[fanfic] A Late Valentine's Day
Title: A Late Valentine
Author: me~
Characters/Pairings: US/UK
Rating: PG
Warnings: essence of hints of hanky panky
Summary: A fic I sent to my dear sakuratsukikage as a Valentines/grossly-late-Christmas present.Alfred is uncharacteristically forgtful.
Arthur felt himself growing increasingly anxious as the steady hiss of the shower in the next room finally ceased, Alfred’s low, musical humming becoming more pronounced without the background noise.
The mattress groaned as Arthur shifted to put his book down and rub his face, a long-tortured sound that told of its continued, brutal abuse at the-admittedly grabby-hands of the two of them.
It was a Sunday, a day which had more than once caused Arthur a great deal of stress. With the madness of the past few months, Alfred had made a habit of taking red-eyes to London every few Fridays to spend the weekend with Arthur. While this was enjoyable, breaking up the usually two- or three-month absences they suffered from one another, it not only increased the frequency of their goodbyes, which had always been hardest for Arthur, but also instilled in him a deep-rooted hatred for Sunday nights, which marked Alfred’s departure from London and their final night together before the beginning of an agonizingly long, kiss-less, shag-less, Alfred-less week.
To add to this already-present roiling dread in Arthur’s gut, this Sunday happened to be the 14th, a date which Arthur had not yet grown accustomed to looking forward to. Decades of loneliness had set a routine of staying in with Doctor Who and a cup of good tea on this particular holiday, and even the aggressiveness of American advertisements had not yet reversed Arthur’s feelings on the date.
Alfred did tend to have a wonderful and sometimes perplexing memory for dates, particularly those which pertained to their relationship-first dates and first kisses that Arthur would never think to commemorate with an anniversary. But somehow, despite all odds, this particular date seemed to have escaped Alfred’s mind.
Arthur had no particular explanation for it, which was probably the most worrying part of it all. Alfred was always enthusiastic about holidays, given how commercialized they tended to be in his country, and never forgot one, no matter how menial it might be.
Their traditional, pre-departure Sunday plans were unpremeditated, as usual, and Alfred had let on to nothing pertaining to any special dinner reservations or tickets to a theatre-and Arthur knew that if Alfred had them, he would know so by now. Alfred was shite at lying, as well as keeping secrets.
It was their first real Valentine’s Day together, Arthur reminded himself-perhaps Alfred had forgotten the occasion, as accustomed to dull lover’s holidays as Arthur was.
In any case, Arthur refused to let himself be a heart-broken schoolgirl over it. He didn’t need to be showered with chocolate and hideous pink things like some jaded housewife. He’d made it through countless Valentine’s Days without Alfred, and surely spending one with him sans fanfare would be enough for Arthur.
Alfred emerged from the bathroom, pajama pants hung loosely on his hips, damp bath towel slung over one shoulder. He was carding his hands through his hair aggressively, arranging the water-darkened strands into a semblance of order. It looked positively lush fresh from the shower, and Arthur wanted badly to sink his hands into it, as was his habit.
Alfred hopped over and sat on the bed by Arthur’s feet, tossing his towel onto the edge of the bed and leaning his arms on Arthur’s bent knees. He smiled sweetly, and Arthur could feel how warm and soft his skin was from the shower.
“What’re we up to tonight, babe?”
Arthur resisted flinching-this was to be expected, he told himself. He was going to keep his damn gob shut and enjoy himself, like every other Sunday. Like every other Sunday.
“Up to you, I suppose,” Arthur conceded calmly. Alfred just smiled, the smile that Arthur dared to believe was just for him, a soft curve that somehow reached Alfred’s eyes and made them shine, subtle and warm and breathtaking like the bright, colorful aftermath of a sun sunken into the ocean.
“I’m not up for anything fancy, if you don’t mind,” Alfred said gently, crawling up beside Arthur and lowering himself to the mattress to tuck a kiss under Arthur’s jaw. “I just wanna spend some good old-fashioned time with my baby.”
Arthur felt the familiar impulse to avert his eyes, his flushed cheeks and almost undetectable smile betraying his pleasure. “I suppose I could tolerate plebian entertainment for one night,” Arthur said, the affection in his tone belying his exasperated words. That smile returned, and Arthur swore to himself that sometimes-usually, most of the time, always-the embarrassment was worth it. Worth that precious smile. “Have anything particular in mind?”
Alfred rested his nose against Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur could feel the curve of a smile against his skin, a familiar stretch of soft lips.
“Curry?”
Arthur smiled at that, and the apple of his cheek pressed back against Alfred’s nose. Alfred shifted slightly to graze his mouth over Arthur’s cheek, a there-and-gone sensation of damp heat that made Arthur sigh.
“You know me too well.”
~*~
The Indian place was a short walk from Arthur’s house, and Arthur demanded Alfred wear his coat, despite the American’s boasting that London’s February temperatures would be a heat wave in Boston. Alfred held his hand the entire walk there, which was not unusual, but Arthur refrained from putting up a fuss about it, which, in fact, was. The end result was a small smile that lingered on Alfred’s face long after they’d arrived and seated themselves in their usual booth.
Curry was a failsafe for them-Arthur always gave Alfred the half of his naan that he didn’t eat, and Alfred always got a rice pudding that Arthur, after meager complaints, always ended up sharing with him. Alfred made airy conversation with no urging from Arthur, and Arthur participated cooperatively, glad at the opportunity to forget his anxiety as well as the knowledge that it would only return with a vengeance later that night.
Arthur knew not at what point Alfred had migrated to his side of the table, but with Alfred’s arm around his waist and their sides touching, Alfred’s warmth seeping into him, he decided that looking for all the world like a besotted, lovesick idiot was something he could tolerate for tonight.
“I’m sorry things’ve been so nuts lately,” Alfred said quietly, suddenly, following a comfortable silence broken only by the hum of the neon sign in the window behind them. Arthur turned to him a little more, his ear against Alfred’s shoulder.
“It has been rather hectic, hasn’t it?” Arthur agreed, a smile coming over his mouth that he deliberately hid. “But it’s… it’s really rather sweet of you to come over so often, Alfred. I really should… ah, thank you for… that. You are so busy, after all.”
Alfred smiled again, that smile, and Arthur ducked his head away from its brilliance under the guise of looking out the window at a man passing by, his coat pulled tightly around him against the chilling breeze. Arthur shivered slightly and snuggled farther into Alfred’s side.
“No thanks needed,” Alfred said easily. “It’s more than worth it to get to see you.”
This time the heat in Arthur’s cheeks actually stung, making his whole body feel warm, laving all the way down his chest and curling into his belly. Alfred’s arm around him pulled him a little closer, and the gentle pressure of being held against Alfred’s side was comforting and radiated apology, apology for being away, which Arthur readily accepted with a little nuzzle to the scoop of Alfred’s shoulder.
“But I do want to spend more time with you,” Alfred said, and before Arthur could open his mouth to offer to fly over to New York for a few days, an unsealed white envelope was offered to him. He took it delicately, with a dubious look in Alfred’s direction, but Alfred was just sitting there, a small, almost shy smile on his face that suddenly made Arthur stomach roil with anticipation.
He slowly lifted the flap of the envelope, and reached in, feeling two pieces of paper-no, they were thicker than paper, not quite cardboard, and he could feel the glossiness of their surfaces. Photographs? No, much too small.
Alfred’s arm tightened around him, tensing, and at that he decided to stop teasing himself. He pulled the envelope away and held two tickets in his hand. Plane tickets-to Barcelona.
Alfred’s forehead came to rest gently against Arthur’s temple, and his hand made little affectionate motions across the dip of Arthur’s waist as he sat there, dumbfounded.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” Alfred said quietly into his ear.
“Oh-oh my,” Arthur said dumbly.
“I have a week off on the twenty-second,” Alfred started to explain, hurriedly, almost anxious. “I looked at your calendar, and you didn’t have any meetings put down-well, any important ones, anyway-and I know you like going to Spain, even though it’s not the best time of year-oh, oh baby, don’t cry, I-I didn’t mean-”
Arthur shook his head hurriedly, swiping his hand across his face. It wasn’t the tickets that had overwhelmed him-though they were incredibly sweet, and lord, Alfred did know him so well, and that in itself, oh goodness-but the fact that Alfred had remembered, he had, and had been keeping these tickets from him as a surprise, probably planning them for weeks-maybe he was good at surprises-and oh god, they were going on vacation together. To Spain.
Not for the first time, Arthur wondered how he, grumpy, bitter old England, had managed to marry such an amazing, beautiful, wonderful man.
“N-no,” Arthur stammered, looking at the tickets in his lap so that he wouldn’t look at Alfred, for he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to suck back the tears. “I-I simply…”
He hung his head in shame, and couldn’t help the fresh wave of emotion that crashed over him like a breaking wave. How could he have thought such a thing of Alfred? His sweet, thoughtful, generous husband, who never forgot Arthur’s gifted-birthday, even though he sometimes did himself, and who never failed to have warm tea waiting for him if he woke up late on a weekend, and who always did everything he possibly could to make Arthur happy. That he could ever think Alfred would forget Valentine’s Day, of all days, made him ashamed, made him angry with himself.
He turned to bury his face against Alfred’s jacket, the leather soaking up his tears. “I-I thought you’d forgotten,” he croaked, with the faintest hint of a self-deprecating laugh in his voice. He wrapped the hand that wasn’t clutching the tickets around Alfred, under his jacket and against the unbelievable heat of his back, curling his hand there.
Alfred made a little noise of affectionate pity, curling both arms around Arthur and pulling him closer, holding him even at the awkward angle and rubbing his back gently, soothingly. “Aww, sweetheart, of course I didn’t forget,” he cooed, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Of course I didn’t.”
Arthur nodded into him, pushing back from his shoulder slightly to look up at him. That smile was there again, and Arthur’s heart broke all over again, and he leaned up to kiss it, to tongue it lovingly, appreciating its curve and warmth.
“Thank you, Alfred,” he finally breathed. “It’s… incredibly sweet. Thank you.”
The smile just widened, and Alfred’s eyes were alight, a clear, affectionate autumn blue against the grumpy winter grey outside the restaurant window. Alfred kissed his forehead, his nose, each of his eyebrows lovingly, delicately, as if Arthur were fragile, precious, to be handled with the utmost care, and Arthur’s eyes were welling again.
“You’re so welcome, angel,” he said, his voice soft and deep, a sound Arthur also knew was meant for him, so much gentler than the high, excited register reached outside of closed quarters. Arthur smiled softly, feeling an almost physical tug to Alfred, waiting for those words he knew were coming and which he was suddenly parched of.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” Arthur hummed, feeling sated and full and soft at those words, which never lost their shine as often as Alfred had uttered them. “Dearest. I love you.”
That smile softened even further, as full and happy and contented as Arthur felt, and they were together again, joined softly at the mouths, a unit, a pair. Arthur slid closer, brushing his fingers against the nape of Alfred’s neck, keeping the kiss soft and slow, they way he knew Alfred liked it. They didn’t need to rush things, Arthur seemed to realize. They had forever.
I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for the lame lateness~ ^^
Author: me~
Characters/Pairings: US/UK
Rating: PG
Warnings: essence of hints of hanky panky
Summary: A fic I sent to my dear sakuratsukikage as a Valentines/grossly-late-Christmas present.Alfred is uncharacteristically forgtful.
Arthur felt himself growing increasingly anxious as the steady hiss of the shower in the next room finally ceased, Alfred’s low, musical humming becoming more pronounced without the background noise.
The mattress groaned as Arthur shifted to put his book down and rub his face, a long-tortured sound that told of its continued, brutal abuse at the-admittedly grabby-hands of the two of them.
It was a Sunday, a day which had more than once caused Arthur a great deal of stress. With the madness of the past few months, Alfred had made a habit of taking red-eyes to London every few Fridays to spend the weekend with Arthur. While this was enjoyable, breaking up the usually two- or three-month absences they suffered from one another, it not only increased the frequency of their goodbyes, which had always been hardest for Arthur, but also instilled in him a deep-rooted hatred for Sunday nights, which marked Alfred’s departure from London and their final night together before the beginning of an agonizingly long, kiss-less, shag-less, Alfred-less week.
To add to this already-present roiling dread in Arthur’s gut, this Sunday happened to be the 14th, a date which Arthur had not yet grown accustomed to looking forward to. Decades of loneliness had set a routine of staying in with Doctor Who and a cup of good tea on this particular holiday, and even the aggressiveness of American advertisements had not yet reversed Arthur’s feelings on the date.
Alfred did tend to have a wonderful and sometimes perplexing memory for dates, particularly those which pertained to their relationship-first dates and first kisses that Arthur would never think to commemorate with an anniversary. But somehow, despite all odds, this particular date seemed to have escaped Alfred’s mind.
Arthur had no particular explanation for it, which was probably the most worrying part of it all. Alfred was always enthusiastic about holidays, given how commercialized they tended to be in his country, and never forgot one, no matter how menial it might be.
Their traditional, pre-departure Sunday plans were unpremeditated, as usual, and Alfred had let on to nothing pertaining to any special dinner reservations or tickets to a theatre-and Arthur knew that if Alfred had them, he would know so by now. Alfred was shite at lying, as well as keeping secrets.
It was their first real Valentine’s Day together, Arthur reminded himself-perhaps Alfred had forgotten the occasion, as accustomed to dull lover’s holidays as Arthur was.
In any case, Arthur refused to let himself be a heart-broken schoolgirl over it. He didn’t need to be showered with chocolate and hideous pink things like some jaded housewife. He’d made it through countless Valentine’s Days without Alfred, and surely spending one with him sans fanfare would be enough for Arthur.
Alfred emerged from the bathroom, pajama pants hung loosely on his hips, damp bath towel slung over one shoulder. He was carding his hands through his hair aggressively, arranging the water-darkened strands into a semblance of order. It looked positively lush fresh from the shower, and Arthur wanted badly to sink his hands into it, as was his habit.
Alfred hopped over and sat on the bed by Arthur’s feet, tossing his towel onto the edge of the bed and leaning his arms on Arthur’s bent knees. He smiled sweetly, and Arthur could feel how warm and soft his skin was from the shower.
“What’re we up to tonight, babe?”
Arthur resisted flinching-this was to be expected, he told himself. He was going to keep his damn gob shut and enjoy himself, like every other Sunday. Like every other Sunday.
“Up to you, I suppose,” Arthur conceded calmly. Alfred just smiled, the smile that Arthur dared to believe was just for him, a soft curve that somehow reached Alfred’s eyes and made them shine, subtle and warm and breathtaking like the bright, colorful aftermath of a sun sunken into the ocean.
“I’m not up for anything fancy, if you don’t mind,” Alfred said gently, crawling up beside Arthur and lowering himself to the mattress to tuck a kiss under Arthur’s jaw. “I just wanna spend some good old-fashioned time with my baby.”
Arthur felt the familiar impulse to avert his eyes, his flushed cheeks and almost undetectable smile betraying his pleasure. “I suppose I could tolerate plebian entertainment for one night,” Arthur said, the affection in his tone belying his exasperated words. That smile returned, and Arthur swore to himself that sometimes-usually, most of the time, always-the embarrassment was worth it. Worth that precious smile. “Have anything particular in mind?”
Alfred rested his nose against Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur could feel the curve of a smile against his skin, a familiar stretch of soft lips.
“Curry?”
Arthur smiled at that, and the apple of his cheek pressed back against Alfred’s nose. Alfred shifted slightly to graze his mouth over Arthur’s cheek, a there-and-gone sensation of damp heat that made Arthur sigh.
“You know me too well.”
~*~
The Indian place was a short walk from Arthur’s house, and Arthur demanded Alfred wear his coat, despite the American’s boasting that London’s February temperatures would be a heat wave in Boston. Alfred held his hand the entire walk there, which was not unusual, but Arthur refrained from putting up a fuss about it, which, in fact, was. The end result was a small smile that lingered on Alfred’s face long after they’d arrived and seated themselves in their usual booth.
Curry was a failsafe for them-Arthur always gave Alfred the half of his naan that he didn’t eat, and Alfred always got a rice pudding that Arthur, after meager complaints, always ended up sharing with him. Alfred made airy conversation with no urging from Arthur, and Arthur participated cooperatively, glad at the opportunity to forget his anxiety as well as the knowledge that it would only return with a vengeance later that night.
Arthur knew not at what point Alfred had migrated to his side of the table, but with Alfred’s arm around his waist and their sides touching, Alfred’s warmth seeping into him, he decided that looking for all the world like a besotted, lovesick idiot was something he could tolerate for tonight.
“I’m sorry things’ve been so nuts lately,” Alfred said quietly, suddenly, following a comfortable silence broken only by the hum of the neon sign in the window behind them. Arthur turned to him a little more, his ear against Alfred’s shoulder.
“It has been rather hectic, hasn’t it?” Arthur agreed, a smile coming over his mouth that he deliberately hid. “But it’s… it’s really rather sweet of you to come over so often, Alfred. I really should… ah, thank you for… that. You are so busy, after all.”
Alfred smiled again, that smile, and Arthur ducked his head away from its brilliance under the guise of looking out the window at a man passing by, his coat pulled tightly around him against the chilling breeze. Arthur shivered slightly and snuggled farther into Alfred’s side.
“No thanks needed,” Alfred said easily. “It’s more than worth it to get to see you.”
This time the heat in Arthur’s cheeks actually stung, making his whole body feel warm, laving all the way down his chest and curling into his belly. Alfred’s arm around him pulled him a little closer, and the gentle pressure of being held against Alfred’s side was comforting and radiated apology, apology for being away, which Arthur readily accepted with a little nuzzle to the scoop of Alfred’s shoulder.
“But I do want to spend more time with you,” Alfred said, and before Arthur could open his mouth to offer to fly over to New York for a few days, an unsealed white envelope was offered to him. He took it delicately, with a dubious look in Alfred’s direction, but Alfred was just sitting there, a small, almost shy smile on his face that suddenly made Arthur stomach roil with anticipation.
He slowly lifted the flap of the envelope, and reached in, feeling two pieces of paper-no, they were thicker than paper, not quite cardboard, and he could feel the glossiness of their surfaces. Photographs? No, much too small.
Alfred’s arm tightened around him, tensing, and at that he decided to stop teasing himself. He pulled the envelope away and held two tickets in his hand. Plane tickets-to Barcelona.
Alfred’s forehead came to rest gently against Arthur’s temple, and his hand made little affectionate motions across the dip of Arthur’s waist as he sat there, dumbfounded.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” Alfred said quietly into his ear.
“Oh-oh my,” Arthur said dumbly.
“I have a week off on the twenty-second,” Alfred started to explain, hurriedly, almost anxious. “I looked at your calendar, and you didn’t have any meetings put down-well, any important ones, anyway-and I know you like going to Spain, even though it’s not the best time of year-oh, oh baby, don’t cry, I-I didn’t mean-”
Arthur shook his head hurriedly, swiping his hand across his face. It wasn’t the tickets that had overwhelmed him-though they were incredibly sweet, and lord, Alfred did know him so well, and that in itself, oh goodness-but the fact that Alfred had remembered, he had, and had been keeping these tickets from him as a surprise, probably planning them for weeks-maybe he was good at surprises-and oh god, they were going on vacation together. To Spain.
Not for the first time, Arthur wondered how he, grumpy, bitter old England, had managed to marry such an amazing, beautiful, wonderful man.
“N-no,” Arthur stammered, looking at the tickets in his lap so that he wouldn’t look at Alfred, for he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to suck back the tears. “I-I simply…”
He hung his head in shame, and couldn’t help the fresh wave of emotion that crashed over him like a breaking wave. How could he have thought such a thing of Alfred? His sweet, thoughtful, generous husband, who never forgot Arthur’s gifted-birthday, even though he sometimes did himself, and who never failed to have warm tea waiting for him if he woke up late on a weekend, and who always did everything he possibly could to make Arthur happy. That he could ever think Alfred would forget Valentine’s Day, of all days, made him ashamed, made him angry with himself.
He turned to bury his face against Alfred’s jacket, the leather soaking up his tears. “I-I thought you’d forgotten,” he croaked, with the faintest hint of a self-deprecating laugh in his voice. He wrapped the hand that wasn’t clutching the tickets around Alfred, under his jacket and against the unbelievable heat of his back, curling his hand there.
Alfred made a little noise of affectionate pity, curling both arms around Arthur and pulling him closer, holding him even at the awkward angle and rubbing his back gently, soothingly. “Aww, sweetheart, of course I didn’t forget,” he cooed, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Of course I didn’t.”
Arthur nodded into him, pushing back from his shoulder slightly to look up at him. That smile was there again, and Arthur’s heart broke all over again, and he leaned up to kiss it, to tongue it lovingly, appreciating its curve and warmth.
“Thank you, Alfred,” he finally breathed. “It’s… incredibly sweet. Thank you.”
The smile just widened, and Alfred’s eyes were alight, a clear, affectionate autumn blue against the grumpy winter grey outside the restaurant window. Alfred kissed his forehead, his nose, each of his eyebrows lovingly, delicately, as if Arthur were fragile, precious, to be handled with the utmost care, and Arthur’s eyes were welling again.
“You’re so welcome, angel,” he said, his voice soft and deep, a sound Arthur also knew was meant for him, so much gentler than the high, excited register reached outside of closed quarters. Arthur smiled softly, feeling an almost physical tug to Alfred, waiting for those words he knew were coming and which he was suddenly parched of.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” Arthur hummed, feeling sated and full and soft at those words, which never lost their shine as often as Alfred had uttered them. “Dearest. I love you.”
That smile softened even further, as full and happy and contented as Arthur felt, and they were together again, joined softly at the mouths, a unit, a pair. Arthur slid closer, brushing his fingers against the nape of Alfred’s neck, keeping the kiss soft and slow, they way he knew Alfred liked it. They didn’t need to rush things, Arthur seemed to realize. They had forever.
I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for the lame lateness~ ^^