[Fanfic] The Appliance of Charm [12-16/21]
- XII -
Although the outlook on convincing Arthur to buy a coffee machine was still rather bleak, the brand new and greatly treasured knowledge that Arthur blushed any time Alfred's tongue left his mouth or anytime Alfred bent over to pick something up or - well. Yes. Anyway, it kept Alfred's enthusiasm and optimism intact throughout the next few days. And somewhere between the shampoo and conditioner portions of his morning shower on Thursday morning, Alfred had an epiphany. And yes, Alfred had been so elated at his discovery that he'd accidentally let shampoo drip into his eye and that hadn't been very pleasant, but the idea - the idea! - was one of his best ever. No really.
So.
The last two times he'd tried to convince Arthur to get a coffee machine, he'd waited until Arthur had been in a good mood, based on the theory that a happy Arthur might be more willing to grant Alfred this small favor. But he had failed, quite spectacularly, both times. He was almost 100 percent certain logic dictated that therein lie his problem.
Perhaps if he questioned Arthur on a bad day, when he was stressed, hung over or otherwise displeased, he might just let Alfred have his way to get him out of his hair.
So Alfred waited until Arthur came in with a particularly bad case of bedhead, circles under his bright green eyes and the look of someone who'd spent a good deal of their morning kneeling next to the toilet. Arthur was wearing the same tie he'd worn two days ago, a pair of pants that definitely needed ironing and mismatching socks. This generally meant that Arthur's morning had been a rough one. Alfred watched as his boss took nearly half a bottle of aspirin, threw the cup into the sink of their little lunch room and stalked into his office, completely ignoring him.
Alfred straightened his pencils and tapped out the melody to I'm a Little Teapot with his fingers as he watched the clock, wondering if Arthur's arrival to work severely hung over had anything to do with the fact that Alfred had managed to find a legitimate excuse to take his shirt off in the office the previous day. It might just be coincidence, but who knew with that man? When five minutes had passed, he stood and made his way into the lunch room, made Arthur's tea and took a deep breath.
“So I've been thinking,” he told Arthur as he set his boss's tea down on his desk.
“Oh god, not this again,” Arthur mumbled, hand going to his forehead as if he could calm his likely pounding headache through mere touch. Alfred kind of wanted to do the same, smooth back the frown with his fingertips, brush those errant strands of hair into a more presentable coif, anything that involved touching - but those thoughts were thoroughly unhelpful and besides, Arthur interrupted him anyway.
“If you say one more thing about your bloody-”
“Just give me a chance?” Alfred asked, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind and making his tone as appealing as he could manage. “I promise you won't regret it.”
“I already do,” Arthur grumbled, letting his head fall so that it smacked into the desk. Alfred moved his teacup out of the way slightly as Arthur slowly straightened back up. “Fuck.”
“Sir,” Alfred insisted.
Arthur looked up at him blearily, blinking as he scowled through a rather intense blush. Alfred's mind almost derailed at the thought of feeling that heat with his own fingertips, but he reigned in his thoughts and focused.
“Plee~ase,” Alfred sang. He'd actually been counting on Arthur's hangover to do most of the convincing for him and hadn't really come up with any sort of solid argument. And hey, if Arthur still had doubts, Alfred was pretty damn adorable when he wanted to be and he was definitely not above exploiting Arthur's crush to get what he wanted.
(Besides, it wasn't really 'exploiting' when he had feelings for the man himself, right? Right.)
Arthur's left eyebrow twitched and Alfred's tummy did a little flip that traveled up to his heart and got lodged in his throat on the way out. Arthur seemed on the edge of agreeing and Alfred's mind ran in frantic circles as he tried to think of something, anything, he might say to push his boss over the edge of indecision.
“I'll take you to a coffee shop and you can try some,” Alfred blurted. “I'll pay, so you can get anything you want.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes and Alfred thought, his angry face is really cute! Followed closely by, I wonder if he would consider that a compliment The reasonable part of his brain then decided to make itself known after remaining absent for the past few months with probably not, just shut up and smile. So he tilted his head to the side and gave his boss his best I'm-totally-your-favorite-person-please-give-me-what-I-want grin.
“If I agree, will you quit being so bright and noisy?” Arthur asked, reaching for his teacup slowly.
“Yes,” Alfred said automatically and his hands twitched at his sides as he reigned in the need to pump his fist into the air in victory.
“Fine, then,” Arthur mumbled, bringing the teacup to his lips and taking a careful sip. His expression calmed, though the crease between his eyebrows that always told Alfred when something was bothering him didn't go away entirely.
“Really?” Alfred asked, tamping down on the urge to smooth the crease with his thumb.
“Yes. We shall go to a coffee house of your choice during lunch and we shall settle, once and for all, that coffee tastes like burnt motor oil and that tea is better.”
Alfred knew he should say something. Like Thank you! or Hell yes! or perhaps a cheeky I'll show you! Coffee is WAY better than that stupid leaf water you drink! But his chest was getting all fluttery and his head was kind of blurry and couldn't think right, so he ended up saying, “It's a date!”
Arthur gave him a startled look as his blush increased, but Alfred just spun on his heal and danced out of the office before he could dwell on his choice of words.
- XIII -
Upon their arrival at Alfred's coffee house of choice, Starbucks, it was discovered that Arthur didn't actually know what anything on the menu was, and so Alfred was delegated to the duty of ordering for them both.
“I'll have a grande extra hot soy with extra foam, split shot with a half squirt of vanilla and a half squirt of cinnamon, a half packet of splenda, oh and put that in a venti cup and fill up the room with extra whipped cream with carmel and chocolate sauce drizzled on top. And he'll have, let's see, make him a five shot venti, two fifths decaf, ristretto shot, one pump vanilla, one pump hazelnut, breve, one sugar in the raw, with whip, carmel drizzle on top, free poured, four pump mocha.”
“Wait-what!?” Arthur sputtered, hands gesturing in the air beside him as he worked himself into a rage. “I don't even know what half of that means, and I'm absolutely certain you just ordered me half a cup of sugar!”
Alfred, who stood beside him, raised an eyebrow. He'd assumed Arthur might want to cool it on the caffeine, since he was hopped up on caffeinated headache pills already and Alfred had seen Arthur in hyper mode - he was actually mostly like his usual self, with a little more manic glee thrown into his insults and a larger propensity to misplace all of his stuff. And so he'd added what he thought to be an appropriate amount of extra flavors to cover up the fact that it would taste less delicious on principle. It was, according to Arthur - although Alfred was fairly certain he was lying - Arthur's first time at a coffee house, after all, and he didn't know all the hidden secrets of coffee like Alfred did. But perhaps it was a bit much for a first timer? It seemed Arthur was more concerned about the sugar than he really should be if he was leaving the ordering to Alfred. But the American shrugged and turned back to the barista behind the counter, intent on toning it down a bit.
“Okay, scratch that second order. He'll have an iced venti six shot two thirds half-caf, two half pump sugar free cinnamon dolce, two half pump sugar free vanilla, one pump sugar free gingerbread, splash of one percent milk, two splenda, three honey packets, stirred in with the espresso first to melt, light ice, light whip, with cinnamon dolce and nutmeg sprinkles.”
He turned to find Arthur glaring at him. “You can take your sugar free and shove it up your-”
“We're in public, sir,” Alfred interrupted. When Arthur continued to glare, Alfred heaved a great sigh of frustration and tried again. “Okay, scratch that too. He'll have a decaf grande, half soy, half low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet.”
“No,” Arthur said emphatically, crossing his arms. “If I can't understand what you're ordering, then you can't order it.”
“What do you want, then?” Alfred asked, throwing his hands up in the air. He wondered briefly if the only reason Arthur had agreed to this was so that he could make Alfred's life even more difficult, to hold victory out in his hand, just in front of Alfred's face and wiggle it enticingly before yanking it out of reach. Arthur was mean enough to do it, Alfred didn't doubt.
“You tell me to order you something and then you veto everything I say,” Alfred continued, giving Arthur a look that said, stop it.
“Just get me something simple,” Arthur said, tone indicating that he was quickly losing his patience. “In five words or less, or I'm going back to the office and you and your coffee can suck my-”
“Okay, okay,” Alfred said, cutting Arthur off. Who knew the man got so foul mouthed when he was hungover? Alfred added another negative personality trait to Caffeinated-Arthur's growing list. Taking him out in public was something Alfred would have to be careful about in the future. Alfred sighed. “Cold or hot?”
Arthur hummed impatiently, hand going to rub at his head again. “Hot.”
“He'll have a caffé misto.”
The barista nodded and put in the order and Alfred guided a suspiciously silent Arthur to the end of the counter to wait for their drinks. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him when he looked up.
“You were counting, weren't you?” Alfred asked, mouth twitching into a smirk.
“Oh, belt up, you twit,” Arthur growled. “What did you get me, anyway?”
“Caffè misto, otherwise known as café au lait or café con leche,” Alfred said easily, reaching up to take a sip of his coffee, which had had a full three minutes head start on Arthur's since the man had been so picky about it. “Basically, coffee with milk.”
“Oh,” Arthur said, glancing behind at the baristas before stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. “Sounds sufficiently simple.”
Alfred smiled.
- XIV -
As they rode the elevator up to the ninth floor, the soft pinging the only background noise to be heard, Alfred put all of his effort into keeping the grin off his face. Arthur stood beside him, turned slightly away as if the inside of the elevator wasn't well polished metal and Alfred couldn't see his blush through the reflection. His arms were crossed and his shoulders were hunched just slightly, enough to tell Alfred not to attempt conversation.
Alfred rocked back on his heels.
“So...” he said.
Arthur was silent. It was a telling silence, one that Alfred chose to ignore completely.
“That cup of tea you ordered to wash the taste of 'rancid skunk ass' out of your mouth,” Alfred continued, making air quotes. “Wasn't actually tea, was it?”
He watched as Arthur twitched, his face an embarrassed and frustrated scrunch in the reflection. Alfred managed to keep his delight down to a simple, sunny smile instead of the full out shit-eating grin he wanted to show.
“There was no teabag string,” Alfred said by way of explanation.
Arthur hunched further into himself and Alfred sighed happily into the silence of the Englishman's guilt.
“You know you could have one every day if you let me get a-”
Arthur whirled on him, glare so fierce that it cut Alfred off immediately. His eyebrows were scrunched together in a deep frown, his mouth was downturned and the glint in his eye told Alfred that if looks could kill, the American would be dead ten times over by now. And if Alfred had anything else to fucking say, he'd better think real fucking hard about it before opening that fool mouth of his because he was this close to snapping and you know what happened last time.
Alfred sniffed delicately. “You smell like coffee.”
Arthur snapped.
- XV -
Alfred had never considered the possibility that he would be assaulted in the elevator of the Kirkland Publishing building, let alone by the president and owner himself.
Arthur's hand slammed into his shoulder, pushing Alfred forcefully against the side of the elevator wall. His back hit with a dull thud and Alfred felt his head crack against the metal as Arthur's hand slid over to grab at his tie. Arthur yanked him forward and scowled as Alfred tried to focus his vision.
“You and your goddamn coffee,” Arthur growled. “You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?”
Alfred attempted to formulate an answer, but he kept getting hung up on the way Arthur's breath was falling in nearly ragged pants from his parted lips. It might have been indicative of wrath to anyone else in the building, but Alfred kind of just thought it looked sexy.
Which was not where his thoughts needed to be at the moment.
“If you just let me get a coffee machine-” Alfred started, convinced the simplest argument was best.
“Enough with the coffee machine,” Arthur hissed, pulling Alfred's face closer to his with the tie still held tightly in his hand. “If you would just drink tea like a normal person-”
“Tea is gross and I'm completely normal for liking coffee!” Alfred argued, face so close to Arthur's that their foreheads were almost touching. “And there is an entire nation across the ocean that will back me up.”
“You're not in America,” Arthur threw back at him, his other hand coming up to grab at Alfred's collar. “You're in England and we bloody drink tea here!”
“That is not an argument,” Alfred said. “Plenty of you drink coffee, I see it in your grocery stores all the time! You have Starbucks for fuck's sake! You can't honestly claim that not one single British person drinks coffee! I bet you horde your teabags and set them out for company so you look all gentlemanly and respectably British on the outside, but you secretly drink coffee all the time! I just read an article that said you people actually drink coffee more than tea and it was from a totally legit site on the internet so-”
Alfred would've gone on, he had a whole slew of arguments lined up to combat Arthur's insistence on tea and almost all of them had halfway legitimate sources he could cite. He was definitely ready to pull every single one of them out and throw them at Arthur's tea-loving face if he refused to see reason. But he never got the chance, because Arthur, genius that he always claimed to be, had abruptly discovered the one and only way to shut Alfred up (besides kicking him in the balls, that is).
He kissed him. Square on the mouth and with enough force to steal the words from Alfred's tongue as his eyes widened. Arthur's hand slid from collar to neck, around to the back so he could pull Alfred more fully into the kiss and Alfred watched Arthur's furrowed eyebrows for a slight moment before he thought oh, fuck it, and let his eyes slip closed. He tilted his head into Arthur and ran his tongue over the Englishman's bottom lip, taking full advantage of Arthur's gasp to deepen the kiss.
Alfred's hands came up to grasp at Arthur's sides, fingers tangling in the pressed and ironed shirt as he began to pull it out of Arthur's pants, revealing skin by inches. Arthur pulled away for a brief moment to gasp, mouth falling on the corner of Alfred's mouth as he let out a harsh exhale. Alfred nudged Arthur's chin with his own before finding his mouth again, letting his fingers find the warm skin of Arthur's back as he pressed their hips together. Arthur's fingers were slowly working the knot in Alfred's tie and just when the American thought it would slip free, Arthur used it to yank Alfred forward, slamming him back into the elevator wall with enough force to make Alfred gasp. Arthur bit his lip in the aftermath and Alfred scowled.
“Yeah?” he asked, tightening his grip on Arthur's hips and spinning him. He slammed Arthur against the wall then, giving as good as he got, and let his lips roam over Arthur's neck as he listened to him pant. Alfred pressed his hips to Arthur's and ground down slowly as his hands roamed over the small of Arthur's back, arching him into his thrusts.
“Oh, fuck,” Arthur swore, tugging viciously at Alfred's tie until it came off, jerking the American roughly to the side. Arthur's hands pushed at Alfred's jacket impatiently, pulling at the sleeves and lapels in frustration as Alfred's hand snuck out to hit the emergency stop button.
Alfred slid his knee up into Arthur's crotch, stilling his motions as the man arched up into him, head tilted back as his hands pulled at Alfred's shirt. Alfred grinned and planted his mouth on Arthur's, stealing each and every exhale for himself as he let his tongue slide across the man's teeth. Arthur was grinding down into his leg with desperate motions and Alfred could feel his own pleasure beginning to brim as he did the same, cock hard and leaking as it pressed against Arthur's leg through his pants.
“Ah- huh,” Alfred gasped, breaking away from Arthur's mouth as he felt himself tip over the edge, vision going white as his climax hit him.
As his hips continued to jerk softly into Arthur's leg, riding out his climax to the fullest, his thoughts coalesced in a brief moment of clarity and he couldn't help but think, through the haze of pleasure and sated bliss, that this was an odd turn of events. He could count the number of times he'd dry humped himself to orgasm on the fingers of one hand, and to think, now he'd done it in the elevator of the Kirkland Publishing building with his boss. But hey. Wasn't life just full of surprises?
He was barely able to focus his vision again when he felt an abrupt push at his shoulder, knocking him back and tipping him enough that he fell onto his ass in the middle of the elevator. He was about to mutter something about manners and giving a guy a chance to catch his breath when his lap was suddenly filled with an agitated, cussing Arthur and his still very hard, very prominent erection.
Oh. Whoops.
“Fucking Americans,” was all the warning he got.
- XVI -
Alfred sat just outside the security office, suit jacket missing, tie hanging loose and untied about his neck, a tissue held steadily to his nose by his right hand. He was missing a shoe, his left one to be exact, and his cowlick was no longer the only strand of hair sticking straight up.
Arthur, who sat beside him, looked only marginally better.
“I'm sure he won't tell anyone, sir,” Alfred assured, his voice only slightly nasal. “And you've got the only evidence right here,” he added, tapping the videotape sitting between them.
Arthur glanced down at it, then back at the door he'd just come out of.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Alfred dutifully ignored the implications of that curse, smiling as he held the tissue to his nose.
--
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