Another random drabble. Alfred is slightly less clueless this time, but his logic still leaves much to be desired. This chapter is kind of a different style than the first and a little more Alfred-centric, but I hope it is still enjoyable. I added another element-Alfred is a trumpet player. It fits with my headcanon, as it seems like a pretty exuberant instrument and I can see him playing patriotic songs obsessively.
I love the responses I've got for this. I got a wonderful anonymous review who gave me far more praise than I deserve, but I appreciate it anyway.
"This was amazing! Everything about it I loved! Being a grand lover of music myself, this story really caught my eye. It was extremely well written, and it was very finely crafted. In my book I would consider this a masterpiece. Keep up the lovely work; you are an exceptional writer. I look forward to see what you share with us next."
Thank you anonymous, you made my day. :)
Warnings-None, really. Shonen-ai relationship, but I don't think that really counts as a warning.
Disclaimer-See chapter 1.
Hope you enjoy-positive responses make me smile!
Though Arthur himself could not play an instrument, Alfred played the trumpet rather well. He had learned it in high school to earn his music credit and kept up the habit by playing patriotic songs. Coincidentally, many of Arthur's featured prominent trumpet parts or solos, which he would present to Alfred, not for editing, but simply to hear them played by the person they were inspired by (To Arthur, Alfred playing his music sounded much better than a trained professional). This was the only time that he listened to his music played before he published it. Alfred had always been his exception. And as dense as Alfred was, he did catch on that Arthur's fondness of trumpet solos had to do with him.
Alfred came to every performance of Arthur's music. Although he didn't understand music theory or why a certain note fit the way it did, he loved listening to Arthur's compositions because he could feel Arthur in them. Alfred could always recognize his lover's pieces, even with his short memory. They simply sounded like Arthur, and when he listened to them, he saw thick eyebrows and shockingly green eyes, felt the soft pressure of the Brit's lips upon his own. When the orchestra began to play, Alfred, usually much too talkative, fell silent, enraptured (The intent way he leaned into the sounds, tapping his finger to the beat had inspired many of Arthur's later works). While Alfred always showered Arthur with praise and adoration, making the Briton blush and gruffly brush the compliments away, he had never managed to convey exactly how special the music made him feel. Alfred was not good with words, and instead tried to convey the special connection he felt with the compositions to Arthur with his passion and attention. But he could never vocalize exactly why he adored Arthur's work.
The first time Arthur had featured a trumpet solo, he had not told Alfred that he was including it in a piece. He had asked his boyfriend to play it for him "just for fun." Later, Alfred and Arthur had been sitting in the theater listening to Arthur's latest composition, Alfred gently tapping the beat on the palm of his lover's hand. When he heard the tune he had played in the privacy of their shared apartment, he stopped his tapping and his jaw inadvertently dropped. The American unconsciously tightened his grip on his partner's hand until the song ended, the last brassy note hanging in the air.
Later at their home, Arthur was buttoning up his nightshirt.
"Did you enjoy the concert, love?"
At the lack of an immediate answer, Arthur turned around, confused, only to be pinned against the wall by the taller man.
"Artie, you put in my trumpet solo." Alfred spoke gently, his nose almost touching the Brit's.
"It was not your solo. It is mine, as I wrote it." Arthur replied gruffly, but his breath hitched at his lover's proximity.
The American only smiled, staring into Arthur's bright green eyes. "But you wrote it for me, didn't you?"
The Brit avoided Alfred eyes as he muttered. "Well, yes."
"Arthur."
The smaller man looked up, meeting Arthur's gaze.
Alfred spoke with a whispered tenderness that he reserved for Arthur. "Thank you."
And with that, he gently kissed the composer, who wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, deepening their kiss.
Alfred was always able to hold a kiss longer than Arthur. His years of trumpet playing had increased his lung capacity so he didn't need to breathe nearly as soon as his lover.
As usual, it was Arthur who gently broke the kiss when his lungs began to burn. Alfred whined slightly.
Arthur answered, his voice ragged. "I'm sorry love. I need to breathe. I can't last as long as you."
"I'll just have to breathe for you then."
Arthur smiled at his partner's sweet, but illogical sentiments as he pulled them into another kiss.