God, he was tired. Even wet and cold and moving at what felt like illegal speeds, it was a struggle for Arthur to stay awake enough to hold onto Alfred's middle. He just wanted to be home, dry and warm in bed. Possibly with his arms still wrapped around a certain blue-eyed blond. It was definitely time for a nap.
Arthur spent most of the ride in a doze, waking only when Alfred shook his knee.
"Artie, wake up. We're back."
Inhaling quickly through his nose, the Englishman straightened and tried to gather his thoughts. The bike was off, parked at the curb in front of his apartment, it was still misting a bit, and the sun had set. He was cold, his fingertips felt numb, and he could definitely go for some tea, a hot bath, and a warm bed.
Alfred's hand patted his knee. "Come on."
Groggy and stiff from the cold, Arthur held tight to Alfred's parka as he swung his leg up and over and off the bike so he could stumble onto the sidewalk. The American's dismount was much more graceful, not that Arthur was surprised. He doubted Alfred was ever clumsy in the slightest. Quiet, he watched the American open one of the bike's storage bins and retrieve a large tarp, which was then draped over the bike to protect it from the weather.
When Alfred was content that his bike would be safe from the rain, he turned and wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders, guiding the green-eyed blond up the steps to his front door.
Eyes only half open and fingers stiff and fumbling from the cold, Arthur managed to pick out the right key and let the pair into his apartment. It was crowded in the front hall, the space too narrow for two grown men to fit easily. They bumped into each other and leaned around one another, removing shoes and rain parkas to avoid tracking water farther into the apartment. Alfred finished first, less tired and more coordinated than his British counterpart, and steadied the smaller blond while Arthur slowly managed to escape the folds of his oversized parka.
"Thank," the Briton paused, covering his mouth with a hand as he yawned, "you."
"You're welcome."
The parka was hung up beside Alfred's as Arthur shuffled away, yawning again and turning into the kitchen. Thunder rumbled outside, barely noticed. Blinking slowly, Arthur filled the kettle with water, the sound mixing with that of the rain. He twisted the water off after a moment and moved the kettle to the stove, igniting the proper burner.
"Artie."
"Hm?" The green-eyed blond hummed softly from his place before the stove.
Gentle, Alfred took the smaller male's hand and pulled him towards the hall. "Come get changed while that heats up."
Another small hum was the only real response he got, but he took that to be an agreement and began to guide Arthur to the bedroom. The green-eyed blond didn't seem to notice when Alfred began to undress him, only looking up at him to blink slowly. Alfred smiled and kissed the shorter male's forehead affectionately.
"Where are your pajamas?"
"Drawer," Arthur mumbled, waving a hand towards the dresser against the wall.
Even though the idea of rifling through Arthur's dresser drawers made him feel slightly invasive, Alfred dutifully searched through them until he found what looked like pajamas. When he turned around, he was unsurprised to find that Arthur had apparently decided standing was far too much effort. The green-eyed blond was sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning so far forward it was impressive he hadn't fallen on his face yet. Seeing him like that made Alfred chuckle.
Rather than try to coax the man to his feet in order to dress him, Alfred knelt on the floor by the bed and held the pajama pants he'd found open.
"One foot at a time."
It was a slow but entertaining process to get Arthur into his pajamas, which mostly consisted of Alfred guiding the smaller male's limbs into the appropriate holes in the appropriate garments, then buttoning the shirt closed just in time for Arthur to give up and lie back on the bed. Alfred left him pulling the blankets loose for himself and ventured back out into the kitchen just in time to turn the stove off before the kettle started to whistle. As much as Arthur had wanted that tea when they got back, there was no way Alfred was going to give him a cup full of very hot liquid while he was so tired. It would only lead to spilled tea and a burned Englishman.
Silence surrounded the American as he stood in Arthur's kitchen. The only light came from the small bulb mounted under the stove's hood, just enough to see where he was going. He knew he should go back to the bedroom and make sure Arthur was settling down all right, but he didn't want to just yet. He wanted a few quiet moments to himself.
This didn't go the way I wanted.
But it hadn't been bad, had it? Arthur had really enjoyed the date, and the storm had only made it more fun, not ruined it. And now he was going to stay the night in the Brit's apartment to make sure he slept fine. It wasn't a bad date or a bad way to end the night, so why did he feel so…disappointed?
I thought we'd make love.
Oh, fuck.
Great, now he was disappointed because he didn't get laid? Was that really something that was going to start bothering him? Jesus. He'd taken Arthur on a date and they'd had a great time! So he hadn't gotten laid, so what? Why did that have to make him feel like he'd been let down?
It's not like I'm hungry. Arthur's orgasms are food enough. I don't need to get off to feel full.
So….why did he feel like it wasn't enough? Getting off couldn't really be that important to him, could it? He was an incubus, he'd had more sex in the last decade than most humans could cram into an entire lifespan, and that was just because he was hungry, not because he wanted sex. Except, now that he knew Arthur, he did just genuinely want sex. And he wasn't getting it.
Over 200 years of more sex than anyone could ever want and suddenly I'm in the closest thing to a dry spell an incubus could ever survive.
He wanted to have sex. No, he wanted to make love, and he wanted it to be with Arthur. And, if he was completely honest with himself, it was probably his own fault that he hadn't yet. He just kept getting Arthur off first and wearing the Briton out too much to go any farther. It was self-sabotage, or something like that. The simple solution was to stop doing that and see if Arthur was ready for sex, but he didn't want to stop. Getting Arthur off was enough to satisfy his appetite and it was fun. He wanted to get Arthur off and make love, not just one or the other. He wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll ask him if he wants to.
Making that decision helped Alfred feel significantly better about the situation, even though nothing had actually changed. Still, it helped enough that he went back down the hall and into the bedroom, stripped off his jeans and overshirt, and slipped into the bed next to Arthur. The golden blond was already fast asleep, his hands curled into loose fists near his face, knees drawn up and ankles crossed as he breathed deep and slow.
The sight put a smile on Alfred's face and he dropped a light kiss on Arthur's cheek. Then he settled next to his boyfriend and gently wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist to hold him close while they slept.
X
Eggs sizzled in the frying pan and Arthur hummed as he pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. It had been a long time since he'd made breakfast for more than just himself, and he was rather enjoying it.
He left the food cooking and worked on setting the table, putting out plates and silverware and cups. Alfred wasn't awake yet, and Arthur was hoping to get everything ready before he went to rouse the American. After the date he'd been taken on last night, he wanted to spoil the blue-eyed blond.
Minutes later, Arthur stood back and surveyed his work with pride.
Six eggs and eight sausage links shared a platter, several pieces of toast were stacked on a plate, and a tall glass of orange juice accompanied both places at the table. Perfect. This was the sort of meal someone like Alfred should wake up to, especially after the date they'd gone on.
A small twinge of guilt stole the pride out of Arthur's expression. Was breakfast really all he was going to do to thank Alfred for such a wonderful date? He could manage something better than breakfast. He knew he could. Alfred was amazing—he'd taken Arthur on one incredible date after another. He was sweet and charming and it seemed like he got along with everyone he met. He was, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Arthur's gaze drifted towards the hall, green eyes staring as if he could look right through the walls and see Alfred asleep in bed. Blond hair perfectly tousled, his face looking younger and softer without his glasses, ribs slowly moving as he breathed.
Perfect.
There was definitely more Arthur could do than make breakfast.
Ah, but.
He hesitated.
He wanted to, but…he wanted it to happen naturally, on its own in its own time. It wasn't the sort of thing he wanted to just do, not the first time, at least. Being with someone as perfect as Alfred—well, it should be perfect, too.
Arthur stood quietly, still staring at the wall, unable to decide.
Bother.
The blond shook himself, making up his mind that he would make up his mind later, which is to say he would not be seducing Alfred this morning, and told himself that breakfast was going to get cold if he left it for too much longer. He really should go and wake the American so they could eat. And with that, he checked just once more that the table was set and ready before leaving the kitchen and heading towards the bedroom.
He found Alfred just as he'd imagined him.
Lying on his stomach, one leg drawn up and bent at the knee, his arms buried under the pillow his cheek was resting on, Alfred slept. Rumpled blankets covered most of him, baring just his shoulders, his tan looking even darker against the stark white sheets. The movement of his back as he breathed was slow and steady, nearly imperceptible.
Silent, Arthur moved farther into the room and laid a gentle hand on the American's shoulder, shaking him. "Alfred, wake up, love."
Alfred's arms shifted, slipping further under the pillow, and his leg stretched out towards the foot of the bed, but he didn't wake.
"Alfred, I made breakfast," the Briton tried to coax, shaking the other male a little more firmly. A blue eye cracked open to look up at him, hazy and confused, and Arthur smiled. "Good morning," he crooned, leaning down to brush his lips to Alfred's temple. "I made breakfast."
One of the American's hands slid out from under the pillow and wandered until it found Arthur's braced on the mattress. Warm, tan fingers closed around his own smaller hand as Arthur sat on the edge of the bed.
"Come on, sleepy, or the eggs will be cold."
The drowsy blond's only response was to slowly pull Arthur's hand closer to himself, tucking it to his chest as he looked up at the Briton. His silence was unusual, and Arthur felt himself grow worried.
"Alfred? Is something wrong?"
His hand was squeezed and Alfred gave a very slight shake of his head.
They looked at each other for a few long, quiet seconds, then Arthur opened his mouth to ask again if something was bothering the American.
"I love you."
Mouth open, Arthur's breath caught in his throat before it even turned around to become words. His jaw worked while his tongue lay heavy, trying to produce sound. He blinked rapidly, brain empty of thought.
"…what?" he finally managed the single word, voice tight and high with confused surprise.
Alfred's hand had gone tight around Arthur's, betraying his nerves. Still, his voice was calm and steady. "I'm in love with you."
His words hung in the air between them, heavy and awkward at not being immediately accepted and returned. Arthur's brain scrambled, trying to comprehend, but taken by surprise, couldn't possibly respond—
Alfred looked away, releasing Arthur's hand. "Sorry." He withdrew, body language becoming uncomfortable as he put space between their bodies.
"Alfred—"
"It's fine," the blue-eyed blond cut him off, sitting up and putting on his glasses. He forced a smile over his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Too soon." Alfred stood and began dressing, his back to Arthur, movements stiff, body tense.
Oh, hell, what should he say? Did he love Alfred back? …perhaps, but they'd only known each other for a few weeks, not nearly long enough for confessions of love. He couldn't possibly commit to being in love so soon, even if this was meant to be some type of whirlwind romance adventure. Alfred was sweet and gorgeous and perfect, and Arthur liked him quite a lot, but he couldn't force those words past his lips. He just wasn't ready, no matter how much he liked the American.
Arthur stood, feeling as though he was invading Alfred's privacy.
"I'll," he cleared his throat, "I'll be in the kitchen."
Alfred nodded, busy buttoning up his shirt, and Arthur quietly left the room. As soon as he was alone, Al abandoned the process of getting dressed in yesterday's clothes and instead pulled his phone from his jeans pocket where he'd left it the night before. There were several unopened text messages from Feliks, which he only glanced through before typing up his response, agreeing to be back to the hotel in time to attend whatever fashion review Feliks wanted to go to. It should leave him enough time to eat with Arthur and still get back early enough to shower and let Feliks dress him.
Then he finished buttoning his shirt, ran his hands through his hair to fix it after having slept, and left the bedroom. He found Arthur in the kitchen, fussing over how the dirtied pans and utensils were stacked by the sink to be washed after breakfast.
"Hey," he greeted softly, unsure how the golden blond would react. His confession had been born out of partially asleep impulse, and he regretted it, especially since Arthur hadn't seemed pleased. Now he wasn't sure if the Brit wanted him to stay.
With forced casualness, Arthur turned from the sink and smiled uneasily. "Hungry?"
No.
"Starved."
Arthur's smile grew, becoming more genuine, and he gestured towards the table. They both sat, picking up silverware and serving themselves the food Arthur had so carefully prepared.
"It looks delicious, Artie," Alfred complimented, flashing his signature grin, and the Briton's face turned pink.
"Thank you."
Silverware clinked on plates as the two ate, still too cautious to fall into their usual banter. Alfred functioned mostly out of habit, eating without appetite even though the food was actually very good. Obviously, Arthur had put a great deal of effort into cooking him breakfast, and that made him feel like a Grade A Piece of Shit for making the morning so awkward. He'd just had to go and say it, didn't he? Had to look into those stupid, gorgeous green eyes and say the first thing that popped into his head. Not "good morning," or "how'd you sleep?" or "hi," but "I love you." And then he'd made it worse! He could have pretended he'd meant something else when Arthur had finally responded. He could have turned it into a joke, could have grinned and teased Arthur that if he wasn't careful he'd be in serious danger of being stuck with Alfred for far too long. Who didn't love being woken up to a freshly prepared breakfast? That was the sort of thing that would definitely keep Alfred around, was Arthur sure he wanted that?
Yes, he could have saved himself the embarrassment of confessing his feelings only to have them sit there, unaccepted, unrequited. But Alfred, clearly, was not that smart, or had not been awake enough, and had repeated it, had phrased it even more unmistakably. "I'm in love with you." Could he have sounded any more pathetic? This wasn't some sappy romantic comedy where the two at-odds love interests meet, go on a couple dates, and then live happily ever after together. And yes, okay, he'd been considering the possibility that Arthur was his mate and that they might actually spend eternity together, but Arthur didn't even know what Alfred was. Mates and eternity were not part of Arthur's world, weren't a part of any human's world. It was far too soon to be exposing those parts of his existence to the Brit. Far, far too soon. And if he didn't do something to ease the tension, he could be at risk of losing Arthur before he could even be sure if they were meant to be mates at all.
Alfred swallowed and set his fork down, then sipped his juice to help wash down the food he imagined sticking in his suddenly tight throat. "Arthur?"
The Briton looked up at him, chewing a bite of eggs, his thick eyebrows raised as his response, as he was far too polite to speak with food in his mouth.
"I, ah, I hope I didn't….freak you out. With what I said."
Awkward. Nice.
Arthur's chewing slowed. He swallowed, cleared his throat. "It took me by surprise, is all, Alfred."
"Yeah, you looked surprised."
"I was."
"Right." Alfred fidgeted, straightening his fork beside his plate. "I just hope it's not going to mess things up between us. Cause I like you. A lot. Obviously." His tone turned self-deprecating, eyes glued to the tabletop. "I mean, I don't want to scare you away just because I can't keep my big mouth shut."
"I like you, too, Alfred," Arthur was smiling as he reached across the table to touch Alfred's hand, stilling the fidgeting digits. "I like you very much."
Blue eyes met green and the pair exchanged hopeful looks, the awkwardness finally starting to dissipate.
"Then maybe you'll come with me to meet Feliks and Toris later? Liks wants to check out some grand opening at a store or something." He grinned, rolling his eyes. "Fashion stuff. You know."
"Sounds great."
Alfred's fingers weaved into Arthur's, holding his hand securely. "Great." They exchanged smiles again, and Alfred went back to eating with more appetite than he'd had all morning.
