Re: Night and Day, 3/4
anonymous
March 7 2010, 00:00:09 UTC
Arthur feels humiliation prickling in the backs of his eyes, and if he looks at Alfred's gleeful face any longer he's going to punch it, so he drops his gaze to the boards beneath his feet. They're not exactly the same color - the left is lighter than the right, and there's a knot just under his big toe.
"Dude, seriously, that's hilarious. I had no idea! Is it like, a regular thing or only when you're super out of it?" Arthur will not cry - he will not, not in front of anyone but especially not Alfred - but he can't push words through his throat, so he stands and looks at the floor, and holds off on sniffling until his nose is actually about to drip.
*
"Arthur? Dude, seriously, please don't - oh, don't cry." Alfred sounds concerned, and out of the corner of his eye Arthur sees his feet come closer. He bites his lip viciously, only adding more to the liquid pooling dangerously around the corners of his eyes, and feels a hot stab of self-loathing through his gut as the first tear falls, rolling down the curve of his cheek to splash on the floor.
"Oh man, I'm sorry - " and the gutwrenching thing about Alfred is, he is sorry, just as much as he was gleeful a moment ago, and it's that damn earnestness that undoes him every time.
Arthur steps back, sharp and precise, self-contained: don't touch me, and his thigh bumps against the nighstand. "Sod off." He studies a crack between two of the floorboards.
"No, for real; I didn't want to get you all upset." Alfred crowds into his personal space, his hands stroking over Arthur's shoulders, but even when he tips Arthur's chin up with two gentle fingers, Arthur refuses to meet his eyes, staring over his shoulder. "Did - do you want me to go away now?"
Another tear splashes down Arthur's face, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. Alfred smells like leather and wide-open spaces, and Arthur can almost admit to himself that he doesn't want Alfred to go away; he wants Alfred to pull him close and wrap around him and tell him he's not disgusting. You always did have the stupidest fantasies.
Arthur hitches his shoulders up and down. He doesn't trust his voice.
- and then Alfred is wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist, one hand splayed just below Arthur's shoulderblades, nestling Arthur snug up against himself and squeezing, and Arthur bites his lip again, impotently furious, as another pair of tears leak out of his eyes and soak into Alfred's shirt. Once upon a time, he might have dreamt - but then there was a musket in the rain, and now he's too humiliated to even dare to hope that maybe - he pushes it out of his head, and wrenches himself away, pushing at Alfred's shoulders. "Sod off."
Alfred steps backwards - lets himself be pushed, really, because none of them can ever make Alfred do anything he really doesn't want to. "I -. Okay." He scuffs a toe on the floor. "Okay." And he reaches one hand out, abortively, but maybe he can feel Arthur's boundaries bristling back at him, or maybe he just doesn't know what to do, so he drops it and turns to leave. Arthur watches his shoes' progress across the room. "You're really beautiful, you know," Alfred pauses to say, just at the doorway. "That sounds stupid, but. I don't - I'm not grossed out." When Arthur doesn't respond, he sighs and steps out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
Re: Night and Day, 4/4
anonymous
March 7 2010, 00:01:08 UTC
You're really beautiful, you know. Arthur viciously tears apart the tiny spark of hope that ignites at those words. He is not beautiful. Not loveable, says the voice in his head, and he shakes himself but he can't quite get it out of the corner of his mind. He grabs one of the blankets out of the pile and curls up under it on the mattress, holding himself tensely away from the wet patch where he'd been lying.
"Bloody...what?" He stares down at his dick, which is horribly, treacherously excited by this. "What is your problem?" And now the shame is scattered with sparks of fear, and he half-wants to take a knife to himself, anything to make this fresh humiliation stop.
He hears Alfred moving around in his bedroom, and squirms uncomfortably, humiliation twisting in his stomach. He lies awake: every time his eyes start to close all he can see is Alfred's mocking, delighted face: oh my gawd, for serious? He writhes with embarrassment, digging his fingernails into his palms and stifling a moan as his dick rubs against the mattress. The pale gray glimmerings of the dawn glimmer through the window; soon he's going to have to get up and look Alfred in the face over breakfast, and see did you actually wet the bed and I'm not grossed out in the same pair of blue eyes, and he curls up into himself and springs apart again. He can't stand it. He sobs with frustration, barely refraining from actually rubbing himself off on the bed like a dog.
There's a shower. Attached to his room, there's a shower, and he staggers for it, clenching his hands at his sides so he won't touch himself, and turns the water on freezing. He tries to brace himself as he steps into it, biting down on the heel of his hand to muffle his yell of shock. It works, at least, and he steps out, shaking with cold, and fumbles around in his suitcase for something to wear. The sky outside is gray streaked with palest yellow now, but it doesn't even matter that the night is fading, because Alfred has already invaded it. Alfred, with his big summer-afternoon eyes barged right on into the shame that Arthur hid away in the dark and now the daylight is humiliating too because Arthur has no hidden corner to force the pathetic mess of himself into; it's spilling out all around the edges of his façade.
He straightens his tie and runs fingers through his hair. He will endure this, like he's endured a thousand other humiliations, and if he has to kill off that tiny hopeful spark once and for all, so be it.
Re: Night and Day, 4/4
anonymous
March 9 2010, 01:05:45 UTC
Goodness. I absolutely loved this, I had expected to find a PWP and I found this amazing gem and I love how Alfred told him he actually didn't mind it and he still found Arthur beautiful *-* And gosh. Wow. I just lose words. Terrific fill! <3
"Dude, seriously, that's hilarious. I had no idea! Is it like, a regular thing or only when you're super out of it?"
Arthur will not cry - he will not, not in front of anyone but especially not Alfred - but he can't push words through his throat, so he stands and looks at the floor, and holds off on sniffling until his nose is actually about to drip.
*
"Arthur? Dude, seriously, please don't - oh, don't cry." Alfred sounds concerned, and out of the corner of his eye Arthur sees his feet come closer. He bites his lip viciously, only adding more to the liquid pooling dangerously around the corners of his eyes, and feels a hot stab of self-loathing through his gut as the first tear falls, rolling down the curve of his cheek to splash on the floor.
"Oh man, I'm sorry - " and the gutwrenching thing about Alfred is, he is sorry, just as much as he was gleeful a moment ago, and it's that damn earnestness that undoes him every time.
Arthur steps back, sharp and precise, self-contained: don't touch me, and his thigh bumps against the nighstand. "Sod off." He studies a crack between two of the floorboards.
"No, for real; I didn't want to get you all upset." Alfred crowds into his personal space, his hands stroking over Arthur's shoulders, but even when he tips Arthur's chin up with two gentle fingers, Arthur refuses to meet his eyes, staring over his shoulder. "Did - do you want me to go away now?"
Another tear splashes down Arthur's face, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. Alfred smells like leather and wide-open spaces, and Arthur can almost admit to himself that he doesn't want Alfred to go away; he wants Alfred to pull him close and wrap around him and tell him he's not disgusting. You always did have the stupidest fantasies.
Arthur hitches his shoulders up and down. He doesn't trust his voice.
- and then Alfred is wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist, one hand splayed just below Arthur's shoulderblades, nestling Arthur snug up against himself and squeezing, and Arthur bites his lip again, impotently furious, as another pair of tears leak out of his eyes and soak into Alfred's shirt. Once upon a time, he might have dreamt - but then there was a musket in the rain, and now he's too humiliated to even dare to hope that maybe - he pushes it out of his head, and wrenches himself away, pushing at Alfred's shoulders. "Sod off."
Alfred steps backwards - lets himself be pushed, really, because none of them can ever make Alfred do anything he really doesn't want to. "I -. Okay." He scuffs a toe on the floor. "Okay." And he reaches one hand out, abortively, but maybe he can feel Arthur's boundaries bristling back at him, or maybe he just doesn't know what to do, so he drops it and turns to leave. Arthur watches his shoes' progress across the room. "You're really beautiful, you know," Alfred pauses to say, just at the doorway. "That sounds stupid, but. I don't - I'm not grossed out." When Arthur doesn't respond, he sighs and steps out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
Reply
"Bloody...what?" He stares down at his dick, which is horribly, treacherously excited by this. "What is your problem?" And now the shame is scattered with sparks of fear, and he half-wants to take a knife to himself, anything to make this fresh humiliation stop.
He hears Alfred moving around in his bedroom, and squirms uncomfortably, humiliation twisting in his stomach. He lies awake: every time his eyes start to close all he can see is Alfred's mocking, delighted face: oh my gawd, for serious? He writhes with embarrassment, digging his fingernails into his palms and stifling a moan as his dick rubs against the mattress. The pale gray glimmerings of the dawn glimmer through the window; soon he's going to have to get up and look Alfred in the face over breakfast, and see did you actually wet the bed and I'm not grossed out in the same pair of blue eyes, and he curls up into himself and springs apart again. He can't stand it. He sobs with frustration, barely refraining from actually rubbing himself off on the bed like a dog.
There's a shower. Attached to his room, there's a shower, and he staggers for it, clenching his hands at his sides so he won't touch himself, and turns the water on freezing. He tries to brace himself as he steps into it, biting down on the heel of his hand to muffle his yell of shock. It works, at least, and he steps out, shaking with cold, and fumbles around in his suitcase for something to wear. The sky outside is gray streaked with palest yellow now, but it doesn't even matter that the night is fading, because Alfred has already invaded it. Alfred, with his big summer-afternoon eyes barged right on into the shame that Arthur hid away in the dark and now the daylight is humiliating too because Arthur has no hidden corner to force the pathetic mess of himself into; it's spilling out all around the edges of his façade.
He straightens his tie and runs fingers through his hair. He will endure this, like he's endured a thousand other humiliations, and if he has to kill off that tiny hopeful spark once and for all, so be it.
Reply
He's exactly like a prickly hedgehog, isn't he? But don't worry, Alfred loves you all the same!
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
I loved it, but omg, cliffhanger!
Reply
Leave a comment