur did all with patience (barely held, though) and in an endearingly tolerant way. This bony, thin person with such willpower he's never witnessed before; in learning and getting adjusted to all that would otherwise chase him away. The thought brings another delightful spark into the blue when he sees that Arthur is not bony anymore as his first impression had stuck and told him before.
Affection bursts with a nearly violent beat of his heart along with the heat that pools in his lower abdomen. He'd love to touch Arthur, pull him close and keep him there, take his cheeks into his palms and caress him, give tiny pecks on the freckles and feel his alluring scent in his nose but he cannot. Not yet. The person in mention surely has the same struggle still there's that last obstacle that holds him back and Alfred knows the end of this dilemma is not decided by him, even though he has a great part in the process. He has to be patient. That's all he can do.
"Thank you, Arthur."
"It's so awful you don't even get started with it, right?" The Englishman folds his arms protectively as he grumbles, referring to the pie with a grumpy nod.
"No, I just can't get enough of it," the honey-blond pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a picture about the scene and saves it as wallpaper. The next thing he has in mind is making a photo with Arthur together, no matter how challenging it'll be to convince the blonde. The amusingly apparent blush on Arthur's cheek reminds him of the permanent giddiness he feels these times around the Englishman, the tiny, hidden smile in the corner of his lips fill his heart and veins with elated warmth. How he'd enjoy kissing that smile and have more of it.
The buzz of his phone raises his mind from the hazy fog he has sunk in; with a sigh and a resigned shake of his head Alfred pulls the device off his pocket and with a single move of his thumb, unlocks the screen to check the message. His eyes widen in the slightest and he glances up at his friend who has settled on the sofa and already has a thick book in his hand as usual.
"I've got news for you," he states and begins to eat the present he's gotten until Arthur stands from the couch and approaches to accompany him at the table. The blonde sits on the other side, arms folded and with a scowl on his face that tells how serious he is in an instant. "Firstly; the birds chirped that a friend of mine, an FBI agent is coming to Augusta to check up on me. He's gonna be here in three weeks time and he'll be stationed here for three months to watch our activity. You'll have to meet him; he's a nice guy and he knows how to pull a couple of strings to earn us support."
"Will I have to do anything, at all?"
The young man frowns for the split of the second before replying, "not really. Just don't comment on his talking, please. He has Hispanic origins, some consonants he pronounces sound different, on the top he's from the South. His accent and the dialect he speaks will make it strange in the first meeting. If you don't understand him just tell me."
"Got it."
"Second; this is more about us," he places the fork down gently on the plate and licks his lower lip in order to remove the ice-cream still that motion catches Arthur's attention in an instant. He can't deny anymore how much it tingles in his ear every time he hears Alfred say 'us'. The gaze of the young man is piercing again; will, determination reflect in his iris with the embrace of radiant blue, "we'll divide the rewards we earn from now on. I should have discussed this earlier but I don't like talking about money," he admits in the end with a defeated wave of his hand, at which Arthur chuckles. His laugh is empty, blank.
"And about many other things, my friend."
"Look, who's talking," nodding upwards with his jaw provocatively, Alfred winks at the blonde, "so, do you want your share or not?"
"I'd appreciate the sum. Exactly how much are we talking about, in this moment?"
The question draws a reaction Arthur has never seen before; Alfred chuckles, bites on his lips and smiles at the same time, looks aside and then back at him, eyes betraying his thoughts; he can't believe Arthur has no idea how much money is in the discussion.
"Hold on tight on that chair," he instructs but earns a roll of Arthur's eyes.
"Come on, you idiot."
"No, really, I'm serious!" He lifts his hands to his chest, signing his promise to be legitimate."That's not pocket money that we're getting with the rewards and as we go higher on the scales of dangerousness with criminals the higher our rewards will be. For the rapist I caught months ago, I got fifty thousand dollars. It turned out that more people were looking for him and the relatives of the victims put together a larger sum to get him to court. I was lucky that night."
It is rather obvious the blonde lost the flow of the conversation at the mention of numbers: he gapes and clears his throat as if something's stuck there, he can't do anything else than shudder and imagine, transform the sum in his mind and conclude that Alfred, for catching one criminal got more than Arthur's entire salary in the whole year.
In the whole year. Waking up for morning shifts, lifting thousands of books, putting up with unbearable customers, arriving home late, low benefits and disrespected status in society... and Alfred got his entire annual salary in one night for catching a man.
The thought is way too heavy for him at that moment and suddenly he's grateful for the silence that settles between them. Alfred is eating the pie and slurps the mug of milk, his eyes casually wander around his tiny flat and of course the final destination for his gaze is Arthur himself.
"So, gimme your bank account number I'll send you the money. I've counted everything on the way home."
"Holy Christ, Alfred, this is... huge, like..."
"That's what she said."
What an egoistic, swell-headed, bumptious brat, and that arrogant grin on his face!
"You're not getting pie ever again," the blonde states with an icy glare, lips pursed.
The obnoxious self-confidence is wiped in a moment and is replaced with the whining of a four years old kid, "nooo way, now why? I was just joking, old man!" He even lifts his hands in defeat and pushes himself away from the table, not even looking at Arthur, "but I haven't done anything!"
. . .
Much to Arthur's chagrin the next hunt doesn't promise high rewards. Now with the splitting of it, even less. When the first transferred amount of money arrives to his bank account that night, he merely stares at the screen of his cell phone, a wide smile spreading on his face before turning around in the bed and almost jumping on Alfred's dozing figure to grab his attention, "you know what?"
"Woah, there," the young American is puzzled for a second, his hair is a mess and his gaze is unfocused without his glasses, nevertheless he tries his best to compose himself. Merely in a tank top, his shoulders and arms seem even muscular than with a shirt on; Arthur feels more stabile while supporting himself on the man's chest with one hand, the other elbow sinking in the mattress.
"I know what I'll do with this," he informs his partner, earning a peaceful smile in return and a gentle caress with Alfred's thumb on his chin.
"Tell me more?"
"I'll design and order us equipment."
He can't miss how Alfred's gaze slips from his eyes to his lips and back, unconsciously the blonde licks his lower lip in response and resists the urge to lean in and comply his lust. The glimpse of attention fades in the sky-blue eyes as well; the hero's chest rises as he takes a deeper breath and hums. His pulse beats right under Arthur's hand.
"I'll order something customized, I have a plan in mind for a while. Tomorrow I'll make a sketch so you can see it too."
"Does it include an acronym for my name and yours?" The caress on his chin slows, Arthur rolls his eyes in consideration.
"It could as well." Like the superheroes, right? The frank, toothy smile he earns will definitely worth the bother to wear a 'uniform'.
"Sweet."
. . .
Alfred's plan was plain and easy. Surrounding the robber, Arthur's task was to dodge and block the way and only intervene if necessary. The target had a long dagger with himself that he pulled upon seeing Alfred on the first sight but the American didn't back down at all. In the end, the blade was the smallest trouble they had to face.
The young robber knew how to run away. He was agile, fast and eager to leave no traces; he climbed on the fire-ladders and gone through high obstacles easily as well: years of practice ran under his feet. He seemed unstoppable: not even dead-ends could block his way.
And that was the point when Arthur decided to walk off the rules Alfred has set for him before: the voice in the back of his mind had a snarky comment about 'back to the roots' and then it all ticked in for the young immigrant. Leaving the scene by running away from the alley, he confused both the robber and Alfred as well; for the moment the hero threw his hands up in disbelief and annoyance, nervous thoughts crossed his mind and in his startled state of mind he let the criminal slip away. He cursed, Arthur never heard him swear before, and ran after the young fugitive by himself. He chased, climbed, jumped but the target didn't let him get close to him in more than five inches: his blade could have cut through Alfred's clothing, bullet-proof vest included.
Two blocks later, it happened. Alfred managed to hit the robber who stumbled backwards but flashed the blade at him again so the hunter had to jump back yet again: by a larger trash container. Alone he could only tire the robber out and look for his exhausted swings to find a weak split of the moment: in that particular one he stepped forward to grab his arm but the criminal, being more experienced than him, swung and cut his skin open with a quick move. Victory poured from the grin of the young fugitive, he backed a few feet back till Alfred tightly held his injured hand; and didn't realize his position.
Both heard a loud dump noise but hadn't time to dart their eyes in the direction; the robber stood a few feet far from the container and couldn't even pull his hands up to protect himself from the impact when two boots met his head from the side, jerking him at the other wall where his brain met yet another strong hit. He released a moan before checking the blood on his hand that he put to his hair, and collapsed.
Beside Alfred, Arthur was still slightly panting in a squatting position with his hands held tight on his right ankle, eyes fixed on the troublesome man on the floor. When Alfred had come to himself after the shock, he realized in the instant that he had not one, but two persons to carry in the hospital.
"Just how weird can you even get?!" He yells without meaning any offence and throws his hands up in defeat.
"Would you mind helping me up first?"
. . .
In the first floor the police officers secured the corridors and all entrances, especially around the surgery the fugitive is being treated. They check all Ids and as predicted all logs are watched in the entire complex, including Alfred's and Arthur's location as well in the other building. The honey-blonde sits nervously beside the highly lifted bed where Arthur has been placed, holding his injured hand in the thick bondage he's been treated with. In less than three feet the blonde can't lift his eyes from the ground in the crushing shame he bears on his shoulders. Even his tiny puffs of air seem to be offensive towards his very own and Alfred's person, the desire to disappear is so intensive he can only grit his teeth in agony. Alfred feels betrayed and disappointed and it's all his fault. He's wandered off the plan. Now who's the foolish one?
They're still waiting for the results of Arthur's ankle X-ray and the dreadful anticipation is nerve-wrecking: clicking the joints in his hand the Englishman squeezes his eyes shut. The memory of another accident finds its way to the surface and as predicted he pulls his elbows tight to his figure and bows his head down.
He didn't realize that Alfred was watching him from the corner of his eyes, now as the man stands and his figure is still tall however Arthur's the one sitting on a high-set bed, perplexes the blonde even more. The intense stare of the other draws all blood into his cheeks, shame and embarrassment shine in his eyes which he keeps down; he can't bear the way Alfred decides to sit beside him and entwine their fingers so casually while his expression is still sour and burdened with Arthur's injury. One half of him craves to be touched, to be pulled close and held tight to the other's chest while the other half urges him to pull away, not deserving the caring he receives. In the end he doesn't move at all.
"I hope it's not broken," he says in a low, almost apologetic voice, earning a simple grunt from the hero.
"Me too. But if it is, we'll find something out."
"I won't be able to work, then."
Frowning in worry, the bespectacled turns his head and searches for his friend's gaze but the blonde shut his eyes and releases a tired sigh, "if they fire me, I can say goodbye to my Green Card."
"You don't have it yet?" The response is the shake of head, just enough. "Right, one year is not enough."
For a good while, none of them feels the urge to talk and with the monotone caresses of Alfred's thumb on his hand soothes Arthur enough to let himself lean against the firm, solid shoulder that's been offered to him. The familiar figure of the doctor is nowhere to be seen and Arthur uses this opportunity to take a good deep breath from the scent of the leather jacket.
"I can't wait to be home," he utters and sighs at the resigned tone of the other.
"Me either."
. . .
It wasn't broken.
The relief could be equalled to the one they have had if one of them would have morning sickness and was proved not to be pregnant. Arthur can't help but sigh and squeeze Alfred's hand while the man releases a huge puff of air that he seemed to hold since the doctor has entered their room from the corridor.
He'll have to wear a removable plastic cast and have a gel applied on it in every four hours in the next three days, every six hours after then for two weeks. He's been banned from jogging and all kinds of activities that include jumping or putting more than average pressure on his ankle bones.
He could go to work with only one warning and a message to his boss (written and signed by the doctor himself) that he is not allowed to work in the storage room or to fill the shelves with piles of books. At least for two weeks. He's registered to come for another X-ray as well.
. . .
Struggling with his pride he managed to suffer his way out to the car but when they arrived home and Alfred helped him to get out, on the mere sight of the stairs Arthur shook his head and asked for Alfred's arm to hold onto. In the dim, yellow light of the old bulb his tired eyes missed a step and slipped but thanks to his friend's firm hold he didn't fall right on his face. What the bespectacled does after that left the blonde dumbstruck for several seconds after; instead of helping him climbing the stairs Alfred went for the most easiest idea and picked him up into his arms.
Bride style it is, Arthur's arms awkwardly hanging in his neck and his face flaming in redness that he tries to hide as much as he can. The stabile hold under his knees and behind his back is incredibly strange since he's never been carried before thus it's even harder to admit it actually makes him feel safe and cared for. He only realizes the joy of this whole carrying-thing when he places his palm right above Alfred's heart and through the shirt and tank top he can feel the heat radiating and the breath the other takes right then, eyes looking down, lips pursed. He's probably never been closer to his lips before. The pull his entire body insists on is nearly irresistible.
He is the one to fish the keys out of the leather jacket's pocket and he grits his teeth at the change of position. Leaning back in Alfred's arm and aimlessly looking for the keychain among other things he also tilts his head thus offers a plain and rather inviting part of his neck with his collarbone showing under his tee. He knows it all when he finds the key and with a triumphant look unites their gazes only to melt his own newfound pride away. Alfred's been watching him. The whole time, since he has taken him into his arms. It pleases him: his blue eyes radiate how fast his heart beats and how much he struggles to control his emotions inside. The love and caring along with the relief (that nothing serious has happened to Arthur) is a clear message which erupts upon seeing the blush blooming on the blonde's cheeks.
"Please put me down as soon as we get in."
With a nod, the American hums and obeys him by gently placing him on the bed but actually this only makes the situation worse. By merely standing there, scratching the nape of his neck and looking at Arthur with an expectant look, the frustration grows in the Englishman; "make yourself useful, would you?"
"No shit, I'm trying. I've never had partners before?" The young man opens his arms and shrugs dismissively, "are you hungry or something?"
"Go, fetch me a sandwich then," the blonde shrugs as well and leans back between the duvets to sigh. The implications of his request reach him a few seconds later and again pull a flaming blush on his cheeks he can't wipe off, not even when Alfred walks in a few minutes later with a quite obvious blush on his face as well. The fact that the innuendo didn't fly over Alfred's normally oblivious mind twirls Arthur's torture into downright suffering. The young hero tries to show confident as always but the tight pursing of his lips betray his shyness. His voice however displays disbelief and a bit of irony.
"Did you just tell me to make you a sandwich?"
The seconds stretch in a way too awkward, nearly unbearable silence until Arthur finally grows enough confidence to clear his throat and unintentionally make the situation even worse.
"Yea, with butter please!"
"Right, with whipped cream and cherry on top?" Alfred almost snaps back; face red as the fruit he mentioned.
They are not having this conversation. Arthur squeezes his eye shut and as he feels the goose bumps of sheer awkwardness grow, he takes a deep breath... but Alfred is still standing in front of him, and yes, there is a sandwich in his hand.
They are the worst. Hopeless.
In the end, since Alfred is incapable of handling such tensions he just leaves the sandwich on a plate beside the blonde and exists the room. A few seconds it takes, and he's already killing his frustration in his video game but by this he left Arthur in the bedroom. The Englishman quietly eats the sandwich with the blush that just doesn't want to leave, before calling his friend's name again and scold him for leaving him behind.
"I thought you needed some space."
For some reason the excuse interrupts all grumbling in his head and catalyzes different, even more troubling thoughts.
. . .
Awkward, frustrating, humiliating. He can't think about it otherwise. He's never wanted to depend on Alfred more than necessary but right now it's unavoidable. He can't jump around on one foot, it's even more ridiculous and after accidentally bumping into the doorstep Arthur finally realizes that it's hopeless. He needs Alfred's help in moving around, even in going to the bathroom. His removable cast and the bondage underneath is way too tight and sensitive for him to handle not to mention the piercing, blinding pain he feels every time his feet touch the ground. A part of him doubts the doctor's words and wonders if his ankle is actually broken or not.
He has no idea how he'll do on his workplace. Without Alfred it seems absolutely pointless to go. The boy is supportive and that ridiculously awful moment aside he's discreet about Arthur's current situation. He's helping around with moving, functions as pillow on the couch on which Arthur can lie on and drift to sleep, holds him up and occasionally checks the position of Arthur's ankle as well.
The breaking point in their harmony comes after a few hours of peace when Arthur realizes the time (noticing the sunrays of dawn penetrating from the windows), and wishes to have a shower. He struggles his way with Alfred's help in the bathroom and sits on the edge of the tub with a clearly annoyed expression on his face. There isn't enough light in the tiny space for his eyes to adjust easily, his vision is blurred and when he reaches for his socks he bumps his injured leg in the washing machine. Alfred winces upon hearing his painful yelp.
"Bloody hell, I'll never jump ever again," he mumbles and grips his shin tightly but that doesn't erase the pain. Seeing his agony, Alfred bites on his own lip and sighs before kneeling down and taking the matters into his hands. He's gentle, pulling Arthur's hand away and nudging him to lift his arms a little so he can start unbuttoning the shirt he wears. It takes a few moments until Arthur realizes what he's doing and of course he tries to dismiss his help. "I can do it, thank you."
"Yea, you'll wake the whole neighbourhood. If they call the cops they'll assume I beat you."
"Or something else," he chuckles, at this point he almost enjoys the reddening of the other's cheeks. "I'll manage, really!"
Hearing the disguised annoyance doesn't surprise the American in the slightest; with a roll of his eyes he lets Arthur shrug his shirt and take the tank top off but yet again, he has to lean onto the young man not to stumble or lose his balance when he decides to loosen in belt. He bumps into him and naturally Alfred is more than ready to catch him, one hand holding him still, the other flipping his belt open—actually, opening Arthur's jeans to yank them down on his hips.
Most definitely he's not going to let that happen!
"Stop undressing me you twat! All you do is going on my nerves all the time!" He spats, pushing himself away and (luckily) finding balance at the edge of the tub. His eyes throw thunder and annoyance as he glares at the young man who frowns back at him, obvious hurt shining in the blue.
"I've seen you almost-naked before, it's not a big deal?"
Right. He did. At their very first meeting. He helped him then and is ready to be there again even if he has to fight his way through Arthur's impossible personality. His only intention is to help so much it's nearly unbearable and suddenly Arthur feels the usual devastating emptiness as if he was nothing compared to the bright, gorgeous man in front of him. All he's done is messing Alfred's plans up and being a burden by not knowing anything about his profession. Why the enthusiasm? It was his own fault to fall on his foot badly and bruising it. He was the one wandering off the plan and then ended up with an injury that can easily cost his job. Heroes shouldn't put up with such disobedient partners... he deserves someone better, who is worthy to be by his side. In the end it was always Arthur who doesn't deserve his gentleness.
"It's not about that," glancing down, Arthur tsks with his tongue and fidgets a little. "You shouldn't be helping me at all. It's my cross to bear."
At that the hero straightens his spine and with a rather deep grunt simply waves Arthur's confession aside with a thumb brushing on the linen of his jeans soothingly, "don't punish yourself for the circumstances. I want to help you."
"I don't deserve your help after messing up your plan and the whole hunt," he covers his jeans protectively from the firm hands that take a hold on his wrists. Resisting and putting up a rather stupid fight for his belt, Arthur insist on a glaring-competition which he loses way too early. Alfred is not going to let him sulk or sink into his self-destructive tendencies. His whole posture and being speaks of determination, eyes vividly asking him to stop.
"It was an accident, Arthur."
His voice is a gentle call, not the one Arthur expected to hear.
Such a fuss about dressing him down. It shouldn't be so stressful, it should be smooth and natural for both of them... for God's sake they are sleeping together for months and cuddling in front of the telly every single day! His chest tightens in the sudden swelter of his agony; it is only his messed up person who's standing in the way of their happiness. He should be able to open his arms and let Alfred help him out of his clothes. He's ready. He's been waiting for months to be so close to him again, he can see the well controlled desire in his radiant blue eyes. And he'd be tender, no matter how much Arthur's trembling under his fingers.
"It was not your fault. Accidents happen."
"Don't patronize me," retorts the blonde, insisting on his point so much.
Of course, he has to keep on fighting... even if it's exhausting for himself as well.
"You'll hurt yourself more like this. Let me help you."
"Alfred, please," the look, the strongly dismissive and silencing look he shots back is meaningless for the bespectacled man. Even that... the thought raises the awareness in the blonde, green eyes widen and he only grasps on his belt tighter. He's so close to him, warmth inviting to calm him and take care of him. The pull is already taking his breath away, leaving him with weak attempts and a tightness in his chest. Why the resistance?
"Is it really such a problem for you that I want to help taking your pants off?" Even his voice, slightly pleading - slightly questioning, the blue-eyed man raises an eyebrow and lets the other steal a glance from his hopes and yet again suggesting his opinion which is oh, so obvious for Arthur as well.
Yes, his behaviour is childish, ridiculous, stubborn and pathetic, all he already knows yet it burns his ego inside. Just let it go. It's only Alfred. His scent is in his nose, his hands are holding him not to fall, he's ready to catch him is he would. He wants to help in all possible ways he can. It's Alfred. His warmth, his skin, his whole presence weakens the barriers Arthur has inside. No one would know if... no one else would see if...
He doesn't know why he's doing it for, but reaches out to grab a handful of Alfred's shirt, not even flinching when the man himself doesn't look surprised at all. His breathing is right underneath Arthur's fingers, his heart thumps with love and well controlled lust. He wouldn't take advantage of this. He wouldn't betray his own principles... he'd be gentle as always, always himself, Alfred.
"It's not fair," he mumbles, eyes cast down on the floor. "If I'm naked, you should be too."
By the tight grip of his fingers, he can feel Alfred's breaths deepen and grow long. His own chest rises and falls, eyes almost glowing in the dim light. The implications, the images flood his mind and before he could realize his own reactions he releases a puff of air between them to chew on his lower lip, "beg your pardon. I'm sorry, I mean—"
"Don't. You have no idea how tempting this is, so..." his pulse rages against his will.
"I'm sorry," with a pleading look he lowers his weight on the tub's edge to glance up with an apologetic, yet endearing look. He wouldn't release Alfred's shirt, his weak pull draws the man to kneel in front of him and with a long caress up his thigh, take Arthur's hand into his.
"I understand. I mean, "a hearty chuckle leave his lips before their gazes meet again, sincere sparkling blue with exhausted, lingering green. "I don't. I can only imagine that something has happened to you and you have to fight your way through it. I... can only be proud how strong you must be for opening a door for me, no matter how much struggle you must endure."
The warmth of his palms sooth the insides of him to the deepest pit he has known since he's met him. Alfred's smile is reassuring, light as the summer breeze, replenishes his anxious thoughts with the love he craves for every single minute he spends with this man. Of course he knows how tempting it is not to reach out, just a few inches, just a slight brush of fingers on that sun-kissed skin and he'd be lost. His smoky eyes betray his heart, Alfred knows what he's thinking about and places his chin into his palm, lipsing words into his skin because it's so tempting to reach out and take him. His uttering melts into Arthur's veins, pulsing through his mind and catching his breath.
"I just want to help you and yet... you cannot imagine what you're doing to me. Every day. I've never been so crazy for anyone before."
Eyes locked, Alfred straightens his back to be nearly at the same eye-level as the blonde is but doesn't lean in, why, only licks his lower lip and Arthur watches the blue eyes, darkened with lust and denied control. His hands wander up on the shorter man's sides, pressing to feel the curve of his ribs with his thumb then back to his hip bone and before he could regain his composure, Arthur releases another breathless sigh, unable to tear his eyes off from the sight of Alfred, so close. The distance shortens as the young hero leans closer, lips avoiding Arthur's cheeks or his mouth but instead to give a long kiss into his neck as well to close the space between them. He doesn't have to hide his awakening arousal, hands exploring again what he's already known but never possessed.
"We should just do it. I'd take care of you," his quiet words burst with all their wrecking lust and agony in Arthur's mind. Of course he would. "I would never hurt you. I wouldn't bear the thought of it."
"I know," barely a sound leaves his lips. "It is not you, the problem..."
"At least tell me, what can I do?"
The blue with the crystalline sparks sees into the depths of him. Sees the crushing burdens, heavy thoughts curling, flowing gently behind the atomic green barriers. It crashes him, Arthur can see the boy taking a sharp breath, haze lifting slightly off his mind. So open as never before, letting all the sorrow and betrayal fall and tear something in the young man's soul, Arthur feels as an apologetic and yet knowing smile curls on his own lips.
"Do something for me... let me get used to you, first."
Blushing, pursing his lips in embarrassment and tearing his eyes away just for a second, Alfred chuckles in a way that Arthur knows the dark-blonde understands him well, "I know, right. Not easy for me either. But then... you could do something too in exchange."
Merely humming, hands stroking the gorgeous locks out of the boy's forehead Arthur feels his chest and heart loosening with every second they spend in that tiny space together, all cards out. From now on, everything shall be even more smooth...
"Please... stick to pies, instead of scones."
There flew the moment they had.
If glares could kill. If, merely looking at a person would freeze.
No wonder the young man escapes the bathroom and promises to bring tea back for apology.
"You selfish brat! You demanding, childish twit! If I had my left foot I would kick your fat American ass! I'm pouring my heart out to you and all you care about is your pie! The Pie!"
The Pie.
AN: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. :P