Angels Don't Always Have Wings Part Five.A
anonymous
March 12 2010, 02:22:33 UTC
Alfred yawned loudly, clacking his teeth and squinting his eyes. The tiny angel looked petrified at the end of the bed, staring at how Alfred was draped over Arthur. Alfred didn’t really get why the kid was acting so odd (actually, he didn’t really notice him in his state), and then he looked up at Arthur.
“Awesome,” Alfred said, grinning drowsily.
“Why am I in your bed?” Arthur asked bluntly. But he didn’t just ask the question. There was an angel at the end of his bed (an angel named Peter, one that was quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass in the Upper Realm), and the shock that the child suffered at seeing him in bed with a stranger wasn’t nearly enough.
So, as Arthur asked his question, he tilted Alfred’s chin up to face him, and he lowered his head so that their lips were mere centimetres apart. The American beside him was disgusting, but the sputters and panicked babbling coming from Peter made up for the uncomfortable position.
Of course, Alfred was an American. As such, he was oblivious to Arthur’s advances (however faked they were), and he grinned before mumbling an answer.
“I said I’d sleep with you, ‘n’ keep th’ monsters away.”
“Please! Just, I wish you’d sleep with me! Please? Just tonight!”
That would explain it. Alfred was an innocent dumbass that hadn’t realized he was making a wish. That seemed like the perfect loophole to the entire situation.
“Y-y-you pervert!” Peter gasped, and Arthur glanced to the side. He still had his face close to Alfred’s, and Peter was having a meltdown. Red face, wide eyes, trembling lips.
Perfect discord for the little fucker.
“We have things to do,” Arthur whispered, and Alfred blinked in confusion. “Get lost.”
There was a snap, and then Peter was gone in a cloud of silver smoke.
“What’d’ we gotta do?” Alfred asked, still unperturbed by Arthur’s closeness. His drowsy state probably had a hand in his obliviousness, considering he had barely noticed the angel at the end of the bed.
“You have to get your ass out of this bed and clean up the living room.” Arthur shoved him away, relishing in the sound of him crashing to the floor, and watching as his arms flailed wildly for something to grab. “I seem to remember you made a mess with the popcorn.”
Alfred grumbled something about old men before he crawled to his feet and retreated to his closet, digging through the shelves and hangers to grab clothes. He left the room, and then Arthur found it safe to look around.
His clothes (toga) was still intact. No pain, no aches. Looked like he hadn’t done anything… inappropriate, with the mortal. He slipped from the bed slowly and looked around. Then he deemed it an appropriate time to disappear into his urn.
Alfred was somewhat disappointed to find Arthur gone when he returned from the shower. He had hoped for some company during the day (even if Arthur only watched and mocked him while he worked), and the thought of working in silence was rather depressing.
However, he quickly solved the problem by turning on the radio. He cranked up the music, listening to everything from Metallica to AC/DC (two of the best American bands, fuck yeah!), mopping up the melted butter and the glitter that had mysteriously appeared on the floor. He was glad that he lived alone (he didn’t really count Arthur, seeing as the guy always complained and hid away in his urn), because he had the misfortune of getting very into his music. He had always found it embarrassing when his family arrived home unexpected while he was listening, as they had taken to mocking the star football player, and Matthew had treated him like a girl (until he broke his hockey stick; then Matt was the one that bawled like a girl, shortly before breaking his arm with the remaining handle).
Alfred shuddered at the thought. He seriously had to repress that memory.
He finally gave up on a spot of mud that refused to budge in the kitchen, and he shoved the mop into the closet before returning to the living room. He jumped when he saw the blond on the sofa. Arthur had his elbow on the arm of the sofa, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he clicked through channels.
Alfred yawned loudly, clacking his teeth and squinting his eyes. The tiny angel looked petrified at the end of the bed, staring at how Alfred was draped over Arthur. Alfred didn’t really get why the kid was acting so odd (actually, he didn’t really notice him in his state), and then he looked up at Arthur.
“Awesome,” Alfred said, grinning drowsily.
“Why am I in your bed?” Arthur asked bluntly. But he didn’t just ask the question. There was an angel at the end of his bed (an angel named Peter, one that was quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass in the Upper Realm), and the shock that the child suffered at seeing him in bed with a stranger wasn’t nearly enough.
So, as Arthur asked his question, he tilted Alfred’s chin up to face him, and he lowered his head so that their lips were mere centimetres apart. The American beside him was disgusting, but the sputters and panicked babbling coming from Peter made up for the uncomfortable position.
Of course, Alfred was an American. As such, he was oblivious to Arthur’s advances (however faked they were), and he grinned before mumbling an answer.
“I said I’d sleep with you, ‘n’ keep th’ monsters away.”
“Please! Just, I wish you’d sleep with me! Please? Just tonight!”
That would explain it. Alfred was an innocent dumbass that hadn’t realized he was making a wish. That seemed like the perfect loophole to the entire situation.
“Y-y-you pervert!” Peter gasped, and Arthur glanced to the side. He still had his face close to Alfred’s, and Peter was having a meltdown. Red face, wide eyes, trembling lips.
Perfect discord for the little fucker.
“We have things to do,” Arthur whispered, and Alfred blinked in confusion. “Get lost.”
There was a snap, and then Peter was gone in a cloud of silver smoke.
“What’d’ we gotta do?” Alfred asked, still unperturbed by Arthur’s closeness. His drowsy state probably had a hand in his obliviousness, considering he had barely noticed the angel at the end of the bed.
“You have to get your ass out of this bed and clean up the living room.” Arthur shoved him away, relishing in the sound of him crashing to the floor, and watching as his arms flailed wildly for something to grab. “I seem to remember you made a mess with the popcorn.”
Alfred grumbled something about old men before he crawled to his feet and retreated to his closet, digging through the shelves and hangers to grab clothes. He left the room, and then Arthur found it safe to look around.
His clothes (toga) was still intact. No pain, no aches. Looked like he hadn’t done anything… inappropriate, with the mortal. He slipped from the bed slowly and looked around. Then he deemed it an appropriate time to disappear into his urn.
Alfred was somewhat disappointed to find Arthur gone when he returned from the shower. He had hoped for some company during the day (even if Arthur only watched and mocked him while he worked), and the thought of working in silence was rather depressing.
However, he quickly solved the problem by turning on the radio. He cranked up the music, listening to everything from Metallica to AC/DC (two of the best American bands, fuck yeah!), mopping up the melted butter and the glitter that had mysteriously appeared on the floor. He was glad that he lived alone (he didn’t really count Arthur, seeing as the guy always complained and hid away in his urn), because he had the misfortune of getting very into his music. He had always found it embarrassing when his family arrived home unexpected while he was listening, as they had taken to mocking the star football player, and Matthew had treated him like a girl (until he broke his hockey stick; then Matt was the one that bawled like a girl, shortly before breaking his arm with the remaining handle).
Alfred shuddered at the thought. He seriously had to repress that memory.
He finally gave up on a spot of mud that refused to budge in the kitchen, and he shoved the mop into the closet before returning to the living room. He jumped when he saw the blond on the sofa. Arthur had his elbow on the arm of the sofa, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he clicked through channels.
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