Five Weeks aka How Long it Takes a Puppy to Change Everything 4/6
TITLE: Five Weeks aka How Long it Takes a Puppy to Change Everything
GENRE: Romance/angst, fluff
PAIRING(S): USUK, background barely there Prussia/Hungary
RATING: PG-16
WARNINGS: relationship drama/angst, language, some sexy times, present tense, human names
SUMMARY: Sometimes, love just isn't enough to fix what's gone wrong--luckily, that's what puppies are there for. A story of breaking apart, coming together, and puppy-rearing.
PROMPT: Alfred and Arthur adopt a puppy together.
NOTES: Done for the Secret Santa at
usxuk. A thousand thanks to the wonderful, lovely
hotbabysitter who beta'ed this story for me and did it with love! I went to town with this and went outside my usual comfort zone, but I'm very happy with the results. This story is completed and will be updated twice a week. Hope you all enjoy, especially you
greeko88!
Note 2: Thank you to all those who commented! I'm a little surprised, and disheartened, with the lack of enthusiasm going around with this year's exchange, but I'm happy the few of you who are commenting are enjoying! I hope I can continue to live up to your lovely words!
Previous Chapter
Five Weeks
aka How Long it Takes for a Puppy to Change Everything
Week Three
Owning a dog is worlds apart from owning a cat. Arthur had known this before, of course, but in a peripheral sort of way. It hadn’t applied to him before Moonshine, and if he’s honest with himself, he never thought it would have, but now it does, and he’s still struggling to keep up with the changes, even after a few weeks. It’s easy for Alfred since he’s always owned dogs-a dog doesn’t have the same independence as a cat, and while it comes easy to Alfred, Arthur labors to adjust and make time for the little puppy. Well, little isn’t exactly a word he uses to describe Moonshine. Arthur suspects he’ll likely grow up to be huge if his paws are any indication, but he’s still a puppy and therefore ‘little’ in his mind. It’s not easy, especially when he and Alfred both have full lives and a hard time making time for each other, but Arthur tries his best and makes use of any free time he happens to get.
Before, he would have read a book or watched a news program on the telly, but now he makes a concentrated effort to play with Moonshine or take him on a walk. It can be stressful, but he’s trying as best he can-he can feel Alfred’s eyes on him when he returns from a walk, when he’s been too swamped with papers or projects and can’t join. It’s not an uncomfortable stare, and whenever he manages to get a peek at it, before it gets averted and Alfred swings back to his papers with comical concentration, it’s always soft and warm. Like he’s proud of Arthur, proud for making time to walk their dog-Arthur likes the feeling, but it also implies that maybe Alfred didn’t truly think he would try to adjust. Or maybe that’s just Arthur’s own self-deprecation peeking through, he doesn’t know. Regardless, it’s been a challenge getting used to Moonshine the last few weeks, but he likes to think he’s been successful thus far.
Which is why it’s so difficult not to lose his temper when he walks into the bathroom and finds the trash basket flipped over and all the contents spilled out over the floor. And, of course, the contents include an old bottle of Alfred’s shampoo he’d thrown out the previous day that has spilled from its container, a sticky mess all over the floor and Arthur’s foot. He can do nothing but stare for a few moments in a half-awake stupor, but then anger starts to settle and he furiously wipes off his foot on a towel hanging from the door. Alfred had said that Moonshine was probably ready to be allowed out of the kitchen at night, especially since they’d had no issues with setting him up on a bathroom schedule, but apparently he’s wrong. Arthur finishes cleaning off his foot and then wipes up the mess off the floor-there is nothing more disgusting than having to pick up chewed bits of used tissues, he decides after a scant few minutes.
Once done, he balls up the towel and stomps over to the laundry basket in their bedroom closet; he debates whether or not to wake Alfred up so he can deal with punishment, but decides against it when he catches how completely exhausted he looks. Frown firmly in place, he walks back out and spots Moonshine curled up in the kitchen-he’s whining in a pitiful manner that reminds Arthur of crying and there’s a small puddle of bile next to him. Any anger Arthur has drains from him and he drops down beside him to cup Moonshine’s head. He shouts for Alfred and pets at Moonshine’s head and stomach worriedly-bloody fuck, he probably ate some of the damn shampoo. That can’t be good for a dog, a puppy especially; it’s practically poison, fuck. He calls for Alfred again, louder, the waver and fear more pronounced in his voice this time, and a few moments later, Alfred comes rushing out, baseball bat in hand.
“Arthur? What’s going-?”
“Moony got into the bathroom trash and got into that damn shampoo in the basket and he’s sick and I don’t-”
“Ok, ok, just, deep breaths okay, Artie?” Alfred drops down and cups Arthur’s face in his hands, running his thumbs under his eyes at the tears there he hadn’t even noticed. “Deep breaths-do you know if he got sick anywhere else?”
Arthur shakes his head and feels a hundred times worse. “No, I saw him and just-”
“Shh, all right, lemme just go check real quick.” He leaves and Arthur is left stroking Moonshine’s head and trying to make comforting noises. He hears Alfred swear and then footsteps down the hall to the linen closet, the sink faucet in the bathroom sounds a moment later; he must’ve found more vomit. His stomach clenches tight and his hand starts to shake.
Alfred walks back in with the soiled towel and cleans up the bile off the kitchen floor, face fully awake and a little drawn; he looks tired, but not fearful. “He threw up in the living room, but that’s it. I don’t think he ate very much before he figured out it was a bad idea.”
“Should we take him to the vet?”
Alfred tosses the ruined towel in the kitchen sink before crouching down onto the floor besides Moonshine; his hands settle over Arthur’s and he smiles gently, comfortingly. “Give it until the morning. Puppies eat stuff they shouldn’t all the time, he looks pretty miserable, but he’s breathing ok and isn’t vomiting anymore. This stuff kind of comes with the territory-I’m sorry, sugar, I should’ve closed the bathroom door, I didn’t think the trash had anything other than Kleenexes in it.”
Arthur shakes his head, meeting Alfred’s eyes for the first time. They’re warm and proud, but Arthur doesn’t feel any niggling doubt about why they look that way right now-it’s just love, love that Arthur cares so much and is worrying himself sick over their little puppy who’s too curious for his own good. And that makes him feel even worse. “It’s not, I didn’t empty it, I didn’t think and half the time I feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing and-”
Alfred kisses him then and it’s exactly what Arthur needs, even if he hadn’t known he needed it. It’s calm and love and forgiving all at once, even though he knows Alfred probably doesn’t think Arthur has done anything to forgive. He knows Arthur needs it, though-it’s funny how easy it is to remember what they each need, even if they’ve spent the majority of the last three months forgetting. It’s like riding a bicycle or a boomerang; it just comes back. “It’s fine, sweetheart. It’s fine, and little Moony here will be fine, too, and if he’s still feeling sick tomorrow, we can both take him to the vet, all right?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Come on, it’s late, we should get back to bed.”
“We can’t-it’s just-he shouldn’t be left here on his own.” Alfred’s eyes are almost shining in the hallway light and he smiles wide enough for both of them.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He grabs Arthur’s hand and pulls him up to his feet before crouching back down and scooping Moonshine up carefully. The puppy doesn’t get sick, just focuses sad, unhappy eyes on Arthur before licking Alfred’s hand in what can only be gratitude. He licks Arthur’s hand when he reaches out to smooth back his ears and Arthur doesn’t even care that the last thing on his tongue was vomit; he smiles with tears clouding his vision and follows Alfred back towards their room. Alfred settles the puppy at the end of the bed, near both of their feet and climbs back in, holding out his arms for Arthur to follow. He does, noticing Oliver has wandered over from the living room and hops up onto the bed as well, curling next to Moonshine. It is adorable and it makes Alfred chuckle a little along with Arthur.
“He’ll be all right? You’re certain?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine, and if he’s not, then we’ll take him in so he will be.”
Arthur nods and instead of rolling over to his side, curls a little further into Alfred’s arms, resting his face in the crook of Alfred’s neck; Alfred’s arms tighten around him in response.
*****
Moonshine ends up being fine the next morning, though they still take him to the vet just to be sure. He also ends up sleeping in their bed instead of the perfectly good dog bed they bought him, which is an unfortunate side effect neither Arthur nor Alfred can get truly upset over.
*****
Taking Moonshine to PetsMart is something Arthur likens to parents taking their excitable toddlers to Toys R’ Us. Chaotic, nerve-wracking, and wallet-emptying. It doesn’t help that Alfred is as hyperactive as a toddler might be and feels the need to dart back and forth between aisles excitedly, working up Moonshine as he goes. Arthur’s got the leash in his hands and is trying, in vain he thinks, to keep Moonshine from knocking over shelves and getting too personal with other dogs wandering around. Alfred’s pushing the trolley, though Arthur uses the word ‘push’ loosely-Alfred prefers to push off the ground and glides on it as if it were a ride. He wonders why they’re already back at the bloody store when they’re still plenty stocked up on food and supplies-at the rate they’re going, Moonshine will end up the most spoiled dog in all of Boston.
“Hey, look at these! Dog treats that look like toothbrushes. Oh hell, we’ve gotta get these!” Arthur glances over at the bag labeled ‘Greenies’ in Alfred’s hands. Sure enough, the treats do look like mini toothbrushes; he reads the front label and raises his eyebrows when he reads that these treats are meant to help a dog’s teeth as well. He shakes his head, thinking about all the treats they’ve already bought for Moonshine (and Oliver, though the fat cat doesn’t need more treats) stuffed in their cabinets.
“Moonshine has plenty of treats, Alfred. We don’t need to buy enough to stockpile for three years.”
“But-but toothbrushes, Artie!”
Arthur sighs, fondly, and takes the bag from Alfred’s hands, placing it back on the shelf. Alfred pouts at it before following after Arthur has he makes his way towards the food aisle. Moonshine glances back and lets out a sound that can only be categorized as longing. Arthur quirks a look down at the puppy, unimpressed. “You have plenty of treats, Moony-boy. Don’t listen to your Da.”
Alfred chuckles. “So I’m his dad, uh?”
Arthur blushes but doesn’t try to retract his words. “Well, what else did you think you were?”
“The cool uncle who gives him all the table scraps he wants, of course!” He’s joking, Arthur can hear it in his voice, and his eyes have gone warm all over as he meets Arthur’s eyes. “But I guess dad works too-I’ll just be the cool uncle with Lardball.”
“His name is Oliver, you twat, and you’re the evil step-dad at best with him. He hates you and you purposely ‘forget’ to give him table scraps.”
“He’s fat, he doesn’t need them. I’m just doing him a favor!” Alfred’s smile tempers his words and his shoulder bumps Arthur’s affectionately.
It feels nice, shopping for dog food and a blanket to place on their bed for Moonshine. Much better than their last visit here, when Moonshine had been brand new to both of them and the gap between them had been larger. This conversation might’ve annoyed him and made him snap if they’d had it three weeks ago; Alfred’s energy would have come across as cloying and aggravating, and he’s sure he would’ve come across as mean and waspish to Alfred. Now, though, it simply doesn’t. It’s like they’ve found a way to talk again; sure, they’re not really talking about things they maybe should (apart from the off mention from Alfred last week, they’ve been quite mum on the subject), but they’re still talking. Which is more than what they’d been doing before.
Moonshine gives a small bark as they walk past the chew toy aisle; he looks up at the pair of them with huge, brown eyes before back into the toy aisle. He repeats this motion until both Alfred and Arthur are laughing hard and loud enough to attract attention. Alfred nudges at Arthur and moves the cart so it’ll continue towards the dog food aisles. “We might as well get him something, otherwise he’ll just pout the whole way home.”
“He has enough toys already. I think he’s even commandeered some of Oliver’s.”
“Like Lardball plays with that mouse anyway, that would mean exercise. Here, I’ll go get the food, you let him pick out a toy, and we’ll meet at the front of the store; we’ve already got the other stuff we needed, we’ll remove temptation better this way!”
Alfred kisses him instead of letting him respond, and pushes the cart down the store, disappearing around a corner a moment later. Moonshine barks at him again and Arthur shakes his head indulgently at him before heading into the aisle. “Fine, you little brat. Let’s pick something out, yeah? Something that will distract you from poor Oliver’s toys.”
They walk down the aisle for a few moments, Moonshine happily sniffing nearly everything in reach, and Arthur’s eyes are drawn to a large, stuffed dragon hanging about eye level on the shelf. It’s large, nearly as large as Moonshine is, and has little pockets all up and down its underside; Arthur presses in on a pocket and a squeak emits from the toy. Moonshine immediately stops sniffing and perks his ears up at the toy. “This one, lad?”
Arthur pushes a squeaker again and Moonshine whines yearningly in response. He grins and pulls it off the hanger-the toy doesn’t have much stuffing and looks more like a mat than anything else, but it has enough. He shares a conspiratorial grin with Moonshine as they head up towards the front of the store. “Make sure you play with this when Da’s at home.”
Moonshine barks as if in affirmation and wags his tail happily as they head up towards the cash registers.
*****
When Arthur gets home from work that Friday, there is stuffing all over the living room and remnants of plastic squeakers littering the floor; the steady sound of squeaking is coming from their bedroom. He sets his coat and messenger bag down on the dining room table and strolls victoriously down the hall to the office, where he finds Alfred frowning at a complicated blue print. He clears his throat and leans against the doorframe, smirking when Alfred turns to greet him with a scowl on his face. “You’re a jackass, I hope you know that.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“That fucking dragon-how many damn squeakers does a toy need to have?”
“Ah, well, you did say to let Moony pick out whatever he liked, I simply followed those instructions. He hasn’t been playing with it all day, has he?”
“Oh ho, you think you’re soooo funny. I know you put him up to it! This is revenge, isn’t it, for insulting Lardball’s weight?”
Arthur can’t help but laugh. He walks into the office and settles in front of Alfred spread knees; he goes to lean back against the desk, but Alfred’s hand stop him, grabbing onto his waist and tugging him down onto his lap in a smooth, not-so-graceful movement. Their foreheads nearly hit, but they’re both laughing; Arthur wraps his arms around Alfred’s neck for balance, among other things, and Alfred tucks his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. He feels a little guilty about getting the obnoxious toy, but only a little because Alfred isn’t angry, not really. Especially when Moonshine waddles in with the huge toy clutched in his teeth, walking bow-legged to accommodate for the toy’s size, nearly as big as he is.
“Oh Jesus, he looks so freaking adorable.” Alfred’s laughing into Arthur’s neck, peeking out at Moonshine, who does look truly ridiculous, in between breaths. “Why would anyone make a toy that big with so many squeakers?”
Arthur doesn’t have an answer, so he joins in laughing with Alfred until their mouths press together. There’s a pause that catches both of them when they separate and they stare at each other, close as can be with heat pooling where they’re touching. They move back in, intent different and inhales coming sharp and fast through their noses, and kiss in a way that they haven’t kissed in months. It feels new and familiar all at once, and Arthur finds he’d missed the stale taste of Alfred’s toothpaste on his tongue. He shifts, just a little, just enough to let Alfred’s hands settle more firmly on his waist, and angles his head down, sucking Alfred’s bottom lip in between his teeth and swallowing up the broken moan that leaves the American’s mouth. Alfred’s hand spreads strong across the small of his back and he pulls Arthur in until every inch of them is touching, pushing the chair back with his toes distractedly until the back of the chair hits the edge of the desk.
They kiss wild and messily, hands grabbing and bunching up the clothes between them, garbled gibberish sounding in the small moments their lips separate from one another’s that are like Arthur imagines touch would sound like. He’s getting all mixed up in his head, mixing senses together with every heated press and stroke; the chair is much too cramped and uncomfortable for this, but they can’t move. Or, maybe it’s they won’t move-either way, Arthur doesn’t much care that he’ll have horrible sore legs and knees from how they’re straddling Alfred’s lap and pressing uncomfortably against the chair’s arms. Alfred’s lips trail sloppily from Arthur’s mouth and move down his neck; all Arthur can do is tilt his head back and hold onto Alfred tighter. They’ll have to move eventually, he knows that and is looking forward to it because where they move to will likely be the bed, but for the moment, the chair is perfect. They are perfect.
Moonshine picks up his toy and waddles back out of the room after a few moments-the last coherent thought Arthur has before he’s swept fully away into Alfred is that it’s sweet of the puppy to give them some privacy.
Next Chapter
******
This is the Dragon toy the boys got Moony :D
GENRE: Romance/angst, fluff
PAIRING(S): USUK, background barely there Prussia/Hungary
RATING: PG-16
WARNINGS: relationship drama/angst, language, some sexy times, present tense, human names
SUMMARY: Sometimes, love just isn't enough to fix what's gone wrong--luckily, that's what puppies are there for. A story of breaking apart, coming together, and puppy-rearing.
PROMPT: Alfred and Arthur adopt a puppy together.
NOTES: Done for the Secret Santa at
usxuk. A thousand thanks to the wonderful, lovely
hotbabysitter who beta'ed this story for me and did it with love! I went to town with this and went outside my usual comfort zone, but I'm very happy with the results. This story is completed and will be updated twice a week. Hope you all enjoy, especially you
greeko88!
Note 2: Thank you to all those who commented! I'm a little surprised, and disheartened, with the lack of enthusiasm going around with this year's exchange, but I'm happy the few of you who are commenting are enjoying! I hope I can continue to live up to your lovely words!
Previous Chapter
Five Weeks
aka How Long it Takes for a Puppy to Change Everything
Week Three
Owning a dog is worlds apart from owning a cat. Arthur had known this before, of course, but in a peripheral sort of way. It hadn’t applied to him before Moonshine, and if he’s honest with himself, he never thought it would have, but now it does, and he’s still struggling to keep up with the changes, even after a few weeks. It’s easy for Alfred since he’s always owned dogs-a dog doesn’t have the same independence as a cat, and while it comes easy to Alfred, Arthur labors to adjust and make time for the little puppy. Well, little isn’t exactly a word he uses to describe Moonshine. Arthur suspects he’ll likely grow up to be huge if his paws are any indication, but he’s still a puppy and therefore ‘little’ in his mind. It’s not easy, especially when he and Alfred both have full lives and a hard time making time for each other, but Arthur tries his best and makes use of any free time he happens to get.
Before, he would have read a book or watched a news program on the telly, but now he makes a concentrated effort to play with Moonshine or take him on a walk. It can be stressful, but he’s trying as best he can-he can feel Alfred’s eyes on him when he returns from a walk, when he’s been too swamped with papers or projects and can’t join. It’s not an uncomfortable stare, and whenever he manages to get a peek at it, before it gets averted and Alfred swings back to his papers with comical concentration, it’s always soft and warm. Like he’s proud of Arthur, proud for making time to walk their dog-Arthur likes the feeling, but it also implies that maybe Alfred didn’t truly think he would try to adjust. Or maybe that’s just Arthur’s own self-deprecation peeking through, he doesn’t know. Regardless, it’s been a challenge getting used to Moonshine the last few weeks, but he likes to think he’s been successful thus far.
Which is why it’s so difficult not to lose his temper when he walks into the bathroom and finds the trash basket flipped over and all the contents spilled out over the floor. And, of course, the contents include an old bottle of Alfred’s shampoo he’d thrown out the previous day that has spilled from its container, a sticky mess all over the floor and Arthur’s foot. He can do nothing but stare for a few moments in a half-awake stupor, but then anger starts to settle and he furiously wipes off his foot on a towel hanging from the door. Alfred had said that Moonshine was probably ready to be allowed out of the kitchen at night, especially since they’d had no issues with setting him up on a bathroom schedule, but apparently he’s wrong. Arthur finishes cleaning off his foot and then wipes up the mess off the floor-there is nothing more disgusting than having to pick up chewed bits of used tissues, he decides after a scant few minutes.
Once done, he balls up the towel and stomps over to the laundry basket in their bedroom closet; he debates whether or not to wake Alfred up so he can deal with punishment, but decides against it when he catches how completely exhausted he looks. Frown firmly in place, he walks back out and spots Moonshine curled up in the kitchen-he’s whining in a pitiful manner that reminds Arthur of crying and there’s a small puddle of bile next to him. Any anger Arthur has drains from him and he drops down beside him to cup Moonshine’s head. He shouts for Alfred and pets at Moonshine’s head and stomach worriedly-bloody fuck, he probably ate some of the damn shampoo. That can’t be good for a dog, a puppy especially; it’s practically poison, fuck. He calls for Alfred again, louder, the waver and fear more pronounced in his voice this time, and a few moments later, Alfred comes rushing out, baseball bat in hand.
“Arthur? What’s going-?”
“Moony got into the bathroom trash and got into that damn shampoo in the basket and he’s sick and I don’t-”
“Ok, ok, just, deep breaths okay, Artie?” Alfred drops down and cups Arthur’s face in his hands, running his thumbs under his eyes at the tears there he hadn’t even noticed. “Deep breaths-do you know if he got sick anywhere else?”
Arthur shakes his head and feels a hundred times worse. “No, I saw him and just-”
“Shh, all right, lemme just go check real quick.” He leaves and Arthur is left stroking Moonshine’s head and trying to make comforting noises. He hears Alfred swear and then footsteps down the hall to the linen closet, the sink faucet in the bathroom sounds a moment later; he must’ve found more vomit. His stomach clenches tight and his hand starts to shake.
Alfred walks back in with the soiled towel and cleans up the bile off the kitchen floor, face fully awake and a little drawn; he looks tired, but not fearful. “He threw up in the living room, but that’s it. I don’t think he ate very much before he figured out it was a bad idea.”
“Should we take him to the vet?”
Alfred tosses the ruined towel in the kitchen sink before crouching down onto the floor besides Moonshine; his hands settle over Arthur’s and he smiles gently, comfortingly. “Give it until the morning. Puppies eat stuff they shouldn’t all the time, he looks pretty miserable, but he’s breathing ok and isn’t vomiting anymore. This stuff kind of comes with the territory-I’m sorry, sugar, I should’ve closed the bathroom door, I didn’t think the trash had anything other than Kleenexes in it.”
Arthur shakes his head, meeting Alfred’s eyes for the first time. They’re warm and proud, but Arthur doesn’t feel any niggling doubt about why they look that way right now-it’s just love, love that Arthur cares so much and is worrying himself sick over their little puppy who’s too curious for his own good. And that makes him feel even worse. “It’s not, I didn’t empty it, I didn’t think and half the time I feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing and-”
Alfred kisses him then and it’s exactly what Arthur needs, even if he hadn’t known he needed it. It’s calm and love and forgiving all at once, even though he knows Alfred probably doesn’t think Arthur has done anything to forgive. He knows Arthur needs it, though-it’s funny how easy it is to remember what they each need, even if they’ve spent the majority of the last three months forgetting. It’s like riding a bicycle or a boomerang; it just comes back. “It’s fine, sweetheart. It’s fine, and little Moony here will be fine, too, and if he’s still feeling sick tomorrow, we can both take him to the vet, all right?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Come on, it’s late, we should get back to bed.”
“We can’t-it’s just-he shouldn’t be left here on his own.” Alfred’s eyes are almost shining in the hallway light and he smiles wide enough for both of them.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He grabs Arthur’s hand and pulls him up to his feet before crouching back down and scooping Moonshine up carefully. The puppy doesn’t get sick, just focuses sad, unhappy eyes on Arthur before licking Alfred’s hand in what can only be gratitude. He licks Arthur’s hand when he reaches out to smooth back his ears and Arthur doesn’t even care that the last thing on his tongue was vomit; he smiles with tears clouding his vision and follows Alfred back towards their room. Alfred settles the puppy at the end of the bed, near both of their feet and climbs back in, holding out his arms for Arthur to follow. He does, noticing Oliver has wandered over from the living room and hops up onto the bed as well, curling next to Moonshine. It is adorable and it makes Alfred chuckle a little along with Arthur.
“He’ll be all right? You’re certain?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine, and if he’s not, then we’ll take him in so he will be.”
Arthur nods and instead of rolling over to his side, curls a little further into Alfred’s arms, resting his face in the crook of Alfred’s neck; Alfred’s arms tighten around him in response.
*****
Moonshine ends up being fine the next morning, though they still take him to the vet just to be sure. He also ends up sleeping in their bed instead of the perfectly good dog bed they bought him, which is an unfortunate side effect neither Arthur nor Alfred can get truly upset over.
*****
Taking Moonshine to PetsMart is something Arthur likens to parents taking their excitable toddlers to Toys R’ Us. Chaotic, nerve-wracking, and wallet-emptying. It doesn’t help that Alfred is as hyperactive as a toddler might be and feels the need to dart back and forth between aisles excitedly, working up Moonshine as he goes. Arthur’s got the leash in his hands and is trying, in vain he thinks, to keep Moonshine from knocking over shelves and getting too personal with other dogs wandering around. Alfred’s pushing the trolley, though Arthur uses the word ‘push’ loosely-Alfred prefers to push off the ground and glides on it as if it were a ride. He wonders why they’re already back at the bloody store when they’re still plenty stocked up on food and supplies-at the rate they’re going, Moonshine will end up the most spoiled dog in all of Boston.
“Hey, look at these! Dog treats that look like toothbrushes. Oh hell, we’ve gotta get these!” Arthur glances over at the bag labeled ‘Greenies’ in Alfred’s hands. Sure enough, the treats do look like mini toothbrushes; he reads the front label and raises his eyebrows when he reads that these treats are meant to help a dog’s teeth as well. He shakes his head, thinking about all the treats they’ve already bought for Moonshine (and Oliver, though the fat cat doesn’t need more treats) stuffed in their cabinets.
“Moonshine has plenty of treats, Alfred. We don’t need to buy enough to stockpile for three years.”
“But-but toothbrushes, Artie!”
Arthur sighs, fondly, and takes the bag from Alfred’s hands, placing it back on the shelf. Alfred pouts at it before following after Arthur has he makes his way towards the food aisle. Moonshine glances back and lets out a sound that can only be categorized as longing. Arthur quirks a look down at the puppy, unimpressed. “You have plenty of treats, Moony-boy. Don’t listen to your Da.”
Alfred chuckles. “So I’m his dad, uh?”
Arthur blushes but doesn’t try to retract his words. “Well, what else did you think you were?”
“The cool uncle who gives him all the table scraps he wants, of course!” He’s joking, Arthur can hear it in his voice, and his eyes have gone warm all over as he meets Arthur’s eyes. “But I guess dad works too-I’ll just be the cool uncle with Lardball.”
“His name is Oliver, you twat, and you’re the evil step-dad at best with him. He hates you and you purposely ‘forget’ to give him table scraps.”
“He’s fat, he doesn’t need them. I’m just doing him a favor!” Alfred’s smile tempers his words and his shoulder bumps Arthur’s affectionately.
It feels nice, shopping for dog food and a blanket to place on their bed for Moonshine. Much better than their last visit here, when Moonshine had been brand new to both of them and the gap between them had been larger. This conversation might’ve annoyed him and made him snap if they’d had it three weeks ago; Alfred’s energy would have come across as cloying and aggravating, and he’s sure he would’ve come across as mean and waspish to Alfred. Now, though, it simply doesn’t. It’s like they’ve found a way to talk again; sure, they’re not really talking about things they maybe should (apart from the off mention from Alfred last week, they’ve been quite mum on the subject), but they’re still talking. Which is more than what they’d been doing before.
Moonshine gives a small bark as they walk past the chew toy aisle; he looks up at the pair of them with huge, brown eyes before back into the toy aisle. He repeats this motion until both Alfred and Arthur are laughing hard and loud enough to attract attention. Alfred nudges at Arthur and moves the cart so it’ll continue towards the dog food aisles. “We might as well get him something, otherwise he’ll just pout the whole way home.”
“He has enough toys already. I think he’s even commandeered some of Oliver’s.”
“Like Lardball plays with that mouse anyway, that would mean exercise. Here, I’ll go get the food, you let him pick out a toy, and we’ll meet at the front of the store; we’ve already got the other stuff we needed, we’ll remove temptation better this way!”
Alfred kisses him instead of letting him respond, and pushes the cart down the store, disappearing around a corner a moment later. Moonshine barks at him again and Arthur shakes his head indulgently at him before heading into the aisle. “Fine, you little brat. Let’s pick something out, yeah? Something that will distract you from poor Oliver’s toys.”
They walk down the aisle for a few moments, Moonshine happily sniffing nearly everything in reach, and Arthur’s eyes are drawn to a large, stuffed dragon hanging about eye level on the shelf. It’s large, nearly as large as Moonshine is, and has little pockets all up and down its underside; Arthur presses in on a pocket and a squeak emits from the toy. Moonshine immediately stops sniffing and perks his ears up at the toy. “This one, lad?”
Arthur pushes a squeaker again and Moonshine whines yearningly in response. He grins and pulls it off the hanger-the toy doesn’t have much stuffing and looks more like a mat than anything else, but it has enough. He shares a conspiratorial grin with Moonshine as they head up towards the front of the store. “Make sure you play with this when Da’s at home.”
Moonshine barks as if in affirmation and wags his tail happily as they head up towards the cash registers.
*****
When Arthur gets home from work that Friday, there is stuffing all over the living room and remnants of plastic squeakers littering the floor; the steady sound of squeaking is coming from their bedroom. He sets his coat and messenger bag down on the dining room table and strolls victoriously down the hall to the office, where he finds Alfred frowning at a complicated blue print. He clears his throat and leans against the doorframe, smirking when Alfred turns to greet him with a scowl on his face. “You’re a jackass, I hope you know that.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“That fucking dragon-how many damn squeakers does a toy need to have?”
“Ah, well, you did say to let Moony pick out whatever he liked, I simply followed those instructions. He hasn’t been playing with it all day, has he?”
“Oh ho, you think you’re soooo funny. I know you put him up to it! This is revenge, isn’t it, for insulting Lardball’s weight?”
Arthur can’t help but laugh. He walks into the office and settles in front of Alfred spread knees; he goes to lean back against the desk, but Alfred’s hand stop him, grabbing onto his waist and tugging him down onto his lap in a smooth, not-so-graceful movement. Their foreheads nearly hit, but they’re both laughing; Arthur wraps his arms around Alfred’s neck for balance, among other things, and Alfred tucks his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. He feels a little guilty about getting the obnoxious toy, but only a little because Alfred isn’t angry, not really. Especially when Moonshine waddles in with the huge toy clutched in his teeth, walking bow-legged to accommodate for the toy’s size, nearly as big as he is.
“Oh Jesus, he looks so freaking adorable.” Alfred’s laughing into Arthur’s neck, peeking out at Moonshine, who does look truly ridiculous, in between breaths. “Why would anyone make a toy that big with so many squeakers?”
Arthur doesn’t have an answer, so he joins in laughing with Alfred until their mouths press together. There’s a pause that catches both of them when they separate and they stare at each other, close as can be with heat pooling where they’re touching. They move back in, intent different and inhales coming sharp and fast through their noses, and kiss in a way that they haven’t kissed in months. It feels new and familiar all at once, and Arthur finds he’d missed the stale taste of Alfred’s toothpaste on his tongue. He shifts, just a little, just enough to let Alfred’s hands settle more firmly on his waist, and angles his head down, sucking Alfred’s bottom lip in between his teeth and swallowing up the broken moan that leaves the American’s mouth. Alfred’s hand spreads strong across the small of his back and he pulls Arthur in until every inch of them is touching, pushing the chair back with his toes distractedly until the back of the chair hits the edge of the desk.
They kiss wild and messily, hands grabbing and bunching up the clothes between them, garbled gibberish sounding in the small moments their lips separate from one another’s that are like Arthur imagines touch would sound like. He’s getting all mixed up in his head, mixing senses together with every heated press and stroke; the chair is much too cramped and uncomfortable for this, but they can’t move. Or, maybe it’s they won’t move-either way, Arthur doesn’t much care that he’ll have horrible sore legs and knees from how they’re straddling Alfred’s lap and pressing uncomfortably against the chair’s arms. Alfred’s lips trail sloppily from Arthur’s mouth and move down his neck; all Arthur can do is tilt his head back and hold onto Alfred tighter. They’ll have to move eventually, he knows that and is looking forward to it because where they move to will likely be the bed, but for the moment, the chair is perfect. They are perfect.
Moonshine picks up his toy and waddles back out of the room after a few moments-the last coherent thought Arthur has before he’s swept fully away into Alfred is that it’s sweet of the puppy to give them some privacy.
Next Chapter
******
This is the Dragon toy the boys got Moony :D