The Hot Babysitter [1/??]
anonymous
August 20 2011, 05:19:04 UTC
It’s one in the morning that sets it off.
Arthur walks in quietly, sneaking around in his own house to try and not wake up his brother or the babysitter (yet). This hasn’t happened in a while, but he’s been hiring Alfred long enough that he knows that if it’s after midnight on a school night, he’ll probably be asleep on the sofa. Arthur doesn’t mind, since Peter adores him and would never draw on his face or dip his fingers in hot water while he’s asleep, but he likes to be courteous.
He tiptoes to the living room, peers in, and sure enough, Alfred is sprawled on his back, mouth slightly open and blanket twisted around his legs. Arthur smiles fondly at the boy, who he forever remembers as the chubby ten year old who kicked a football though their parlor window seven years ago, then walks past the living room to the kitchen, where he dumps the post and his coat at the table and checks to make sure they didn’t make something in the oven explode today. Everything seems to be in order (as much as it can be when it’s just him and his younger brother living in a house), so he heads back to the living room to wake Alfred up so he can go home and sleep in his own bed.
He enters the living room as quietly as he can, and it’s been a very, very long time since he saw Alfred doing anything but moving, so he takes the chance to re-familiarise himself with him. His hair is half covering his face, half flopped back, and his polo shirt’s buttons are undone, exposing a V of chest with a tan that matches his forearms under the light blond hair that wasn’t there last time Arthur saw him shirtless-
And Arthur can’t breathe around the sudden wave of heat flowing through his body.
He stares at his babysitter, his babysitter, the neighbor boy who charmed his demon child brother even before their parents died several years ago and helps Arthur keep track of him while he’s at work or school or both, and wonders if this is what his life has really come to. Sure, his job sucks, night school sucks, and having to raise his little brother on his own sucks, but he never imagined he’d sink so low as to resort to fantasising about the kid who plays baseball in his front yard and makes macaroni in his microwave and-
He shakes himself out of it, snap out of it, runs a hand through his hair, then kneels down next to Alfred to shake him awake.
“Alfred, wake up, you can go home now,” he says softly, watching Alfred blink awake. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and oh, Alfred’s eyes are very blue.
Arthur stands and finds them on the end table by Alfred’s head, hands them to him. “I trust Peter was good for you?”
“Hmm?” Alfred yawns and sits up, stretching and the blanket slides down and his shirt slides up to show skin. Arthur had never been aware of the intricacies of his movements before. “Oh yeah, o’course, man, no prob.” He stands and rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to wake himself up for the walk across two lawns back to his house. “What took you so long today?”
Arthur sighs heavily. “There was a big pile-up on the highway right around rush hour, and almost all of the ER had to stay late to cover everything, even after the night shift got there, and on top of the normal sort of thing - it was just a mess.” Alfred smiles at him in understanding, and his heart pounds. “Terribly sorry I didn’t get a chance to ring and warn you.”
Alfred shrugs. “Nah, it’s cool, do what you have to do and all that.” He finds his jacket draped over an armchair and slings it on, then stuffs his feet into his trainers. “Need me tomorrow?”
“Probably, but I should be home by seven, hopefully.” He walks him to the door, holds it open for him. “Go get some sleep, boy.”
Alfred laughs as he waves and walks down the front steps. “M’not really a boy anymore, Arthur, but you do the same.” He smiles one last time over his shoulder, then pads off into the dark of suburban midnight.
Arthur closes the door carefully, then leans his forehead against the wood.
Oh, Arthur didn’t need to be told that to see it now. When he wasn’t looking, his chubby little babysitter had become something like a man.
----
{Above anon here with the promised fill! This won't be *too* long, but I don't really know how long it will last, either. I'm just going with it.}
The Hot Babysitter [2/??]
anonymous
August 23 2011, 07:28:24 UTC
The next day, Arthur walks in on Al and Peter sitting down to tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Al grins at him when he walks into the kitchen and pours him a bowl. It’s canned, of course, but he’d heated it on the stove and made the sandwiches in a frying pan.
“Thought you’d be getting home soon, so I went ahead and made you some,” Al explains as he put two sandwiches on a plate and sets it by the bowl. Arthur smiles and goes to get a beer from the fridge while AL and Peter go back to their conversation - something about the university Alfred’s going to in a few months, because he’s almost done with sixth form and he’s legal now fuck-
Arthur twists off the cap with his palm and drains a third of it in one go, leaning on the island facing away from them and pulling himself together. Although people had accused him of it, he’d never thought of himself as perverse until now, when the bright-eyed boy he’d watched grow up was suddenly making his blood rush just by being alive and present.
He pushes off the island and joins them at the table, listening and watching as Al goes on about his future major, smile eternal and Peter in enraptured, completely in love, and Al makes a comment for older ears and winks at Arthur in shared humor. Arthur smiles weakly and dips his sandwich in his soup.
After dinner is over and Al leaves, Arthur shoos his brother to his homework and takes a very, very long shower.
The Hot Babysitter [3/??]
anonymous
August 23 2011, 07:30:19 UTC
Arthur tries not to make Alfred work on Fridays, but half the time he ends up coming over anyway.
This week, Arthur gives him his weekly eighty quid and a glass of orange juice while they sit on the front steps and referee the neighborhood kid’s football game in his front yard. Arthur is very, very careful not to touch him. Al sighs and sits back on his hands when he finishes his juice, setting the glass to the side and promptly forgetting about it.
“Don’t you have any friends?” Arthur asks abruptly, and Al cocks his head at him. “I mean, why do you want to spend your Friday afternoon with children and me instead of people your own age?”
Al laughs. “Don’t sell yourself short like that, you’re not that much older than me-” Ohgod- “And, well, I do, but a lot of my good friends already graduated, and…” He bites his lip, uneasy. “It’s been harder to make new ones since I came out.”
Arthur blinks and in the back of his mind, he recognises that this performance could net him an Oscar if it was on film. “Well that’s a load of bullshit.”
Al laughs again, and Arthur hears the relief. “I know, right? People are dumb.” He sits forward and leans on his knees, watching the game idly. “But it’s nice to be around people who don’t care about that.”
Arthur swallows. “Well, don’t get too down about it now. It gets better.” Alfred sends him a sharp look, and Arthur smiles and gives a little nod. Al beams.
“Y’know, I’d wondered about that for a while.” Arthur huffs, and he doesn’t really know what feeling to express. Al continues on anyway. “I mean, you’re not, like, sassy gay friend gay, but there are just… things about you sometimes.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? Things?”
Alfred laughs a little sheepishly. “Well, first off, you tend to cross your legs when you sit down,” he begins, gesturing to Arthur’s legs. He flushes and uncrosses them, which makes Alfred giggle. “Plus, you drink solely out of china and Waterford - I mean, seriously, there’s, like, one plastic cup in your cupboard, and that’s Peter’s.”
“I see no correlation between my cup preferences and my sexuality-”
“Dude, when you’re not married and you have teacups, you’re pretty gay.” Al runs his fingers through his fringe and looks to the side. “And, well, it’s not like you wear pink pinstripes and V-necks all the time, but... you just don’t dress really straight. I mean, you own pink scrubs.”
Arthur can feel himself fluffing up like a startled bird and makes an effort to calm himself down, pet down his feathers. “Hmph. Well, I’ve noticed things about you as well,” he says with as aloof a sniff he can manage. Al glances at him with mirth in every feature.
“Oh really? Like what?”
Arthur scrambles for a story. “There was that time you left Twilight on my coffee table. I had to clean it twelve times before I could get the smell out.” Al sucks in a breath and turns red and slaps Arthur’s arm hard enough not to intentionally hurt.
“Don’t talk about that, that was a- a wrong step in my life!” Arthur chuckles, and Al’s scowl melts into a smile.
“You’re forgiven. At least I didn’t have to burn it.” Arthur snaps as it comes to him. “Oh, and there was that photo your lovely mum showed to me once where you were playing with her ma-”
Al slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. “Arthur, think of the children!” he stage-whispers, flicking his eyes over at the football game, which has flown along unhindered by their conversation.
Arthur pries the hand back away from his mouth with a gasp and a gag to cover up his pulse pounding. “Imbecile. Anyway, there’s some of the signs.” Alfred chuckles so his nose wrinkles. “Doesn’t sound like you had that much to go on.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows at him and comes up with the first thing off the top of his head. “Well, I also distinctly remember you trying to sell handmade charm bracelets at those first lemonade stands you so desperately tried to introduce to us poor Brits-”
The Hot Babysitter [3b/??]
anonymous
August 23 2011, 07:31:18 UTC
“-I did not do that here! That was-” Arthur jerks his head in mild shock and intense humor to see Al with his mouth clamped shut and his eyes wide. “You did not need to hear that,” he whispers.
“Oh, but I did.” He reaches over and pats his knee. “Your secret’s safe with me, love.”
Alfred’s eyes flicker down to the hand, back up, and he jerks it away and stands up. “I’m- I’m going to get something more to drink.” He takes Al’s orange juice glass with him, and wrinkles his nose in distaste to find it’s another one of his mother’s Waterfords.
Re: The Hot Babysitter [3b/??]
anonymous
August 23 2011, 22:32:05 UTC
this conversation was really entertaining and also so in character. Arthur would own teacups and pink scrubs and of course Alfred likes Twilight. can't wait for more!
The Hot Babysitter [4/??]
anonymous
August 25 2011, 22:51:11 UTC
For Alfred, it’s different. It’s gradual and starts early, with hormones, acne, wet dreams about faceless women and awkward classmate cameos.
One day he goes over to the Kirklands’ a little early, nothing special, and walks in without knocking (also nothing special, he hasn’t knocked in years). “Hey, I’m here!” he calls into the house, leaning off the banister with one hand and looking up the stairs to see if anyone’s upstairs.
“Come on up, Alfred!” Arthur’s voice calls from far away. Al takes the stairs two at a time and goes to the master bedroom, heading towards the noise of a person coming from the attached bathroom.
Arthur is in a towel and unbuttoned shirt, toothbrush in his mouth and combing his hair. Alfred stops in the doorway. “Sorry about this, but I’m in a hurry,” Arthur apologizes when he takes the toothbrush out and spits in the sink. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat them up, and some frozen dinners in the freezer if you don’t. Peter’s downstairs in the game room, at least last time I checked.” He buttons up his shirt and pushes past Al in the doorway to dig in his dresser for underwear, too rushed to notice that he’s practically naked in front of his babysitter, even if that babysitter is his same gender. “I’ve got an exam in my chemistry class today, but I should be home by eight, nine at the latest.” Al averts his eyes when he lets the towel fall so he can hop into boxers, then jeans.
“Sounds good. Does Peter have homework I should make him do?”
“How should I know? Ask the demon child himself.” Arthur hops around again as he puts on his socks, and Al decides to help and brings over the trainers that Arthur always wears. “Thanks, lad.” Arthur smiles at him, and his heart does a funny flip in his chest.
“Well, good luck on your test!” Al says brightly, turning and running from the room to go hide in Peter’s video games with him.
“Alfred?” Arthur calls when he’s at the bottom of the stairs. Al turns to look up at him where he’s standing at the top of them.
“Yeah?” Arthur smiles.
“Thanks for doing this. I don’t say that enough.”
Al shrugs and grins. “Hey, you pay me for it.” Arthur laughs, and Al’s heart flips and soars like a roller coaster.
The Hot Babysitter [5/??]
anonymous
August 25 2011, 22:52:16 UTC
And sometimes, Arthur brings home a friend.
Over time, Alfred meets them all. There’s Kiku, the resident intern with the great taste in games, who comes with Arthur for dinner and cooks for him instead. Sometimes it’s both Kiku & Heracles, who Al never quite got the full story about but they break out the wine then and talk about literature and mythology, and it puts Peter right to sleep.
And sometimes it’s Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, or a combination of the three, Arthur college buddies, and then the beer and Scotch comes out and Al and Peter hide downstairs until they’re drunk enough that they can go back up and make fun of them.
All of Arthur’s friend are aware of him and the role he plays for the Kirklands, or what’s left of them, and tend to take him under their wing a little, giving bad advice and telling bad stories, but they make him laugh and he likes them all to a point.
That’s the point when Arthur asks if he can let Peter spend the night in Al’s house, because really, small children don’t need to be awake this time of night, and you should have already gone home, right, boy?
When he’s old enough, Al starts catching the hands sliding down arms, the falling into each other on purpose, and he starts to understand something about Arthur as he slings a dozing Peter over his shoulder and goes home.
Arthur walks in quietly, sneaking around in his own house to try and not wake up his brother or the babysitter (yet). This hasn’t happened in a while, but he’s been hiring Alfred long enough that he knows that if it’s after midnight on a school night, he’ll probably be asleep on the sofa. Arthur doesn’t mind, since Peter adores him and would never draw on his face or dip his fingers in hot water while he’s asleep, but he likes to be courteous.
He tiptoes to the living room, peers in, and sure enough, Alfred is sprawled on his back, mouth slightly open and blanket twisted around his legs. Arthur smiles fondly at the boy, who he forever remembers as the chubby ten year old who kicked a football though their parlor window seven years ago, then walks past the living room to the kitchen, where he dumps the post and his coat at the table and checks to make sure they didn’t make something in the oven explode today. Everything seems to be in order (as much as it can be when it’s just him and his younger brother living in a house), so he heads back to the living room to wake Alfred up so he can go home and sleep in his own bed.
He enters the living room as quietly as he can, and it’s been a very, very long time since he saw Alfred doing anything but moving, so he takes the chance to re-familiarise himself with him. His hair is half covering his face, half flopped back, and his polo shirt’s buttons are undone, exposing a V of chest with a tan that matches his forearms under the light blond hair that wasn’t there last time Arthur saw him shirtless-
And Arthur can’t breathe around the sudden wave of heat flowing through his body.
He stares at his babysitter, his babysitter, the neighbor boy who charmed his demon child brother even before their parents died several years ago and helps Arthur keep track of him while he’s at work or school or both, and wonders if this is what his life has really come to. Sure, his job sucks, night school sucks, and having to raise his little brother on his own sucks, but he never imagined he’d sink so low as to resort to fantasising about the kid who plays baseball in his front yard and makes macaroni in his microwave and-
He shakes himself out of it, snap out of it, runs a hand through his hair, then kneels down next to Alfred to shake him awake.
“Alfred, wake up, you can go home now,” he says softly, watching Alfred blink awake. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and oh, Alfred’s eyes are very blue.
Arthur stands and finds them on the end table by Alfred’s head, hands them to him. “I trust Peter was good for you?”
“Hmm?” Alfred yawns and sits up, stretching and the blanket slides down and his shirt slides up to show skin. Arthur had never been aware of the intricacies of his movements before. “Oh yeah, o’course, man, no prob.” He stands and rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to wake himself up for the walk across two lawns back to his house. “What took you so long today?”
Arthur sighs heavily. “There was a big pile-up on the highway right around rush hour, and almost all of the ER had to stay late to cover everything, even after the night shift got there, and on top of the normal sort of thing - it was just a mess.” Alfred smiles at him in understanding, and his heart pounds. “Terribly sorry I didn’t get a chance to ring and warn you.”
Alfred shrugs. “Nah, it’s cool, do what you have to do and all that.” He finds his jacket draped over an armchair and slings it on, then stuffs his feet into his trainers. “Need me tomorrow?”
“Probably, but I should be home by seven, hopefully.” He walks him to the door, holds it open for him. “Go get some sleep, boy.”
Alfred laughs as he waves and walks down the front steps. “M’not really a boy anymore, Arthur, but you do the same.” He smiles one last time over his shoulder, then pads off into the dark of suburban midnight.
Arthur closes the door carefully, then leans his forehead against the wood.
Oh, Arthur didn’t need to be told that to see it now. When he wasn’t looking, his chubby little babysitter had become something like a man.
----
{Above anon here with the promised fill! This won't be *too* long, but I don't really know how long it will last, either. I'm just going with it.}
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Well.
I say your life just got a bit more 'interesting'. :p
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Oh yes, Arthur, you go fancy the guy.
Making macaroni in the microwave is a turn on for Arthur.
Anyway, a fun start.
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“Thought you’d be getting home soon, so I went ahead and made you some,” Al explains as he put two sandwiches on a plate and sets it by the bowl. Arthur smiles and goes to get a beer from the fridge while AL and Peter go back to their conversation - something about the university Alfred’s going to in a few months, because he’s almost done with sixth form and he’s legal now fuck-
Arthur twists off the cap with his palm and drains a third of it in one go, leaning on the island facing away from them and pulling himself together. Although people had accused him of it, he’d never thought of himself as perverse until now, when the bright-eyed boy he’d watched grow up was suddenly making his blood rush just by being alive and present.
He pushes off the island and joins them at the table, listening and watching as Al goes on about his future major, smile eternal and Peter in enraptured, completely in love, and Al makes a comment for older ears and winks at Arthur in shared humor. Arthur smiles weakly and dips his sandwich in his soup.
After dinner is over and Al leaves, Arthur shoos his brother to his homework and takes a very, very long shower.
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This week, Arthur gives him his weekly eighty quid and a glass of orange juice while they sit on the front steps and referee the neighborhood kid’s football game in his front yard. Arthur is very, very careful not to touch him. Al sighs and sits back on his hands when he finishes his juice, setting the glass to the side and promptly forgetting about it.
“Don’t you have any friends?” Arthur asks abruptly, and Al cocks his head at him. “I mean, why do you want to spend your Friday afternoon with children and me instead of people your own age?”
Al laughs. “Don’t sell yourself short like that, you’re not that much older than me-” Ohgod- “And, well, I do, but a lot of my good friends already graduated, and…” He bites his lip, uneasy. “It’s been harder to make new ones since I came out.”
Arthur blinks and in the back of his mind, he recognises that this performance could net him an Oscar if it was on film. “Well that’s a load of bullshit.”
Al laughs again, and Arthur hears the relief. “I know, right? People are dumb.” He sits forward and leans on his knees, watching the game idly. “But it’s nice to be around people who don’t care about that.”
Arthur swallows. “Well, don’t get too down about it now. It gets better.” Alfred sends him a sharp look, and Arthur smiles and gives a little nod. Al beams.
“Y’know, I’d wondered about that for a while.” Arthur huffs, and he doesn’t really know what feeling to express. Al continues on anyway. “I mean, you’re not, like, sassy gay friend gay, but there are just… things about you sometimes.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? Things?”
Alfred laughs a little sheepishly. “Well, first off, you tend to cross your legs when you sit down,” he begins, gesturing to Arthur’s legs. He flushes and uncrosses them, which makes Alfred giggle. “Plus, you drink solely out of china and Waterford - I mean, seriously, there’s, like, one plastic cup in your cupboard, and that’s Peter’s.”
“I see no correlation between my cup preferences and my sexuality-”
“Dude, when you’re not married and you have teacups, you’re pretty gay.” Al runs his fingers through his fringe and looks to the side. “And, well, it’s not like you wear pink pinstripes and V-necks all the time, but... you just don’t dress really straight. I mean, you own pink scrubs.”
Arthur can feel himself fluffing up like a startled bird and makes an effort to calm himself down, pet down his feathers. “Hmph. Well, I’ve noticed things about you as well,” he says with as aloof a sniff he can manage. Al glances at him with mirth in every feature.
“Oh really? Like what?”
Arthur scrambles for a story. “There was that time you left Twilight on my coffee table. I had to clean it twelve times before I could get the smell out.” Al sucks in a breath and turns red and slaps Arthur’s arm hard enough not to intentionally hurt.
“Don’t talk about that, that was a- a wrong step in my life!” Arthur chuckles, and Al’s scowl melts into a smile.
“You’re forgiven. At least I didn’t have to burn it.” Arthur snaps as it comes to him. “Oh, and there was that photo your lovely mum showed to me once where you were playing with her ma-”
Al slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. “Arthur, think of the children!” he stage-whispers, flicking his eyes over at the football game, which has flown along unhindered by their conversation.
Arthur pries the hand back away from his mouth with a gasp and a gag to cover up his pulse pounding. “Imbecile. Anyway, there’s some of the signs.”
Alfred chuckles so his nose wrinkles. “Doesn’t sound like you had that much to go on.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows at him and comes up with the first thing off the top of his head. “Well, I also distinctly remember you trying to sell handmade charm bracelets at those first lemonade stands you so desperately tried to introduce to us poor Brits-”
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“Oh, but I did.” He reaches over and pats his knee. “Your secret’s safe with me, love.”
Alfred’s eyes flicker down to the hand, back up, and he jerks it away and stands up. “I’m- I’m going to get something more to drink.” He takes Al’s orange juice glass with him, and wrinkles his nose in distaste to find it’s another one of his mother’s Waterfords.
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and i'd love to see Alfred's POV because I think that Arthur is not the only one who has some unexpected feelings ;)
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pffft, this line is precious. Arthur you secret perv, you ♥
(you know, in my country the age of consent is 15, so Arthur wouldn't have to worry about that ;)
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One day he goes over to the Kirklands’ a little early, nothing special, and walks in without knocking (also nothing special, he hasn’t knocked in years). “Hey, I’m here!” he calls into the house, leaning off the banister with one hand and looking up the stairs to see if anyone’s upstairs.
“Come on up, Alfred!” Arthur’s voice calls from far away. Al takes the stairs two at a time and goes to the master bedroom, heading towards the noise of a person coming from the attached bathroom.
Arthur is in a towel and unbuttoned shirt, toothbrush in his mouth and combing his hair. Alfred stops in the doorway. “Sorry about this, but I’m in a hurry,” Arthur apologizes when he takes the toothbrush out and spits in the sink. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat them up, and some frozen dinners in the freezer if you don’t. Peter’s downstairs in the game room, at least last time I checked.” He buttons up his shirt and pushes past Al in the doorway to dig in his dresser for underwear, too rushed to notice that he’s practically naked in front of his babysitter, even if that babysitter is his same gender. “I’ve got an exam in my chemistry class today, but I should be home by eight, nine at the latest.” Al averts his eyes when he lets the towel fall so he can hop into boxers, then jeans.
“Sounds good. Does Peter have homework I should make him do?”
“How should I know? Ask the demon child himself.” Arthur hops around again as he puts on his socks, and Al decides to help and brings over the trainers that Arthur always wears. “Thanks, lad.” Arthur smiles at him, and his heart does a funny flip in his chest.
“Well, good luck on your test!” Al says brightly, turning and running from the room to go hide in Peter’s video games with him.
“Alfred?” Arthur calls when he’s at the bottom of the stairs. Al turns to look up at him where he’s standing at the top of them.
“Yeah?” Arthur smiles.
“Thanks for doing this. I don’t say that enough.”
Al shrugs and grins. “Hey, you pay me for it.” Arthur laughs, and Al’s heart flips and soars like a roller coaster.
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Over time, Alfred meets them all. There’s Kiku, the resident intern with the great taste in games, who comes with Arthur for dinner and cooks for him instead. Sometimes it’s both Kiku & Heracles, who Al never quite got the full story about but they break out the wine then and talk about literature and mythology, and it puts Peter right to sleep.
And sometimes it’s Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, or a combination of the three, Arthur college buddies, and then the beer and Scotch comes out and Al and Peter hide downstairs until they’re drunk enough that they can go back up and make fun of them.
All of Arthur’s friend are aware of him and the role he plays for the Kirklands, or what’s left of them, and tend to take him under their wing a little, giving bad advice and telling bad stories, but they make him laugh and he likes them all to a point.
That’s the point when Arthur asks if he can let Peter spend the night in Al’s house, because really, small children don’t need to be awake this time of night, and you should have already gone home, right, boy?
When he’s old enough, Al starts catching the hands sliding down arms, the falling into each other on purpose, and he starts to understand something about Arthur as he slings a dozing Peter over his shoulder and goes home.
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