Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“Don’t be daft,” he said “I don’t need you to convince me of anything.”
“Right,” Alfred smiled “Then you can start thinking about your next poem, and I want a happy one this time.”
“You just don’t understand poetry.”
Alfred pulled Arthur’s leg over his lap and started writing on his thigh, hiding a smile when Arthur started to squirm. So, then. Love poems. There was only one choice he could make, really, and he was reading aloud when as he wrote it:
“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints…”
“That’s practically a cliché,” Arthur said, but Alfred could feel his smile behind the grumpiness, so he kept going “I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life!” he pressed a little on the exclamation point “and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. See, that’s a good one.”
“Give me the pen.”
Alfred did, laying down on his back again. This time, Arthur decided to write on his stomach, and when he finally finished Alfred was laughing.
“Well, I see someone here is really sensible,” Arthur said, pressing a kiss against his belly. Alfred started to squirm, giggling, and when he finally captured Arthur’s face on his hand he was a little breathless:
“That’s torture!”
Arthur just smiled. He kissed Alfred’s neck, then his lips:
“If you say so.”
And torturing Alfred had improved his mood, looked like. Arthur had lost that lost and unsure look and Alfred knew the problem had been most avoided than solved, but- well. Avoided was good enough for now. He’d have time to solve this later, because Arthur wasn’t going to run away.
“What did you write this time?”
“Advice for marriages,” Arthur said “To keep your marriage brimming, with love in the wedding cup, whenever you're wrong, admit it; whenever you're right, shut up.”
Alfred laughed:
“Come on, man, what’s your problem? Can’t you be romantic for once?”
“How about this one? Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, knowing thy heart torments me with disdain…
“Arthur, I’ll- I’ll punch you, I sweat I will.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll just have to try again, then.”
“Where, now?”
“On your back, so you can’t read it.”
“Arthur!”
“I mean it. You can read it why I’m in the shower, because this one’s going to be embarrassing.”
“Sounds promising,” Alfred said, turning over. He tried to guess what Arthur was writing, but his handwriting was so weird that he couldn’t begin to guess. When Arthur was finally done he pressed a kiss between Alfred’s shoulders, at the base of his neck:
“That’s Shakespeare, by the way. Not that you’ll understand it, you with your vocabulary of twenty seven words, but it’s always worth a try, right? Now excuse me.”
He was in the bathroom with the door safely locked when Alfred finally managed to make out what was written. He almost twisted his neck doing it, but a hero stopped at nothing!
And what was written was:
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
PS: That means I love you.
Alfred could feel his breath catching. He bit his lip, feeling dizzy, feeling again the crazy wish to laugh and cry, even if Arthur was screaming at him from the bathroom (probably had found the claim of his vital parts). Alfred could barely hear what he was saying.
He lay down on Arthur’s space. Now he would never shower again and Arthur would probably complain about it sooner or later, but that was small price to pay to keep the words on his skin, Arthur would surely understand that.
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of his lover (lover!) still on the sheets.
~
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And poor Arthur! My god that man needs a hug. (Also, the idea of overprotective Alfred leaving a mark is funny.)
I hope you write more stories in this vein because I really needed the smiles. :D
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LOL at Alfred's version of being kind and considerate
and LOL at his claiming of England's vital regions. Really England. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IT WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE THAT. What else did you think he'd write on your arse?
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I'm so glad someone requested this.
I was smiling the whole time.
Lovely.
Just lovely. :)
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And I loved this line too, as a person who can bear a knife more easily than a tickling touch:
"There was nothing less heroic than being ticklish."
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(reCAPTCHA: Toronto clannish. Canada wants in on the action? xD)
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