Your Sins Into Me [Prologue VII]
anonymous
August 31 2010, 04:33:44 UTC
I hope the OP is still out there somewhere @^@
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Trailing after Alfred, Arthur followed him to work.
Sometimes he rode on Alfred’s shoulder, the warmth of his human’s body comforting. It was one of the few ways Arthur could feel close to him, staring wistfully at the man, his heart churning painfully in his chest. Alfred was warm, so very warm, and his smiles were beautiful and brilliant. Arthur loved to see Alfred smile.
But lately, Alfred had begun to feel his presence.
He could not see Arthur of course; Alfred did not believe in magic and the only way Alfred would be able to see Arthur was if Arthur showed himself to the scientist. Arthur was not so far gone that he would purposely show himself to an adult human, no matter how much he loved Alfred. Arthur would be punished severely if he did, even vanished from his homeland. There was only so much Francis could do for him; it was only because he was Francis’ partner that he was even allowed to visit his human so often.
Alfred could not see him-but he had begun to feel the little touches, the ghost-like kisses on his forehead and the shimmering trails of magic Arthur left behind. He would scratch his cheek where Arthur had last kissed him, furrow his brow in confusion when Arthur sat on his shoulder, chew his bottom lip in frustration when his precious machines picked up a small signal of energy in his tightly-locked house only to disappear seconds later.
It should have sent Arthur flying home, Alfred’s sudden, quickly growing awareness of the faery, but Arthur stayed. He stayed and watched Alfred work himself into the ground trying to solve this new, bizarre puzzle he could not find all the pieces to.
Arthur had not gone home in months now. Never before had he gone so long without assuring his brothers and sisters that he was still a part of their world, that he had not given himself entirely to his beloved human.
“Your wings are all droopy,” they would tell him, mouths curled in disgust. “His magic is bad for you. His magic hurts you. His magic is no good for you; he is hurting you.”
“I will not leave him,” Arthur would tell them in return, shoulders stubborn and voice strong. Defiant. “You will not make me choose between my home and my human; I can have both. You cannot stop me.”
The High Council did not understand and neither did his brothers and sisters-but Arthur could not bring himself to separate himself from Alfred. It would be far too painful.
“The love you give him he takes and takes in strife,” they would snap back, eyes red with anger, sharp teeth bared in ferocious snarls. “He uses your love to hurt you; he is no good for you. He is a mud man, a worm of the earth and his strange magic is making you ill. Do you wish to die for him? Your love for him is killing you!”
Sneering haughtily, Arthur would reply, “My love is mine to give to whomever I choose.”
Hissing, wings flapping angrily behind them, they would hurl out, their voices shrill and hurtful, “Then go ahead and give your heart to your mud man, but lay not with the worms of the earth! Your body is yours and yours alone, you cannot give your precious human that which is not his to take! If you lay with him, Arthur, the doors of our world will be closed to you forever; you will never be able to come back!”
Arthur knew the rules of the People well, he did not need to be reminded of the consequences of crossing that last, unforgivable line. He loved Alfred, but he also loved his home too much to give one up for the other; he wanted to keep both. Arthur wanted a balance between the two.
Arthur should have know better than to be so naïve.
Your Sins Into Me [Prologue END]
anonymous
August 31 2010, 04:36:41 UTC
Arthur should have fled when Alfred first starting suspecting the shimmering trails of fairy dust Arthur sometimes left lying around, the tiny footprints on the soil of his small garden, the opened boxes of sugar cubes he forgot to put away on occasion. Arthur’s love for Alfred made him forgetful, made him lose focus, made him less sharp and less careful of his magic. Because magic was powerful energy and Alfred’s machines were sharp, much too sharp.
Francis had once told him that Alfred would sooner dissect him like he would a butterfly before returning his love.
And he was right.
It was raining when Arthur woke up from his sleep, expecting to open his eyes to his bed or roses and sweet-scented lilies, to the dewy grass and the rich, earthy smell of wet soil from Alfred’s garden.
He woke up in a cold metallic bed inside a glass cage.
“Aha. So you were asleep.”
Bright, much too bright lights. A white cold room and a sharp, stinging pain on the side of his neck. Arthur felt his blood freeze in his veins before his brain caught up with his horrible, horrible situation.
The smile on Alfred’s face was beautiful, as were his blue, blue eyes. It was a cold, calculative smile, the kind of smile Arthur remembered seeing on Alfred’s face whenever he took apart one of his newest machines.
The snap of rubber gloves was deafening-just like the sound of Arthur’s fast beating heart.
“Now, let’s try and figure out what you are, little guy.”
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That’s it for the epilogue :D Thanks so much for your kind comments, anons~!
Re: Your Sins Into Me [Prologue END]
anonymous
August 31 2010, 13:02:46 UTC
I think you meant Prologue?
Oh fuck, that warming about laying was so ominous. But Arthur was a faery right? And how were faeries supposed to...well fuck I think I'll find out later, y/y? I love you for putting child!Alfred into this; it's believable that Arthur first saw him as a child and then the child grew up. Though it's, I dunno, rather unnerving to see how Alfred changed through years, which I think Arthur would eventually find out, in a painful way...;_;
Go ahead dear writer!anon! I'll be camping here and ready to bawl.
First off, OP would like to apologize profusely for missing the first update, I was away on a laptop-less trip orz;;;;
B-but I hope it isn't too late to shower authornon with total adoration and hugs? 'Cause I absolutely love with this fill with a passion of a thousand burning suns you don't even know. See, your writing has this way of flowing naturally that makes it utterly addictive and all kinds of lovely, and, and, and your characterization! ahskaehifrinjjk W-why made of so much win, authoranon? I love you to smithereens for including Alfred as a child before delving into the actual request. It's more heartbreaking that way. Arthur's devotion to the human child is so endearing and sweet, I can imagine him napping on a flower bed in grown-up Alfred's garden ;_;
And holy shit that last sentence right there, with the snap of rubber gloves. *shudders* As much as I knew where it was going, it nonetheless gave me chills. I eagerly await for more.
I-I can't possibly love you enough for your amazingness, in all seriousness. ;_; Here, have lots of incoherent rambling love, 'cause this made me too excited and happy to produce anything better than that at the moment.
Oh yeah, totally loving Arthur as a wee little faery. No need to worry about that at all, authornon. H-How did you even know microphilia was a guilt kink of mine?
Your Sins Into Me [1/?]
anonymous
September 5 2010, 21:20:09 UTC
I've been watching too many Spanish novelas; this fill is starting to sound like one of Shakespeare's tragedies, orz orz.
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Arthur knew Alfred better than he knew his own family.
He knew how Alfred liked his coffee (-black, with two spoons of sugar, sometimes three when he was feeling particularly tired-), and that he drank more carbonated drinks than was healthy. Arthur knew Alfred was a good cook but that he preferred to eat fatty takeout, specially those cheese burgers he was so fond of. After a summer in high school were he put on more pounds than he would have liked, Alfred began to work out almost every day. Despite this, the young man continued to lead a less than healthy diet; Arthur found that trait of Alfred endearing, and on others days, slightly irritating. Arthur didn’t like following Alfred to the gym. He would never admit it out loud, because he was just as stubborn and prideful as Alfred, if not more, but he didn’t like the looks Alfred got from the females who stared at him at the gym.
Arthur would not deny that he sometimes played mean tricks on the girls, from hiding their toilettes and tying their shoelaces together to cursing that barely-there-and-noticeable pimple to grow ten times bigger. Arthur was always in a bad mood when Alfred went to the gym. The only reason why he followed his human there was to keep the females from latching onto him with their talons. He could not blame the females for fawning over Alfred though, for he too had always found his human to be beautiful. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
It hurt him to see Alfred crush and fall in love with those girls. There had been times when Arthur had hurt so much that he’d been unable to fly, his wings sad and droopy, his magic so pitiful he could not even make the roses in Alfred’s garden bloom. Invisible and completely besotted with his human, Arthur watched over the years as Alfred continued to fall in and out of love with those girls.
“If it’s too painful for you, leave.”
Drawing his legs to his chest, Arthur gazed sadly at the near park bench, where his human and a pretty brunette sat side to side, shoulders touching, hands inches away from touching. Closing his eyes against the happy image the couple made, Arthur buried his head in his knees.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice muffled but just as stubborn as it’d been years ago, when his four brothers-his true nest brothers, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, sharers of his magic-threatened to drag him back home kicking and screaming if they had to.
Arthur’s brothers did not like Alfred; Arthur’s brothers were not fond of humans, they were cruel and spiteful and would have loved nothing more than to play with Alfred until the boy broke. To them, Alfred was Arthur’s weakness, an embarrassment to their family. They’d never been kind to Arthur in his childhood, had never been loving, had never taken the time to care for him like real brothers would-but in their eyes the only ones who were allowed to hurt their little brother was [them]. They had been the ones who’d so easily given Arthur away to that pompous prince, to wed him and to tie him to another, but to them Arthur was still [theirs]. Family came first, cold, cruel, and vicious as Arthur’s family was, and never a lover, a human least of all.
But Arthur’s love was his to give to whomever he wished, his heart to gift to whomever he deemed worthy of it. Alfred had his love and Alfred had his heart, and Arthur would not have it any other way. So he’d ignored his brothers, had cast them away, had cursed at them and hurt them like he’d never hurt them before. Arthur would kill them if they hurt his human. He made sure they knew that before they left, bristling with rage and the desire to break the one who’d stolen their little brother away from them.
“He will never love you,” they made sure Arthur knew before they left, cruel with their words and spiteful with their smiles. “He will never hold you and he will never be yours the way you have so foolishly gifted yourself to him. Love him all your want but know that he will never yearn for you the way you yearn for him.”
Your Sins Into Me [2/?]
anonymous
September 5 2010, 21:28:40 UTC
Arthur had proudly given them the middle finger, a little something he’d learned from his human years prior. Inwardly though, he felt his heart churn in pain. He knew his brothers spoke the truth. He knew Alfred would never look at him the way Arthur looked at Alfred. Alfred would never hold him, would never hold Arthur’s hand like he held that girl’s.
Although there was a spell, a spell the People from his mother’s nest favored on full moon nights, a little spell so tricky in its bare simplicity. But it was not a welcomed spell amongst the People of his father, the ones whom Arthur had pledged himself loyal to so long ago. His mother had been a vicious vixen, wedded to Arthur’s father against her will. She’d been wild, tricky and cruel to Arthur’s father. His father had been a fool, so besotted with her that he’d forgiven her many affairs, the way she’d smeared his name with mud. She’d favored human men, seducing them and welcoming them to her bed to spite the man who’d loved her more than anything.
Arthur would not be like her. He was not cruel and he was not entirely without heart; he’d made his brothers and sisters go through so much already. Arthur would not hurt them any further.
Even though he so wanted to know how it felt, to know what that human female did, the warmth of Alfred’s hand…
Smiling without mirth, Francis chuckled. “You are fool, little master,” he said to Arthur, sitting beside him, shoulders almost touching. “At least your face is lovely to look upon. You are quite fetching when you cry, I must say, so I guess this trip wasn’t entirely without purpose.”
Green eyes downcast, Arthur glanced at the faery at his side. Francis’ hand, unlike Alfred’s, would be so easy to hold. It was right there after all. Francis was here, right beside him, unlike Alfred, who was so far away and with the current object of his desires.
It was that girl, and not Arthur, who held Alfred’s heart at the moment.
And it hurt.
Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Arthur huffed. “I have told you countless of times to let be me. It is not I who asks you to come, frog.”
“Ah. But you see, I do not need your permission to come visit you, lovely.” Francis’ lips curved in amusement, a few blonde strands escaping the red ribbon holding his hair back. Francis was very beautiful among the People. Many did not understand why Arthur was not happy with his marriage, wedded to someone as striking as the prince. “I am entirely within my rights to be here. You are, after all, my partner in life. Till death do us part, as the humans would say.”
Wrapping his arms around his middle, Arthur looked at the happy human couple once more. He lowered his head, unable to look at them without his eyes feeling moist. Faeries did not cry, were not supposed to cry, for someone as low as a human. Not even when they were so stupidly and foolishly in love with them.
“I don’t know where you’ve been the past years, you blundering buffoon, but I have never considered myself yours,” Arthur said, his voice less biting than he’d intended it.
He felt rather than saw Francis slide closer to him. Their shoulders bumped. Francis’ fingers brushed Arthur’s. Arthur quickly snapped his hand back, curling it into a loose fit.
It was not Francis’ hand that Arthur wished to hold.
Arthur did not need to look up to know Francis was looking at him with disdain. Francis so rarely angered, but Arthur had a peculiar tact for pushing his buttons. “I have been here, watching you suffer and make a fool of yourself for this human. I no longer recognize you, Arthur. The old you would never be this-”
Your Sins Into Me [3/?]
anonymous
September 5 2010, 21:34:08 UTC
“-pathetic?” Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’ve told me this. Are you a parrot? Have you so little brains that you cannot say anything else?” He snorted, steeling his voice to make his words as hurtful as possible. His smile was cruel, lips curved in derision. “If you find me so pathetic and displeasing I suggest you go to my brothers. I am sure something can be done to break our union. Nothing has obviously come out of it.”
Arthur seriously expected Francis to punch him. He would have done the same if he’d been in Francis’ place. Instead, he blinked in confusion when Francis easily threaded their fingers together, giving his hand what could be taken as a reassuring squeeze.
The look on Francis’ face made Arthur look away from him, the intimacy of it making him feel uncomfortable. “Let go,” he ordered, though a lot less a forcibly then he would have liked. He felt strangely vulnerable, the open affection-the anger-on Francis’ face taking him by surprise.
Rather than do as Arthur said, Francis yanked him closer. Green eyes widening, Arthur toppled against Francis’ chest, wings fluttering anxiously behind him. He immediately tried to pull away. Before he could so much as punch the bastard on the face, Francis’ cupped Arthur’s face, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes.
“If you would only look away from your precious human for one second, my dearest Arthur,” Francis hissed at him, their faces dangerously close, the other’s hot breath fanning Arthur’s lips. Arthur looked down, cheeks uncomfortably warm. What- “Then perhaps you would not be so blind. It was not by luck that you and I were wedded. And unlike that little pet of yours, I have the ability to make you happy. Unlike him, I can give you what you deserve.”
Caressing Arthur’s cheek with his thumb, Francis leaned closer. Their lips touched, their breath mingling together. Francis tasted like the sweetness of home, like magic and like what Arthur had so willingly given up for the brightness of Alfred’s smile.
Pulling away, just enough for their lips to stutter and brush against each other’s, Francis looked at Arthur with lidded eyes. “If you would forget this human, I would do anything in my power to make you happy. If you would give me a chance, I could make you fall in love with me.”
Never before had Arthur been without insult to throw at him. Swallowing thickly, he snapped himself out of his stupor, eyes narrowing and shoulders braced. He ripped himself away from the other’s touch, Francis’ head snapping back from the force of Arthur’s blow.
“Leave.” Turning his back to him, Arthur ground his molars together. His shoulders were shaking, though with what, Arthur did not know. His nerves were a mess. “And never touch me again or I swear on the Moon I will break that face you’re so proud of, Francis.”
“You little fool.” There was blood trickling down Francis’ mouth. His eyes were blue slits of anger. Glancing at him over his shoulder, Arthur felt his body tense. “What can he do for you? He cannot even hold your hand! Tell me, do you plan to wither by his side like the roses you love so much, alone forever?”
It was the first time Arthur had ever seen Francis so angry, angry enough to forget his sweet chivalry and flirtatious attitude. Arthur could not handle Francis like this. He would rather Francis treat him like before, where he did not love him and would simply stay by Arthur’s side because the laws of the People demanded it, and not because Francis actually cared. Francis frightened him like this; Arthur did not know what to do with the love the other was offering him.
And Arthur had never been good at dealing with things that he did not understand.
Regarding the other with cold eyes, Arthur sneered. “And if I say yes? You can do nothing! Nothing; it is my choice to remain by his side.”
Rubbing his bruised jaw, Francis glared. “You cannot possibly love him so much.”
Your Sins Into Me [4/?]
anonymous
September 5 2010, 21:53:15 UTC
“Yes, I do!” Arthur huffed, hands clenched tightly. “He is the one I want. And I never asked to be tied to you. That was my brothers’ doing. I never loved you and I never will!”
Arthur might have considered Francis’ feelings, years and years prior. But not when he was so foolishly in love with his human. If he had never met Alfred, perhaps over time, he might have even learned to love Francis. He might have grown to love this pompous prince and be happy with him.
But no in this world, not when Alfred so clearly existed.
Francis’ hand was not the one Arthur wished to hold.
Smiling in disdain, hurt but unwilling to show it, Francis wiped the blood off his chin. “You might find his touch to be less gentle than you’d thought, my dearest Arthur,” he said coolly, hands balled into tight fists. Obviously, he’d not expected rejection; but Francis was too proud to show just how much Arthur’s words had hurt him. In end, Francis and Arthur were more alike then they thought. “He is human. You should know by now that humans cannot hold anything in their hands without destroying it.”
Arthur ignored him, refusing to believe his words. Yes, humans were cruel and clumsy with their hands, creating wars and never learning from their mistakes-but not Alfred, who possessed no green thumb but still tried to grow chili peppers every summer. He was poor at gardening, his hands too strong against the frailty of a flower. Arthur had taken pity on him and took up the task of caring for the man’s little garden, sprinkling it with magic every so often to make Alfred believe he could grow something when he put his mind to it.
Alfred’s hands were surely gentle, were surely careful with fragile things. Alfred was not a cruel man. He might be a little childish and quick to act without thinking, but he was kind. Arthur firmly believed that.
He should have known Francis’ words would come back to haunt him.
“Hmm.” Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, Alfred pursued his lips in frustration. “That’s strange. The wings are not made of bone or muscle, yet the sensory nerves…no, these are mixed nerves.”
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, his lashes fluttering helplessly against his cheeks, much like his wings…the appendages were restrained, held and picked and prodded by cruel, clumsy hands. He was a butterfly, pinned and helpless.
Clawing helplessly at the cold metal beneath him, Arthur tried to separate himself from the feeling of having his wings handled so carelessly. They were the most fragile part of him, so strong yet so weak, so sensitive to touch. They were the most intimate part of him, and yet Alfred…
“…response to pain is off the charts! The transmission impulses are amazing.” Excitement shined behind Alfred’s glasses, his lips curving into a keen smile. “It resembles a butterfly in many of its aspects, but the form is aesthetically human. Male, 10.5 inches in height. Wings are made of some type of gossamer fiber-no.” Alfred shook his head, frowning thoughtfully. “The texture is more of a silk paper, but…hmm. They do not look strong enough to lift the body, but why else would they be there?”
A pained gasp ripped itself from Arthur’s throat when something cold and sharp ran down his spine, his shoulders twitching at the sensation. The object moved further down, stopping at the low of his back. Goosebumps rose on Arthur’s skin. Though coated with a cold layer of sweat, the almost ethereal glow of the pale skin was unmistakable. This puzzled Alfred.
Your Sins Into Me [5/?]
anonymous
September 5 2010, 21:55:44 UTC
Yanking off his gloves, this time Alfred touched Arthur with his bare hands.
Arthur chocked when he was turned on his stomach. The hands prodded at his skin, leaving behind angry purple-green bruises, sores that would last for days. Arthur’s breath hitched when lean fingers ran up the length of his body, spiking higher and higher, dangerously close to the clasp that held his robe together…
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…eh. I am much too embarrassed to post the rest of this chapter. Cough. I’ve never written this kink before, hell, never even considered it, so please allow me some time to mentally prepare myself. I will post the rest later tonight, dear anons. Also, thanks so much for your comments; I’m wary about replying to them as I do not wish to take up valuable space. But please know that I appreciate every single one of them! :D
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Trailing after Alfred, Arthur followed him to work.
Sometimes he rode on Alfred’s shoulder, the warmth of his human’s body comforting. It was one of the few ways Arthur could feel close to him, staring wistfully at the man, his heart churning painfully in his chest. Alfred was warm, so very warm, and his smiles were beautiful and brilliant. Arthur loved to see Alfred smile.
But lately, Alfred had begun to feel his presence.
He could not see Arthur of course; Alfred did not believe in magic and the only way Alfred would be able to see Arthur was if Arthur showed himself to the scientist. Arthur was not so far gone that he would purposely show himself to an adult human, no matter how much he loved Alfred. Arthur would be punished severely if he did, even vanished from his homeland. There was only so much Francis could do for him; it was only because he was Francis’ partner that he was even allowed to visit his human so often.
Alfred could not see him-but he had begun to feel the little touches, the ghost-like kisses on his forehead and the shimmering trails of magic Arthur left behind. He would scratch his cheek where Arthur had last kissed him, furrow his brow in confusion when Arthur sat on his shoulder, chew his bottom lip in frustration when his precious machines picked up a small signal of energy in his tightly-locked house only to disappear seconds later.
It should have sent Arthur flying home, Alfred’s sudden, quickly growing awareness of the faery, but Arthur stayed. He stayed and watched Alfred work himself into the ground trying to solve this new, bizarre puzzle he could not find all the pieces to.
Arthur had not gone home in months now. Never before had he gone so long without assuring his brothers and sisters that he was still a part of their world, that he had not given himself entirely to his beloved human.
“Your wings are all droopy,” they would tell him, mouths curled in disgust. “His magic is bad for you. His magic hurts you. His magic is no good for you; he is hurting you.”
“I will not leave him,” Arthur would tell them in return, shoulders stubborn and voice strong. Defiant. “You will not make me choose between my home and my human; I can have both. You cannot stop me.”
The High Council did not understand and neither did his brothers and sisters-but Arthur could not bring himself to separate himself from Alfred. It would be far too painful.
“The love you give him he takes and takes in strife,” they would snap back, eyes red with anger, sharp teeth bared in ferocious snarls. “He uses your love to hurt you; he is no good for you. He is a mud man, a worm of the earth and his strange magic is making you ill. Do you wish to die for him? Your love for him is killing you!”
Sneering haughtily, Arthur would reply, “My love is mine to give to whomever I choose.”
Hissing, wings flapping angrily behind them, they would hurl out, their voices shrill and hurtful, “Then go ahead and give your heart to your mud man, but lay not with the worms of the earth! Your body is yours and yours alone, you cannot give your precious human that which is not his to take! If you lay with him, Arthur, the doors of our world will be closed to you forever; you will never be able to come back!”
Arthur knew the rules of the People well, he did not need to be reminded of the consequences of crossing that last, unforgivable line. He loved Alfred, but he also loved his home too much to give one up for the other; he wanted to keep both. Arthur wanted a balance between the two.
Arthur should have know better than to be so naïve.
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Francis had once told him that Alfred would sooner dissect him like he would a butterfly before returning his love.
And he was right.
It was raining when Arthur woke up from his sleep, expecting to open his eyes to his bed or roses and sweet-scented lilies, to the dewy grass and the rich, earthy smell of wet soil from Alfred’s garden.
He woke up in a cold metallic bed inside a glass cage.
“Aha. So you were asleep.”
Bright, much too bright lights. A white cold room and a sharp, stinging pain on the side of his neck. Arthur felt his blood freeze in his veins before his brain caught up with his horrible, horrible situation.
The smile on Alfred’s face was beautiful, as were his blue, blue eyes. It was a cold, calculative smile, the kind of smile Arthur remembered seeing on Alfred’s face whenever he took apart one of his newest machines.
The snap of rubber gloves was deafening-just like the sound of Arthur’s fast beating heart.
“Now, let’s try and figure out what you are, little guy.”
--
That’s it for the epilogue :D Thanks so much for your kind comments, anons~!
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Oh fuck, that warming about laying was so ominous. But Arthur was a faery right? And how were faeries supposed to...well fuck I think I'll find out later, y/y? I love you for putting child!Alfred into this; it's believable that Arthur first saw him as a child and then the child grew up. Though it's, I dunno, rather unnerving to see how Alfred changed through years, which I think Arthur would eventually find out, in a painful way...;_;
Go ahead dear writer!anon! I'll be camping here and ready to bawl.
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Tis' why I get for typing this up so late :D
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First off, OP would like to apologize profusely for missing the first update, I was away on a laptop-less trip orz;;;;
B-but I hope it isn't too late to shower authornon with total adoration and hugs? 'Cause I absolutely love with this fill with a passion of a thousand burning suns you don't even know. See, your writing has this way of flowing naturally that makes it utterly addictive and all kinds of lovely, and, and, and your characterization! ahskaehifrinjjk W-why made of so much win, authoranon? I love you to smithereens for including Alfred as a child before delving into the actual request. It's more heartbreaking that way. Arthur's devotion to the human child is so endearing and sweet, I can imagine him napping on a flower bed in grown-up Alfred's garden ;_;
And holy shit that last sentence right there, with the snap of rubber gloves. *shudders* As much as I knew where it was going, it nonetheless gave me chills. I eagerly await for more.
I-I can't possibly love you enough for your amazingness, in all seriousness. ;_; Here, have lots of incoherent rambling love, 'cause this made me too excited and happy to produce anything better than that at the moment.
Oh yeah, totally loving Arthur as a wee little faery. No need to worry about that at all, authornon. H-How did you even know microphilia was a guilt kink of mine?
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Seriously. this hits all my kinks. Hope to see the next part up soon~
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other than that, great job. <3 totally looking foward to more of this!
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Arthur knew Alfred better than he knew his own family.
He knew how Alfred liked his coffee (-black, with two spoons of sugar, sometimes three when he was feeling particularly tired-), and that he drank more carbonated drinks than was healthy. Arthur knew Alfred was a good cook but that he preferred to eat fatty takeout, specially those cheese burgers he was so fond of. After a summer in high school were he put on more pounds than he would have liked, Alfred began to work out almost every day. Despite this, the young man continued to lead a less than healthy diet; Arthur found that trait of Alfred endearing, and on others days, slightly irritating. Arthur didn’t like following Alfred to the gym. He would never admit it out loud, because he was just as stubborn and prideful as Alfred, if not more, but he didn’t like the looks Alfred got from the females who stared at him at the gym.
Arthur would not deny that he sometimes played mean tricks on the girls, from hiding their toilettes and tying their shoelaces together to cursing that barely-there-and-noticeable pimple to grow ten times bigger. Arthur was always in a bad mood when Alfred went to the gym. The only reason why he followed his human there was to keep the females from latching onto him with their talons. He could not blame the females for fawning over Alfred though, for he too had always found his human to be beautiful. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
It hurt him to see Alfred crush and fall in love with those girls. There had been times when Arthur had hurt so much that he’d been unable to fly, his wings sad and droopy, his magic so pitiful he could not even make the roses in Alfred’s garden bloom. Invisible and completely besotted with his human, Arthur watched over the years as Alfred continued to fall in and out of love with those girls.
“If it’s too painful for you, leave.”
Drawing his legs to his chest, Arthur gazed sadly at the near park bench, where his human and a pretty brunette sat side to side, shoulders touching, hands inches away from touching. Closing his eyes against the happy image the couple made, Arthur buried his head in his knees.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice muffled but just as stubborn as it’d been years ago, when his four brothers-his true nest brothers, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, sharers of his magic-threatened to drag him back home kicking and screaming if they had to.
Arthur’s brothers did not like Alfred; Arthur’s brothers were not fond of humans, they were cruel and spiteful and would have loved nothing more than to play with Alfred until the boy broke. To them, Alfred was Arthur’s weakness, an embarrassment to their family. They’d never been kind to Arthur in his childhood, had never been loving, had never taken the time to care for him like real brothers would-but in their eyes the only ones who were allowed to hurt their little brother was [them]. They had been the ones who’d so easily given Arthur away to that pompous prince, to wed him and to tie him to another, but to them Arthur was still [theirs]. Family came first, cold, cruel, and vicious as Arthur’s family was, and never a lover, a human least of all.
But Arthur’s love was his to give to whomever he wished, his heart to gift to whomever he deemed worthy of it. Alfred had his love and Alfred had his heart, and Arthur would not have it any other way. So he’d ignored his brothers, had cast them away, had cursed at them and hurt them like he’d never hurt them before. Arthur would kill them if they hurt his human. He made sure they knew that before they left, bristling with rage and the desire to break the one who’d stolen their little brother away from them.
“He will never love you,” they made sure Arthur knew before they left, cruel with their words and spiteful with their smiles. “He will never hold you and he will never be yours the way you have so foolishly gifted yourself to him. Love him all your want but know that he will never yearn for you the way you yearn for him.”
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Although there was a spell, a spell the People from his mother’s nest favored on full moon nights, a little spell so tricky in its bare simplicity. But it was not a welcomed spell amongst the People of his father, the ones whom Arthur had pledged himself loyal to so long ago. His mother had been a vicious vixen, wedded to Arthur’s father against her will. She’d been wild, tricky and cruel to Arthur’s father. His father had been a fool, so besotted with her that he’d forgiven her many affairs, the way she’d smeared his name with mud. She’d favored human men, seducing them and welcoming them to her bed to spite the man who’d loved her more than anything.
Arthur would not be like her. He was not cruel and he was not entirely without heart; he’d made his brothers and sisters go through so much already. Arthur would not hurt them any further.
Even though he so wanted to know how it felt, to know what that human female did, the warmth of Alfred’s hand…
Smiling without mirth, Francis chuckled. “You are fool, little master,” he said to Arthur, sitting beside him, shoulders almost touching. “At least your face is lovely to look upon. You are quite fetching when you cry, I must say, so I guess this trip wasn’t entirely without purpose.”
Green eyes downcast, Arthur glanced at the faery at his side. Francis’ hand, unlike Alfred’s, would be so easy to hold. It was right there after all. Francis was here, right beside him, unlike Alfred, who was so far away and with the current object of his desires.
It was that girl, and not Arthur, who held Alfred’s heart at the moment.
And it hurt.
Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Arthur huffed. “I have told you countless of times to let be me. It is not I who asks you to come, frog.”
“Ah. But you see, I do not need your permission to come visit you, lovely.” Francis’ lips curved in amusement, a few blonde strands escaping the red ribbon holding his hair back. Francis was very beautiful among the People. Many did not understand why Arthur was not happy with his marriage, wedded to someone as striking as the prince. “I am entirely within my rights to be here. You are, after all, my partner in life. Till death do us part, as the humans would say.”
Wrapping his arms around his middle, Arthur looked at the happy human couple once more. He lowered his head, unable to look at them without his eyes feeling moist. Faeries did not cry, were not supposed to cry, for someone as low as a human. Not even when they were so stupidly and foolishly in love with them.
“I don’t know where you’ve been the past years, you blundering buffoon, but I have never considered myself yours,” Arthur said, his voice less biting than he’d intended it.
He felt rather than saw Francis slide closer to him. Their shoulders bumped. Francis’ fingers brushed Arthur’s. Arthur quickly snapped his hand back, curling it into a loose fit.
It was not Francis’ hand that Arthur wished to hold.
Arthur did not need to look up to know Francis was looking at him with disdain. Francis so rarely angered, but Arthur had a peculiar tact for pushing his buttons. “I have been here, watching you suffer and make a fool of yourself for this human. I no longer recognize you, Arthur. The old you would never be this-”
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Arthur seriously expected Francis to punch him. He would have done the same if he’d been in Francis’ place. Instead, he blinked in confusion when Francis easily threaded their fingers together, giving his hand what could be taken as a reassuring squeeze.
The look on Francis’ face made Arthur look away from him, the intimacy of it making him feel uncomfortable. “Let go,” he ordered, though a lot less a forcibly then he would have liked. He felt strangely vulnerable, the open affection-the anger-on Francis’ face taking him by surprise.
Rather than do as Arthur said, Francis yanked him closer. Green eyes widening, Arthur toppled against Francis’ chest, wings fluttering anxiously behind him. He immediately tried to pull away. Before he could so much as punch the bastard on the face, Francis’ cupped Arthur’s face, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes.
“If you would only look away from your precious human for one second, my dearest Arthur,” Francis hissed at him, their faces dangerously close, the other’s hot breath fanning Arthur’s lips. Arthur looked down, cheeks uncomfortably warm. What- “Then perhaps you would not be so blind. It was not by luck that you and I were wedded. And unlike that little pet of yours, I have the ability to make you happy. Unlike him, I can give you what you deserve.”
Caressing Arthur’s cheek with his thumb, Francis leaned closer. Their lips touched, their breath mingling together. Francis tasted like the sweetness of home, like magic and like what Arthur had so willingly given up for the brightness of Alfred’s smile.
Pulling away, just enough for their lips to stutter and brush against each other’s, Francis looked at Arthur with lidded eyes. “If you would forget this human, I would do anything in my power to make you happy. If you would give me a chance, I could make you fall in love with me.”
Never before had Arthur been without insult to throw at him. Swallowing thickly, he snapped himself out of his stupor, eyes narrowing and shoulders braced. He ripped himself away from the other’s touch, Francis’ head snapping back from the force of Arthur’s blow.
“Leave.” Turning his back to him, Arthur ground his molars together. His shoulders were shaking, though with what, Arthur did not know. His nerves were a mess. “And never touch me again or I swear on the Moon I will break that face you’re so proud of, Francis.”
“You little fool.” There was blood trickling down Francis’ mouth. His eyes were blue slits of anger. Glancing at him over his shoulder, Arthur felt his body tense. “What can he do for you? He cannot even hold your hand! Tell me, do you plan to wither by his side like the roses you love so much, alone forever?”
It was the first time Arthur had ever seen Francis so angry, angry enough to forget his sweet chivalry and flirtatious attitude. Arthur could not handle Francis like this. He would rather Francis treat him like before, where he did not love him and would simply stay by Arthur’s side because the laws of the People demanded it, and not because Francis actually cared. Francis frightened him like this; Arthur did not know what to do with the love the other was offering him.
And Arthur had never been good at dealing with things that he did not understand.
Regarding the other with cold eyes, Arthur sneered. “And if I say yes? You can do nothing! Nothing; it is my choice to remain by his side.”
Rubbing his bruised jaw, Francis glared. “You cannot possibly love him so much.”
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Arthur might have considered Francis’ feelings, years and years prior. But not when he was so foolishly in love with his human. If he had never met Alfred, perhaps over time, he might have even learned to love Francis. He might have grown to love this pompous prince and be happy with him.
But no in this world, not when Alfred so clearly existed.
Francis’ hand was not the one Arthur wished to hold.
Smiling in disdain, hurt but unwilling to show it, Francis wiped the blood off his chin. “You might find his touch to be less gentle than you’d thought, my dearest Arthur,” he said coolly, hands balled into tight fists. Obviously, he’d not expected rejection; but Francis was too proud to show just how much Arthur’s words had hurt him. In end, Francis and Arthur were more alike then they thought. “He is human. You should know by now that humans cannot hold anything in their hands without destroying it.”
Arthur ignored him, refusing to believe his words. Yes, humans were cruel and clumsy with their hands, creating wars and never learning from their mistakes-but not Alfred, who possessed no green thumb but still tried to grow chili peppers every summer. He was poor at gardening, his hands too strong against the frailty of a flower. Arthur had taken pity on him and took up the task of caring for the man’s little garden, sprinkling it with magic every so often to make Alfred believe he could grow something when he put his mind to it.
Alfred’s hands were surely gentle, were surely careful with fragile things. Alfred was not a cruel man. He might be a little childish and quick to act without thinking, but he was kind. Arthur firmly believed that.
He should have known Francis’ words would come back to haunt him.
“Hmm.” Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, Alfred pursued his lips in frustration. “That’s strange. The wings are not made of bone or muscle, yet the sensory nerves…no, these are mixed nerves.”
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, his lashes fluttering helplessly against his cheeks, much like his wings…the appendages were restrained, held and picked and prodded by cruel, clumsy hands. He was a butterfly, pinned and helpless.
Clawing helplessly at the cold metal beneath him, Arthur tried to separate himself from the feeling of having his wings handled so carelessly. They were the most fragile part of him, so strong yet so weak, so sensitive to touch. They were the most intimate part of him, and yet Alfred…
“…response to pain is off the charts! The transmission impulses are amazing.” Excitement shined behind Alfred’s glasses, his lips curving into a keen smile. “It resembles a butterfly in many of its aspects, but the form is aesthetically human. Male, 10.5 inches in height. Wings are made of some type of gossamer fiber-no.” Alfred shook his head, frowning thoughtfully. “The texture is more of a silk paper, but…hmm. They do not look strong enough to lift the body, but why else would they be there?”
A pained gasp ripped itself from Arthur’s throat when something cold and sharp ran down his spine, his shoulders twitching at the sensation. The object moved further down, stopping at the low of his back. Goosebumps rose on Arthur’s skin. Though coated with a cold layer of sweat, the almost ethereal glow of the pale skin was unmistakable. This puzzled Alfred.
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Arthur chocked when he was turned on his stomach. The hands prodded at his skin, leaving behind angry purple-green bruises, sores that would last for days. Arthur’s breath hitched when lean fingers ran up the length of his body, spiking higher and higher, dangerously close to the clasp that held his robe together…
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…eh. I am much too embarrassed to post the rest of this chapter. Cough. I’ve never written this kink before, hell, never even considered it, so please allow me some time to mentally prepare myself. I will post the rest later tonight, dear anons. Also, thanks so much for your comments; I’m wary about replying to them as I do not wish to take up valuable space. But please know that I appreciate every single one of them! :D
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