A/N: Bklehhh. I'm sorry. I said this would be a late update, and it is. Weddings, school trips and exams have taken over my time this last week and a half! I'm not dead, I promise, just very busy~ But now I'm back, and I can partially sadly, partially happily announce that with chapter 11, we are in fact half way through this story! I know not too much USUK action has happened yet, but just wait - the pace picks up soon enough and hopefully you'll be satisfied by the end. Anyway, we've still got a long way to go, so here's chapter 11 for you all - and subsequently more of Alfred's 'amazing' plans. Ahem.
Disclaimer: Eyebrow Man and The Hero are not mine, as much as I'd like them to be.
'Amy! Amy, what do you think that noise is!?'
'I don't know, Millie - maybe it's a ghost!'
'No way! Ghosts don't exist, they don't. They don't!'
"They don't," Alfred whimpered, grabbing a handful of popcorn with his shaking hands as the scene played out before him. He was on the third horror movie of the night, and was alone in the late night darkness; Arthur had retired early for the night without a word towards Alfred, and the maids had followed not long after. Thus leaving the American huddled alone in front of the rusty old living room television (which Arthur had been rather reluctant to allow access to) at 3:00 in the morning, his mind swirling with monsters and ghosts and supernatural monstrosities. The one he was currently watching was by far the worst one, with two innocent girls walking through the woods only to find they were being followed. It reminded him of his initial walk to Arthur's estate, and that fact wasn't exactly doing him any favours…
'I'm going to kill you, girls," a voice hissed threateningly from the television screen, and Alfred screamed along with the girls in the movie. He grasped the nearest cushion, clutching it to his chest as he stared in morbid fascination at the screen - only to wish he hadn't when he saw a ghost looming in the television screen, the two main characters gone from sight - leaving the ghost facing the camera and grinning evilly.
'I'm coming to get you,' it hissed, and Alfred's heart had a heart attack.
"Oh my fuck!" he yelped in panic, covering his face with the pillow and hurriedly fumbling for the remote. This movie was way too scary - he had to stop before he got too scared to carry out the plan! After a second of frantic fumbling, his trembling hand found the remote, and he thrust his finger desperately down on the magical power button. The screen flickered off into comforting dull darkness, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes closed. There, that was better - wait. The television had been his only source of light…
He was in complete darkness. With a TV ghost on the loose.
"Artiieeee!" Alfred cried, pelting furiously up the rickety stairs and skidding to the Gentleman's closed bedroom door. He banged his fists on the door in panic, bet completely forgotten, yelling about destruction and death and doom and dismal films and begging Arthur to let him in.
The door opened, and Alfred practically fell into Arthur's room, such was his vehement fear. Arthur stood before him, looking terrifying and deadly despite his scruffy bed head and mint green matching pyjamas.
"And what could I possibly do for you at this hour?" Arthur's tone could have cut diamonds.
Alfred clutched his arm, babbling about anything and everything as he forced Arthur to shut the door. The Gentleman reluctantly complied, turning irritably to the American and shaking his arm to rid of the boy's solid grip.
Alfred whimpered pathetically. "Y-you need to help me! I was watching a movie, and the ghost, it saw me, it did and it's going to kill me and slaughter me and it's in your house and -"
"Calm down, boy! Honestly, you're a mess," Arthur muttered dryly, guiding the younger man assuringly to his bed. Alfred collapsed on it, and tugged on Arthur's arm.
"Comfort me?" he lisped childishly, his blue eyes wide and tearful.
Arthur sighed, hating his lack of resistance. "Very well, love - ah, Alfred - but you're an idiot for watching those dreadful films. Honestly, if you get so scared of them you shouldn't watch them!" he reprimanded, patting the other's arm reassuringly.
Alfred briefly thought about defending his honour and pride by denying his fear, but finally remembered the original cause for his visit and decided to roll with it. He could sacrifice his pride for this - and none of his terror was an act, embarrassingly enough.
"B-but they're so exciting!" he simpered, batting his eyelashes at the older man. Arthur felt his insides twist at the innocent face blinking charmingly up at him. Alfred was such a strange butler - one minute he would be an utter, teenage prat, and the next he was like… this! Arthur bit his cheek as he tried to figure the other man out. He didn't exactly know what Alfred wanted of him, but he couldn't exactly stand bye his bed all night comforting the idiot. So...
"Well, you seem jolly well fine now, so I suppose I'll just send you off-"
"Don't make me leave!" Alfred whined, pawing at Arthur's arm. "If you do, I'll get scared and faint and then, like, die!" he proclaimed dramatically, and Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Sure. And I'm going to turn into a unicorn."
"But-"
"No, you're going, now. Ta-ta for now! Cheerio! Farewe-"
"NO!" Alfred interrupted again, a pout beginning to develop on his features. "I'm staying here - and you are too!" With the finishing word, he gave a strong tug on the Brit's arm, sending him tumbling onto the bed with an indignant cry.
"Oi! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!?" Arthur protested weakly, shuddering as the larger man snuggled against him.
"Ah, you're so warm, Artie. I feel better now," Alfred mumbled, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and ignoring his frantic screeches.
"What are you..!? You can't just…! You…!" Arthur spat, feeling his resistance beginning to crumble pitifully as he was hugged. Alfred just gave a small chuckle and squeezed him tighter.
Arthur's face coloured an interesting array of blue, red and pink. "G-git! I can't breathe, wanker!" he choked, clawing at the man desperately. He was reminded of behaving similarly on the night of Alfred's drunken behaviour - except this time Arthur knew some rather worrying things:
A. Alfred wasn't drunk - he intended to do this.
B. Alfred was gay. Like him.
C. He was so soft and warm and endearing…
"GET OFF ME YOU BRAT!" Arthur screeched, writhing desperately and furiously as he struggled in the younger man's grip.
A snore was his only reply.
It was a beautiful morning. The birds were singing in melody and harmony as they dashed through the leafy trees, the sun was shining gaily and joyously through the window and the air smelt fresh and clean.
And Arthur? He was wide awake and weary, just like he had been for the entire night. He shuddered, trapped stiflingly beneath a heavy Alfred. He was lying stiffly on his back, hands gripping the covers as the larger man lay sprawled across him, his weight trapping the older man and his arms firmly wrapped around his waist. His face was smashed not-so-elegantly against Arthur's chest, and he was drooling a waterfall of saliva all over Arthur's freshly washed green pyjamas.
Bloody wonderful.
Arthur sighed, his hands fumbling and floundering around the bed as he tried to find something useful to pry the American off him - a knife would be preferable. At least then he'd have the excuse that the prat was dead and so had no idea that he was lying spread-eagled across his master - it would certainly be easier to explain this sticky situation. Arthur groaned out loud, unable to deny that the bloke hugging him was warm and soft and sweet and admirable and attractive - but it didn't mean he appreciated being used as a comfort blanket when Alfred was scared of a horror movie! The only time Arthur ever wanted to be hugged like that was when he was in a relationship - with someone nice, who wasn't Alfred. Because he didn't want to be with Alfred. He just had a tiny, minuscule, microscopic crush on him; it didn't mean he was in love with the guy! And he certainly didn't want the lad to be draped across him like a curtain!
"You are an imbecile," he growled in frustration to the cause of his problems, wondering how to reject the lad when he finally woke up without hurting his feelings.
"Well, g'morning to you too honey," a slurred voice mumbled from his chest, followed by an exclamation, "Urgh! Is that drool?"
Arthur's brows nearly crossed in their vicious frown. "It's yours, moron! And you ruined my pyjamas!" he spat at the younger man, feeling the blush rise in his face as he spoke. "And you ruined my night! I didn't get a wink of sleep and it's all your fault because you watched those stupid horror movies and you kept on hugging me inappropriately and you didn't move and I hate you and it's all your fault!" he cried exhaustedly, and finally, finally felt the weight of Alfred lift from him.
"…It's too early to be hurling accusations." Alfred's reply came in the form of a soft mumble, and Arthur instantly felt guilt pricking at him.
"Ugh," he muttered, "I didn't mean all of that. It's just that…Well, I didn't sleep. At all. And..." he trailed off, looking up to see Alfred hunched at the end of the bed.
"Look, dude, I'm sorry I 'ruined your night'. I really am." Alfred spoke sincerely yet miserably, and Arthur found himself convinced despite the guilt. And Arthur wasn't good with dealing with guilt.
"J-just… don't watch horror movies again," he rushed out, hauling himself hastily out of his bed and shuffling out the door. "And... don't forget to make my bed, ungrateful butler!"
Alfred sighed, standing up dismally. "Yessir," he said to the empty room, and grabbed the sheets.
So it seemed that all his plans so far had been doomed to fail. For one thing, he hadn't meant to get so scared from the movies. Most of the fear was supposed to have been acting, so he had a clear head when talking to Arthur - but he'd forgotten how horrifying ghost movies could be. He'd been far too terrified to execute his plan accurately. And he had meant to wake up before Arthur this morning, greeting him with kisses and love… but instead he'd just kept the poor Englishman awake all night! And now Arthur was grumpy with him, which made him feel miserable and Arthur - well - angry. Even angrier.
It seemed that it wasn't just Francis' plans that failed. He'd messed it up, though, so maybe if he was more careful… And The Hero never gave up! He'd just have to put a little more thought in carrying out the next plan. Which should be relatively easy, seeing as it mainly involved Francis and the man was known for his meticulous attention to romance. Alfred grinned to himself as he messily made the bed. Yeah, it wasn't all on him this time - the third plan was sure to be more successful!
That's what you said for this idea, and look how it turned out, the small, bleak part of his mind reminded him pointedly. Alfred frowned, mentally telling his pessimism to Kindly Fuck Off. Alfred was not one to be pessimistic. No, this would work. He - and Francis - would make sure of it.
It was time to try Plan three: Flirtatious Frenchman and Amazing Alfred. The whole idea of this plan was to show how brave and wonderful and sexy Alfred was - so it couldn't be too hard, considering his good looks and amazing personality. Yes, this would go according to plan - now he just needed to ring up Francis and tell him to get his butt over to Arthur's place. There was no time to lose! He slipped his iPhone from his pocket, and quickly dialled the Frenchman's number.
"Hey, Franny!"
"Francis - but never mind about that, hm? We have more important things to discuss," the Frenchman mumbled smoothly over the phone.
Alfred nodded hastily. "Exactly, like -"
"-Have you made love to Arthur yet?" The question came quickly and eagerly.
"Yeah - I mean no! No, God no," Alfred stammered. "Which is why I need your assistance for Plan Three."
He could almost see the other man's leer as he replied.
"Hmm... That would be the one involving moi, no?" Francis purred, and Alfred grimaced inwardly.
"Uh. Yep, that's right!"
"I see. Wonderful," he cooed.
"Look, so when can you visit? I need this done pronto, before I do anything else wrong," Alfred complained.
The Frenchman only chuckled. "Well, I will visit you the day after tomorrow - I am rather caught up with a fair mademoiselle at the current time, and I have some business to attend to."
"Two days!? That's too long, mate, can't you -"
"Shush. Be patient, mon cher. I will be with you as soon as I can be. Oh, and of course, do not let your sweetheart know I will be arriving!" And then he hung off, leaving the American pouting at the phone.
Alfred sighed, dropping the device carelessly on the bed, and ran a hand through his tangled hair. So, two days without a plan, huh? It'd be difficult to remain attractive to the Brit without the guide to help him through... Still, it didn't mean Alfred couldn't impress Arthur on his own accord. Indeed, here came a very important part to his careful planning for The Bet - and that was to be a damn good butler!
…Being a damn good Butler was more tricky than he'd first imagined. It wasn't that he didn't put effort in - oh no, he flung himself head-first into his chores and was personally quite pleased with the results. The problem was, the day passed without any positive recognition from his master. Only criticisms that made Alfred feel like the work he'd done was the worst mankind had ever seen.
Alfred tried, he really did, but it was just so hard to maintain his standards when sharp eyes and fingers were prodding his every movement! He felt the pressure increase throughout the day, be it through harsh words or hawk-like gazes from the next room. It was either Alice re-doing the jobs he'd just done because that's just how bad he was at doing them himself, or it was Amelia fluttering around him and 'politely' telling him what exactly it was he'd done wrong - or worst of all, it was his supposed Master paying no heed to his duties well done and instead choosing to criticise his every intake of breath!
Alfred was fed up of Arthur nagging him about his butler duties, and wished the man would cut him some slack. He was new to this whole work thing, and he was sure that if Matthew could see him now he'd be proud! But obviously, the ability to feel pride for others was a talent that Arthur hadn't picked up throughout his life, because every single thing Alfred did was a criminal offence in the Englishman's narrowed eyes.
And what made it worse was that Alfred couldn't even intervene. No, he had to sit tight and smile while his work was ripped to verbal shreds around him, suffering in silence when all he wanted to do was yell at Arthur until his voice cracked. He knew it would do them both good, to just snap and bicker and argue, and it would cause less pain later on. They were built that way, slotted together through sanctimonious points of view and feisty determination; all this politeness and gentle obedience from the butler was making them both suffer. Alfred hated the lies; he wanted to just grab Arthur and yell at him and kiss him and tell him the truth - just let out a feverish I did all this for a bet but it's funny because I'm actually sort of falling for you and we need to learn to get along -
But Alfred refused to crack. Although it would do them both good, he knew he needed to pull this act - he couldn't risk turning Arthur's growing affections off him because of a stupid confession; he couldn't risk losing the bet, his pride and his money - and Alfred had a feeling Arthur wouldn't appreciate the knowledge that he'd been used for the sake of a bargain. Even Alfred hated acknowledging it.
And he didn't want to hurt Arthur unnecessarily. He knew that much for certain, although he was reluctant to admit it for the sake of the aforementioned pride. He figured he was past the denial stage by now - he definitely felt something for the older man, and wished there was a way he could show Arthur he cared without revealing his plans. After all, the bet had come first, so surely it was more important? But then, did money matter over somebody's feelings, even if said person was currently acting like a huge jerk?
All these questions buzzed through Alfred's mind as the time passed throughout the day, and he realised how heavily conflicted he was. He felt guilty for being immoral along with coercing Arthur into something he didn't realise; but on the contrary, there were so many reasons why continuing with the bet and deceiving Arthur was a good idea -
"Brat, that cupboard looks as dusty as ancient ruins! Do it again, and don't bother me until it's practically sparkling. I expect to see my reflection, not some grubby American's greasy fingerprints."
- so many reasons indeed.
But Alfred was a hero, and heroes didn't make fools out of people.
Neither did they back down from a bargain.
So onward with the day it was, and Alfred dusted the cupboard like it was the sole saviour of the human race and by the time he was done it practically sparkled.
Alfred couldn't wait for the day after tomorrow to come.
A/N: Ugh, Arthur, I love you, but why you gotta be so cold to poor Alfred? He's trying his hardest to be a good butler!
Anyway, the next chapter should be up fairly shortly - and with it some drama! Ooh, the suspense.
Hope you liked this update, and remember that I appreciate every review I receive! (^▽^)
