NaNo - 2008
“How is your head feeling?” Alfred asked, crouching down beside the arm of the couch. Only one of Arthur’s hands was visible in a nest of blonde hair as it rested gracefully upon his forehead from over the edge of the arm from where he hovered.
“What the hell was in that drink, you bastard?” he groaned. His fingers twitched in annoyance from the sudden noise.
Trying to stifle his chuckle, Alfred extended one hand over the arm of the couch. He nudged the side of Arthur’s face with his fingers lightly to try and get his attention. “Aspirin.”
Arthur’s hand shifted, then slid from over his eyes as he rolled his head to the side; his face rested against the young man’s palm for a moment, then, with a disgruntled groan, he his head rolled away and he nuzzled the back of the couch. “Your finger went up my nose.”
“That wasn’t your nose, idiot,” Alfred replied. His hand tingled slightly where it had been warmed by the gentle breaths. “C’mon, sit up. I told you not to drink it but you didn’t listen to me.” He nudged the man’s face again and again, hooking his fingers under his chin to guide his head around.
“My nose, my mouth whatever shutup you’re making my head hurt,” Arthur grumbled and tried to burry further into the cushions.
Alfred laughed. “I’m trying to take care of you and you’re being mean to me,” he complained with faked dismay. “Now try to sit up and drink this,” Alfred said, slipping his other hand around the other side of Arthur
“You probably deserve it,” the other male complained, but obediently rolled back over and wriggled around on the couch in an attempt to sit up. He only resulted in pushing his head over the arm of the couch, and glared at Alfred upside down.
He only grinned.
Arthur continued to glare until his head hurt (which actually didn’t take as long as he would have hoped), then pushed himself up into a proper sitting position and snatched the two tablets from Alfred’s hand. Then he glanced over at the tall glass in his other hand and glared at the orange liquid for a moment. “What is it?” He twisted around to stare down at the young man behind him.
“Champagne and orange juice!” he chimed, his chin resting on the arm of the couch. Alfred looked up at him and grinned.
“Are you trying to get me more drunk?!” Arthur snapped.
“It’s almost midnight. You have to have a drink to make a toast,” he pouted, still looking up over the rim of his glasses. “I made it really weak.”
Arthur hesitated, trying to sort out his thoughts to remember why he was even with the brat in the first place. Midnight…? Er… Hmm… Oh, that’s right. “New Years…” he muttered, then swung his legs off the couch and leaned against the back of it.
“Ehhh? You mean you had forgotten?” Alfred teased. “You’re so mean to me!”
“Shut up!” he said, blushing, and took the glass that was offered to him. By the time he took the two aspirin and managed to suppress a wince, the young man had returned to his side and was about to sit down with a glass of his own. “Go turn down the lights. They make my head hurt.”
Frowning, Alfred put down his glass and disappeared from his line of vision for a moment. Then the lights went down and the pain abated slightly from behind his eyes.
Arthur sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch. He suddenly felt very tired. “Wake me up when the countdown starts.”
“Alright,” Alfred replied softly with a smile. He settled down onto the couch, squeezing in between the arm and the young man beside him-who immediately grunted in annoyance and wiggled a little further away.
As he dozed off, Arthur imagined something warm and just a little too heavy around his shoulders. He also thought he could feel the feather-soft movement of his hair across his forehead as someone’s breath moved it to-and-fro. Then again, his imagination always was little overactive.
“Oi, wake up, it’s about to start.”
Arthur really didn’t want to wake up. The heavy warmth was gone from his shoulders, and when he opened his eyes, he found Alfred with one arm propped against the back of the couch above his head, and he was leaning away against the arm of the couch with his chin tucked against his hand. He wasn’t too sure, but he thought for a moment that Alfred could have been blushing.
His attention was drawn over to the TV, wondering when it had been turned on. “What’s this?” he asked, referring to the program.
“The New Years celebration in New York,” the young man replied. He picked up the remote and turned up the volume slightly. “Countdown starts in about thirty seconds.”
Arthur had never been too into the celebration of New Year’s thing, but he was feeling considerably better now that his headache had receded, so he decided to try and enjoy it just a little. And this was the first time they sat together without arguing in awhile. Enjoy it just a little.
The countdown on the TV began. “Ten… nine… eight… seven…”
‘Happy New Year’ is all I have to say right? Why does it suddenly feel awkward? I just have to say it and smile and-Why did he always start worrying about these things?! To distract himself, Arthur leaned forward when the count got to ‘three’ to reach for his drink.
On ‘two’, Alfred’s arm slipped off the back of the couch and wrapped around his shoulders. His other hand reached out and he turned Arthur’s face towards him.
On ‘one’, they kissed. Or, more properly, Alfred kissed him and Arthur’s brain took a few seconds to start working again. And maybe it was because he was still drunk, or still half asleep, or-well, it certainly wasn’t because he enjoyed it!-but Arthur’s reaction was to kiss him back.
When they slowly pulled away, ignoring the sounds of the celebrations on TV, their faces were still close together and Arthur realized that the breath he had felt before was Alfred’s and the heavy warmth was his arm and he suddenly felt very embarrassed.
But the young man wouldn’t let him pull away, keeping his arm clamped around the small shoulders, and he smiled. “Happy New Year.”
He hesitated for a long time, simply soaking in the feelings before he frowned and said, “Brat, you stole my line.”