Five Weeks aka How Long it Takes a Puppy to Change Everything 5/6
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 are commenting, I'll get to responding to them, I promise! 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 Four
The week doesn’t start off auspiciously.
Arthur’s got two big deadlines this week, one of which is not his story to begin with and had been shunted off to him by Francis, the French bastard, who never passes up an opportunity to flaunt his seniority over Arthur. He’d spilled coffee all over his favorite tie, and his messenger bag got ripped on a trashcan in the subway. He’s stressed and a wee bit frazzled and trying desperately not to bring it home with him, but he’s failing nearly every night. He’s snappish and easily irritable and not getting enough sleep to compensate for the hours he’s pulling at the office each day. It doesn’t help that Alfred’s been just as busy with a project for his dissertation and not as willing to put up with Arthur’s moods.
He feels like the progress they’ve been making is slipping away in the wake of their work and tempers, but Arthur doesn’t know how to stop it. Oliver, well used to their fighting by now, has taken residence under the bed and doesn’t come out save to eat and use his litter box. Moonshine, though, he doesn’t understand the change in the apartment, doesn’t know his owners quite well enough yet to know that they’re speeding towards a fight, one that will likely be explosive, and that more than anything makes Arthur feel like shit. Things had been going well the last few weeks, something Arthur had hoped for but hadn’t really expected to happen just because they adopted a puppy. Now, though, now he’s worried they’re about to ruin all that they’ve crossed, the space that they’ve bridged, so to speak, and he hates that he can’t voice the right words to try and stop it.
The living room is quiet, so that’s where Arthur sets up his laptop and tries to finish the last minute touches on his article about the recent protests going on due to tuition hikes at the local universities. Alfred’s music is loud and Arthur can hear it through the walls-he knows Alfred works best with background noise, but it grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves. Deep breath, old chap, he whispers to himself in his head, and proceeds to follow his own, silent instruction. It doesn’t really help, but he feels like it should have, which just serves to frustrate him further. He takes another, ineffectual, deep breath and focuses every iota of his attention on his article so that it will be ready for tomorrow’s deadline. The thump-thump-thump of Alfred’s music is still present, but starting to settle on the edge of his mind as he types and edits-it’s already half past nine, he really hopes to get this finished before midnight.
Moonshine whines and hops up onto the couch next to him, sitting up straight and staring at Arthur with the single-minded righteousness of a child who wants attention. “Not now, Moony. Go on.”
Arthur shoves a little at the puppy, but Moonshine is unaffected. He moves closer, close enough that Arthur can feel the puppy breath on his neck and makes little growls and yips until all Arthur can do is turn to face the puppy. He’s glaring, but it’s impossible to keep any real heat in it at Moonshine’s face-he truly is too cute for anyone’s own good. “Fine, yes, hello Moonshine. Look, I’m petting you, all right? There, happy? Now shoo, bugger off; go see your Da.”
Moonshine does not follow Arthur’s directions. Instead he yawns and settles down right up against Arthur’s leg and hip, his front paws dangling off the couch a little. Arthur stares at him as he wiggles a little until he’s found a comfortable spot, yawning once more for good measure before he closes his eyes sleepily. Arthur’s hand moves of its own accord and the next thing he knows, he’s petting Moonshine in gently strokes, neck to tail, until the puppy’s breathing steadies into a rhythm synonymous with sleep. Arthur keeps petting afterwards, even though he knows he needs that hand to finish typing (he supposes he could type one hand, but he imagines he’ll just cause more errors that way, not fix them).
The music is still too loud, he’s still tired and has too much on his plate this week, and the air in the apartment is still too thick with tension to be relaxed, but he feels a bit better with Moonshine sleeping tight against him. Not good, but better. It’s funny, how simple a thing as a puppy sleeping up against you, trusting you and comforting you without truly understanding all that is wrong but knowing it nonetheless, can change things. Arthur always appreciates when Oliver curls up with him and purrs, but it’s different with Moonshine-maybe because he’s younger, maybe because he’s more affectionate than Oliver is, maybe because he belongs to him and Alfred. His eyes go a little misty and he tells himself it’s just because he’s a little stressed or that he’s been staring at computer screens for too long; he sniffs and clears his throat, turning back to his article and reading through his words with the harshest eyes he can muster.
He keeps petting Moonshine, and it helps keep unwanted and completely inconvenient tears from falling.
*****
The fight comes on Friday.
It starts, as these things usually do, with something innocuous, something that’s normally inconsequential and nothing to get worked up over. It starts with Alfred’s shoes in the doorway, where he generally likes to toe them off after he gets back, and where Arthur trips over them when he gets home, tired and cross, hours later. It also starts with the complete mess Arthur had left the office in the night before, where he’d done some last minute research on the university protests at one in the morning to make sure he had enough credible sources for the story. They’re both stretched too thin and they both didn’t need a mess waiting for them when they got home.
Arthur isn’t sure who actually started it, because they’d both been sniping at each other the moment they were both home, and they’d continued sniping at each other through dinner. The next thing he knows, they are screaming at each other and dinner is a mess on the table instead of on the plates where it belongs, and Arthur’s sure one of their neighbors is going to call and complain about them any moment now. Arthur isn’t even really sure what they’re yelling about at this point (maybe something about clutter and dishes, whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t warrant the anger they’re spewing), but then it takes a turn for the worst and the next thing he hears feels like an anvil dropped in his stomach.
“If you can’t fucking stand me or ‘my mess,’ then why the hell are you still here?! Jesus, Arthur-I can’t…I don’t know what you want me to do and I-fuck.”
They’re both silent and staring and Arthur feels self-hatred settle right next to the anvil in his stomach at how Alfred’s eyes are wet and darker blue than usual. “I don’t… I didn’t say that-”
Arthur trails off, too afraid to voice the fears, doubts, and insecurities he feels into words. He doesn’t hate Alfred, he could never hate him and somewhere along the way, he’s forgotten how to show that; he’s forgotten how to talk like he used to because now Alfred means so much more to him than he ever could’ve imagined he would. He’d started internalizing everything instead of talking, because if he’d voiced all his fears because experience, hell, just his life in general, had told him that Alfred would walk away. Everyone else had, why would he be different, he’d asked himself? And that had terrified him. But that just made everything worse, hadn’t it? And now, now Alfred thinks Arthur-he thinks Arthur wants to leave and everything’s gotten so twisted around they’re screaming at each other over shoes and clutter. It all seems so incredibly silly and avoidable that Arthur can only cover his face and take deep, shuddering breaths to try and keep himself from falling apart.
Alfred ends up walking over to him, because Alfred always ends up taking the first step and it’s something Arthur loves about him, and his hands eventually are wrapping around his own, tugging them away from his face. He honestly looks surprised, which makes Arthur wonder how truly wrecked he must look, but he waits for Arthur to say something. And it’s about time he does so, Arthur bolsters himself mentally.
“I love you too much to hate you… and that terrifies me.”
That’s all he gets out steady, and then he falls apart, Alfred’s arms wrapping him up close. It’s like just saying the words unleashed all the others he’s been keeping inside, like unblocking a dam or unclogging a drain; neither of those analogies sound very pretty, though. Arthur has a hundred other metaphors he could use instead, but metaphors are just deflections, and he’s done enough of that. So he just lets the rest of it out, spilling all the worries, fears, and dark thoughts that tumble around his head every day into the open for Alfred to see and hear. For his part, Alfred holds him through it. Arthur isn’t keeping track of what he’s saying exactly, and he’s likely incoherent, but he can’t stop. If he stops, he may never find the courage to say these words again and the consequences for that, losing Alfred…it’s not acceptable.
Saying the words out loud, words about breaking up and not being together, however vague he’d been doing it, it makes Arthur realize something. Arthur can’t imagine how he ever thought that separating could’ve been an option, not one that can result in his happiness, in the wake of those words. Ever since Alfred had barged into his life with too big smiles and soft touches that remind Arthur of trite things like summer breezes and honey of all things, it’s not been an option. From how Alfred’s holding him so tight, shaking and gripping just a hair too hard across Arthur’s shoulders, it’s never been an option for him, either. And that’s when Arthur realizes that maybe that’s what Alfred has been trying to say all along with adopting Moonshine. Maybe he’s been just as terrible at saying what he’s needed to, like Arthur, and is just as terrified to boot. Arthur feels like, in another situation, he might’ve felt relieved and surreal in equal measures, but wrapped tight in Alfred’s arms and spewing words, he’s too occupied to focus on anything else.
He doesn’t know how long he speaks for, but he does know that Alfred doesn’t try to interject the whole while. He listens and holds Arthur until the words dry up and he’s left exhausted and a mess, all tear tracks and runny nose. Alfred still waits, as if he wants to make absolutely sure Arthur has nothing further to say before starting himself, and only after a few, silent moments, does he speak. Arthur smiles, despite everything and the phlegm that’s an unfortunate side-effect of being an unattractive crier, because he loves how Alfred surprises him with manners when he least expects it. When they count the most. Alfred’s voice is low and barely above a whisper, and Arthur wonders if this is the same sort of tone he uses when calming skittish colts and horses in Texas. Arthur doesn’t know why, but the thought is comforting, if it is the same tone-Alfred thinks horses are beautiful, it’s nice being thought of on the same level in some fashion.
Listening to Alfred, Arthur thinks it’s almost a little funny how similar their worries and fears are. Almost funny, but mainly scary, because they’d almost-well, Arthur doesn’t much care to think about near misses, especially when he’s going to make sure the ‘almost’ doesn’t happen. Arthur stays silent for Alfred, only offering noises of encouragement or sympathy when Alfred prompts him for them, and he can feel Alfred slumping a little bit more into him with each sentence he gets out. They’re somehow tucked into each other and on the floor, though Arthur can’t begin to figure out how that happened, and he’s shivering just a bit, despite the summer heat wave they’re in. Alfred isn’t crying, but his eyes are so damp that they almost appear to be shining-it’s not really funny at all, Arthur decides.
“What now?” His question breaks the silence that envelopes them for a few moments after Alfred finishes, and Arthur wonders if he even should have asked it. Alfred tenses, just a little bit, and exhales heavily into Arthur’s neck. Then, he starts to chuckle and Arthur pulls away to give him a stern look. “If you say ‘make-up sex,’ I’m banishing you to the sofa.”
Alfred laughs harder and kisses Arthur once on the lips before leaning back and pushing up to his feet. He’s still laughing when he extends a hand for Arthur to take; there’s not much he can do but take it and smile back. “Though I like the idea, wasn’t what I was thinking about, I was gonna ask if want to go on a walk or something. We could take Moony?”
Arthur considers the idea and meets Alfred’s utterly hopefully expression. “We could take Moony.”
“Yeah?”
“All right.”
“Awesome! Okay, lemme just, just find him… and his leash. Can you get that? It’s in the kitchen, I think.”
Arthur nods and watches softly as Alfred bounds down the hall, calling for Moonshine all the way. Poor thing, they probably scared him right under the bed with all their yelling; he hopes Oliver hasn’t hogged too much space. He walks to the kitchen and finds the leash quickly, shoved away into the drawer closest to the sink. Once in hand, he walks back to the living room and sits down, leash in hand, on the sofa to wait for Alfred. He can hear him struggling to get Moonshine from under there and he chuckles a little, a small helpless sound that sounds too wet for how happy he feels.
He’s glad Alfred had suggested a walk. He feels drained and mentally exhausted from their fight and the emotional fall-out which had soon followed. The world feels righted again, no longer off balance and jagged, and he’s grateful for it, but his mind literally cannot handle anything else right now. Sex, as satisfying as he knows it will be, is not what he needs, not what Alfred needs; sex is always emotional between them, even in their most ‘routine’ of nights, and the last thing he wants is for one of them to start crying mid-thrust. And be ‘one of them,’ he means himself, because honestly, it will be him. It just complicates things, and that’s possible why they went so long without it when they weren’t speaking, and after a night where they’d just unloaded everything out into the open, they may be better but they’re hardly sorted. A walk, though… maybe that will do the trick; maybe that will help them take the next step in the wake of tonight; maybe that will help them piece together what’s broken without the echoes of their yells and hurtful anger hanging about them/ in the apartment.
Maybe.
“And here he is!” Alfred comes back into the room with Moonshine trailing after him. The puppy’s ears are flicked back a little and his tail isn’t wagging quite as enthusiastically as usual, but he looks cautiously optimistic in the way only a puppy can. “You want to go on a walk, right buddy? Right?”
Arthur gets up and lifts the leash so Alfred can see it. “Yes.”
They hook the leash into Moonshine’s collar and head out, smiling and holding hands; it feels warm and real.
******
The next morning is Saturday and they wake up tangled in each other, fully clothed still. Arthur can’t remember feeling more rested in a long time; Moonshine’s soft, puppy breaths are ghosting across the arch of his foot and Oliver is hogging up a good portion of Arthur’s side. It forces him into Alfred’s side, but neither of them are complaining. They had talked a bit more on their walk, less harsh and desperate than they’d been in the apartment; discussing family and past hurts that fueled current doubts had made everything clearer, to both of them. And when they’d gotten home, the air between them had shifted. They still feel that way; lighter, more open, and hours later the apartment is like home again. Wrapped up in one another, it’s perfect and what they both want.
Moonshine whines and his paws twitch against the sheets; Arthur and Alfred look at each other before watching Moonshine chase his dreams in the gentle light of the early morning. They have plans today, of course. Arthur has an interview set up around noon, and Alfred has a study group planned for a test he’s giving next week. They really shouldn’t lie about all day, not when they have so much to do; they shouldn’t ignore their commitments.
“Want to stay in today?”
Arthur smiles, small and slow, and leans in to press it to Alfred’s. “All right.”
Bugger responsibilities, he thinks. They’ve earned a lie about for the day. It’s not every day one saves their relationship and discovers one another again-it should be celebrated. So it will, he decides, pressing a second, then third, then countless, kiss to Alfred with their puppy sleeping in between their feet.
Next Chapter
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 are commenting, I'll get to responding to them, I promise! 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 Four
The week doesn’t start off auspiciously.
Arthur’s got two big deadlines this week, one of which is not his story to begin with and had been shunted off to him by Francis, the French bastard, who never passes up an opportunity to flaunt his seniority over Arthur. He’d spilled coffee all over his favorite tie, and his messenger bag got ripped on a trashcan in the subway. He’s stressed and a wee bit frazzled and trying desperately not to bring it home with him, but he’s failing nearly every night. He’s snappish and easily irritable and not getting enough sleep to compensate for the hours he’s pulling at the office each day. It doesn’t help that Alfred’s been just as busy with a project for his dissertation and not as willing to put up with Arthur’s moods.
He feels like the progress they’ve been making is slipping away in the wake of their work and tempers, but Arthur doesn’t know how to stop it. Oliver, well used to their fighting by now, has taken residence under the bed and doesn’t come out save to eat and use his litter box. Moonshine, though, he doesn’t understand the change in the apartment, doesn’t know his owners quite well enough yet to know that they’re speeding towards a fight, one that will likely be explosive, and that more than anything makes Arthur feel like shit. Things had been going well the last few weeks, something Arthur had hoped for but hadn’t really expected to happen just because they adopted a puppy. Now, though, now he’s worried they’re about to ruin all that they’ve crossed, the space that they’ve bridged, so to speak, and he hates that he can’t voice the right words to try and stop it.
The living room is quiet, so that’s where Arthur sets up his laptop and tries to finish the last minute touches on his article about the recent protests going on due to tuition hikes at the local universities. Alfred’s music is loud and Arthur can hear it through the walls-he knows Alfred works best with background noise, but it grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves. Deep breath, old chap, he whispers to himself in his head, and proceeds to follow his own, silent instruction. It doesn’t really help, but he feels like it should have, which just serves to frustrate him further. He takes another, ineffectual, deep breath and focuses every iota of his attention on his article so that it will be ready for tomorrow’s deadline. The thump-thump-thump of Alfred’s music is still present, but starting to settle on the edge of his mind as he types and edits-it’s already half past nine, he really hopes to get this finished before midnight.
Moonshine whines and hops up onto the couch next to him, sitting up straight and staring at Arthur with the single-minded righteousness of a child who wants attention. “Not now, Moony. Go on.”
Arthur shoves a little at the puppy, but Moonshine is unaffected. He moves closer, close enough that Arthur can feel the puppy breath on his neck and makes little growls and yips until all Arthur can do is turn to face the puppy. He’s glaring, but it’s impossible to keep any real heat in it at Moonshine’s face-he truly is too cute for anyone’s own good. “Fine, yes, hello Moonshine. Look, I’m petting you, all right? There, happy? Now shoo, bugger off; go see your Da.”
Moonshine does not follow Arthur’s directions. Instead he yawns and settles down right up against Arthur’s leg and hip, his front paws dangling off the couch a little. Arthur stares at him as he wiggles a little until he’s found a comfortable spot, yawning once more for good measure before he closes his eyes sleepily. Arthur’s hand moves of its own accord and the next thing he knows, he’s petting Moonshine in gently strokes, neck to tail, until the puppy’s breathing steadies into a rhythm synonymous with sleep. Arthur keeps petting afterwards, even though he knows he needs that hand to finish typing (he supposes he could type one hand, but he imagines he’ll just cause more errors that way, not fix them).
The music is still too loud, he’s still tired and has too much on his plate this week, and the air in the apartment is still too thick with tension to be relaxed, but he feels a bit better with Moonshine sleeping tight against him. Not good, but better. It’s funny, how simple a thing as a puppy sleeping up against you, trusting you and comforting you without truly understanding all that is wrong but knowing it nonetheless, can change things. Arthur always appreciates when Oliver curls up with him and purrs, but it’s different with Moonshine-maybe because he’s younger, maybe because he’s more affectionate than Oliver is, maybe because he belongs to him and Alfred. His eyes go a little misty and he tells himself it’s just because he’s a little stressed or that he’s been staring at computer screens for too long; he sniffs and clears his throat, turning back to his article and reading through his words with the harshest eyes he can muster.
He keeps petting Moonshine, and it helps keep unwanted and completely inconvenient tears from falling.
*****
The fight comes on Friday.
It starts, as these things usually do, with something innocuous, something that’s normally inconsequential and nothing to get worked up over. It starts with Alfred’s shoes in the doorway, where he generally likes to toe them off after he gets back, and where Arthur trips over them when he gets home, tired and cross, hours later. It also starts with the complete mess Arthur had left the office in the night before, where he’d done some last minute research on the university protests at one in the morning to make sure he had enough credible sources for the story. They’re both stretched too thin and they both didn’t need a mess waiting for them when they got home.
Arthur isn’t sure who actually started it, because they’d both been sniping at each other the moment they were both home, and they’d continued sniping at each other through dinner. The next thing he knows, they are screaming at each other and dinner is a mess on the table instead of on the plates where it belongs, and Arthur’s sure one of their neighbors is going to call and complain about them any moment now. Arthur isn’t even really sure what they’re yelling about at this point (maybe something about clutter and dishes, whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t warrant the anger they’re spewing), but then it takes a turn for the worst and the next thing he hears feels like an anvil dropped in his stomach.
“If you can’t fucking stand me or ‘my mess,’ then why the hell are you still here?! Jesus, Arthur-I can’t…I don’t know what you want me to do and I-fuck.”
They’re both silent and staring and Arthur feels self-hatred settle right next to the anvil in his stomach at how Alfred’s eyes are wet and darker blue than usual. “I don’t… I didn’t say that-”
Arthur trails off, too afraid to voice the fears, doubts, and insecurities he feels into words. He doesn’t hate Alfred, he could never hate him and somewhere along the way, he’s forgotten how to show that; he’s forgotten how to talk like he used to because now Alfred means so much more to him than he ever could’ve imagined he would. He’d started internalizing everything instead of talking, because if he’d voiced all his fears because experience, hell, just his life in general, had told him that Alfred would walk away. Everyone else had, why would he be different, he’d asked himself? And that had terrified him. But that just made everything worse, hadn’t it? And now, now Alfred thinks Arthur-he thinks Arthur wants to leave and everything’s gotten so twisted around they’re screaming at each other over shoes and clutter. It all seems so incredibly silly and avoidable that Arthur can only cover his face and take deep, shuddering breaths to try and keep himself from falling apart.
Alfred ends up walking over to him, because Alfred always ends up taking the first step and it’s something Arthur loves about him, and his hands eventually are wrapping around his own, tugging them away from his face. He honestly looks surprised, which makes Arthur wonder how truly wrecked he must look, but he waits for Arthur to say something. And it’s about time he does so, Arthur bolsters himself mentally.
“I love you too much to hate you… and that terrifies me.”
That’s all he gets out steady, and then he falls apart, Alfred’s arms wrapping him up close. It’s like just saying the words unleashed all the others he’s been keeping inside, like unblocking a dam or unclogging a drain; neither of those analogies sound very pretty, though. Arthur has a hundred other metaphors he could use instead, but metaphors are just deflections, and he’s done enough of that. So he just lets the rest of it out, spilling all the worries, fears, and dark thoughts that tumble around his head every day into the open for Alfred to see and hear. For his part, Alfred holds him through it. Arthur isn’t keeping track of what he’s saying exactly, and he’s likely incoherent, but he can’t stop. If he stops, he may never find the courage to say these words again and the consequences for that, losing Alfred…it’s not acceptable.
Saying the words out loud, words about breaking up and not being together, however vague he’d been doing it, it makes Arthur realize something. Arthur can’t imagine how he ever thought that separating could’ve been an option, not one that can result in his happiness, in the wake of those words. Ever since Alfred had barged into his life with too big smiles and soft touches that remind Arthur of trite things like summer breezes and honey of all things, it’s not been an option. From how Alfred’s holding him so tight, shaking and gripping just a hair too hard across Arthur’s shoulders, it’s never been an option for him, either. And that’s when Arthur realizes that maybe that’s what Alfred has been trying to say all along with adopting Moonshine. Maybe he’s been just as terrible at saying what he’s needed to, like Arthur, and is just as terrified to boot. Arthur feels like, in another situation, he might’ve felt relieved and surreal in equal measures, but wrapped tight in Alfred’s arms and spewing words, he’s too occupied to focus on anything else.
He doesn’t know how long he speaks for, but he does know that Alfred doesn’t try to interject the whole while. He listens and holds Arthur until the words dry up and he’s left exhausted and a mess, all tear tracks and runny nose. Alfred still waits, as if he wants to make absolutely sure Arthur has nothing further to say before starting himself, and only after a few, silent moments, does he speak. Arthur smiles, despite everything and the phlegm that’s an unfortunate side-effect of being an unattractive crier, because he loves how Alfred surprises him with manners when he least expects it. When they count the most. Alfred’s voice is low and barely above a whisper, and Arthur wonders if this is the same sort of tone he uses when calming skittish colts and horses in Texas. Arthur doesn’t know why, but the thought is comforting, if it is the same tone-Alfred thinks horses are beautiful, it’s nice being thought of on the same level in some fashion.
Listening to Alfred, Arthur thinks it’s almost a little funny how similar their worries and fears are. Almost funny, but mainly scary, because they’d almost-well, Arthur doesn’t much care to think about near misses, especially when he’s going to make sure the ‘almost’ doesn’t happen. Arthur stays silent for Alfred, only offering noises of encouragement or sympathy when Alfred prompts him for them, and he can feel Alfred slumping a little bit more into him with each sentence he gets out. They’re somehow tucked into each other and on the floor, though Arthur can’t begin to figure out how that happened, and he’s shivering just a bit, despite the summer heat wave they’re in. Alfred isn’t crying, but his eyes are so damp that they almost appear to be shining-it’s not really funny at all, Arthur decides.
“What now?” His question breaks the silence that envelopes them for a few moments after Alfred finishes, and Arthur wonders if he even should have asked it. Alfred tenses, just a little bit, and exhales heavily into Arthur’s neck. Then, he starts to chuckle and Arthur pulls away to give him a stern look. “If you say ‘make-up sex,’ I’m banishing you to the sofa.”
Alfred laughs harder and kisses Arthur once on the lips before leaning back and pushing up to his feet. He’s still laughing when he extends a hand for Arthur to take; there’s not much he can do but take it and smile back. “Though I like the idea, wasn’t what I was thinking about, I was gonna ask if want to go on a walk or something. We could take Moony?”
Arthur considers the idea and meets Alfred’s utterly hopefully expression. “We could take Moony.”
“Yeah?”
“All right.”
“Awesome! Okay, lemme just, just find him… and his leash. Can you get that? It’s in the kitchen, I think.”
Arthur nods and watches softly as Alfred bounds down the hall, calling for Moonshine all the way. Poor thing, they probably scared him right under the bed with all their yelling; he hopes Oliver hasn’t hogged too much space. He walks to the kitchen and finds the leash quickly, shoved away into the drawer closest to the sink. Once in hand, he walks back to the living room and sits down, leash in hand, on the sofa to wait for Alfred. He can hear him struggling to get Moonshine from under there and he chuckles a little, a small helpless sound that sounds too wet for how happy he feels.
He’s glad Alfred had suggested a walk. He feels drained and mentally exhausted from their fight and the emotional fall-out which had soon followed. The world feels righted again, no longer off balance and jagged, and he’s grateful for it, but his mind literally cannot handle anything else right now. Sex, as satisfying as he knows it will be, is not what he needs, not what Alfred needs; sex is always emotional between them, even in their most ‘routine’ of nights, and the last thing he wants is for one of them to start crying mid-thrust. And be ‘one of them,’ he means himself, because honestly, it will be him. It just complicates things, and that’s possible why they went so long without it when they weren’t speaking, and after a night where they’d just unloaded everything out into the open, they may be better but they’re hardly sorted. A walk, though… maybe that will do the trick; maybe that will help them take the next step in the wake of tonight; maybe that will help them piece together what’s broken without the echoes of their yells and hurtful anger hanging about them/ in the apartment.
Maybe.
“And here he is!” Alfred comes back into the room with Moonshine trailing after him. The puppy’s ears are flicked back a little and his tail isn’t wagging quite as enthusiastically as usual, but he looks cautiously optimistic in the way only a puppy can. “You want to go on a walk, right buddy? Right?”
Arthur gets up and lifts the leash so Alfred can see it. “Yes.”
They hook the leash into Moonshine’s collar and head out, smiling and holding hands; it feels warm and real.
******
The next morning is Saturday and they wake up tangled in each other, fully clothed still. Arthur can’t remember feeling more rested in a long time; Moonshine’s soft, puppy breaths are ghosting across the arch of his foot and Oliver is hogging up a good portion of Arthur’s side. It forces him into Alfred’s side, but neither of them are complaining. They had talked a bit more on their walk, less harsh and desperate than they’d been in the apartment; discussing family and past hurts that fueled current doubts had made everything clearer, to both of them. And when they’d gotten home, the air between them had shifted. They still feel that way; lighter, more open, and hours later the apartment is like home again. Wrapped up in one another, it’s perfect and what they both want.
Moonshine whines and his paws twitch against the sheets; Arthur and Alfred look at each other before watching Moonshine chase his dreams in the gentle light of the early morning. They have plans today, of course. Arthur has an interview set up around noon, and Alfred has a study group planned for a test he’s giving next week. They really shouldn’t lie about all day, not when they have so much to do; they shouldn’t ignore their commitments.
“Want to stay in today?”
Arthur smiles, small and slow, and leans in to press it to Alfred’s. “All right.”
Bugger responsibilities, he thinks. They’ve earned a lie about for the day. It’s not every day one saves their relationship and discovers one another again-it should be celebrated. So it will, he decides, pressing a second, then third, then countless, kiss to Alfred with their puppy sleeping in between their feet.
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