Good Morning
Title: Good Morning
Rating: PG (for mentions of sex; being cautious with the ratings here)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): US/UK
Warnings: Fail!fluff
Summary: Countries being cuddly and cringy romantic types Part 2
Time Frame: Current
A/N: Deanoning from the kinkmeme. Figured I might as well own up.
Sequel to Sofa Time.
They’ve been together so long by now that the torrid, frantic sex of the early days is long past. Closets, the kitchen table and other furniture not built for the purpose still get test runs occasionally, but it lacks the same desperation. They’re not trying to crawl inside each other’s skin anymore: they know each other inside out by now.
That hardly means the passion’s gone though. Just because the bed is used as much for sleep as it is for sex doesn’t mean there’s been a similar dip in their intimacy, it just shows itself in different ways.
Arthur woke with Alfred curled around him, head resting against his chest, his favourite position. On days when he doesn’t need to get up, few and far between, he let Alfred’s heartbeat lull him back to sleep. Today, however, was not one of those days so he reluctantly extricated himself and let a well loved antique of a stuffed rabbit replace him in Alfred’s arms, tucking the Old Glory duvet around both of them. As he braved the lukewarm water of the shower he quelled his jealousy of the toy by remembering the two weeks it took him to make it.
Alfred, a late sleeper, almost never got to wake up with Arthur still sleeping beside him. If he was lucky, he’d stir while the shower was still running- inspiration enough to get up and offer to warm Arthur up where the shoddy boiler wasn’t doing the trick- but today it was the smell of coffee that woke him. He always set up the coffee machine the night before so all Arthur had to do was flip the switch: it was the only way to guarantee good coffee, what with Arthur’s ability to burn water.
The sound of something being set down beside him prompted Alfred to, very reluctantly, open his eyes. Arthur, a blur of immaculate uniform and bone china that must be his third cup of tea of the day, gestured to the smudge of patriotic colours that are Alfred’s mug of coffee on the bedside table.
Alfred smiled, still soft with sleep, and wriggled into a vaguely upright position. His bunny was perched on Arthur’s pillow, watching them both with button eyes.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Join me?”
“No.” Alfred’s dramatic sulk did no good as Arthur wasn’t looking at him, so he waited until the other man set down his empty cup then pounced and dragged him back into bed.
“Oi, you git, I only just ironed my uniform. Let go!” They struggled briefly, until Alfred obediently did as he was told, complete with puppy dog pout, and loosened his grip. His expression melted into a blinding smile when Arthur didn’t move.
“Daft American,” Arthur muttered under his breath, shifting so Alfred’s arms were around him.
Alfred chuckled and obligingly pulled him close. “Stuffy Englishman.” When Arthur looked up to glare at him, Alfred kissed him until his dark expression subsided, tasting Arthur’s complaints as they melted away.
“I’m going to be late,” Arthur murmured when Alfred gave him space to breathe, flushed and oblivious to the state his uniform was in by this stage.
Alfred tightened his grip, just in case Arthur sense of duty kicked in again. “Cameron will forgive you.”
Arthur snorted. So much for being a gentleman. “Cameron is a Tory,” he replied, as if that explained why the man wouldn’t appreciate tardiness on account of early morning intimacy. “Just because Obama makes exception for you doesn’t mean the rest of us are as lucky with our bosses. Lazy American.”
“Fussy Englishman,” Alfred replied automatically, kissing Arthur again to silence the well choreographed retort. “You can go if you really want.”
Arthur stayed where he was, lying against Alfred with his head tucked under Alfred’s chin.
“Cheater,” he grumbled finally.
“Winner,” Alfred corrected him.
He felt Arthur smile against his throat and wondered at the sudden change of tack.
“Don’t be so sure,” Arthur purred, kissing Alfred’s neck just the right way to make him shiver. It promised a multitude of plans, all of which ran in gleeful sparks down Alfred’s spine as Arthur dipped lower, taking advantage of Alfred’s sparse pyjamas.
“If this is losing,” Alfred muttered, somewhat distracted- hard to keep your thoughts straight when all the blood was rushing to the wrong brain, courtesy of one talented and still unfairly fully clothed Englishman- “I wouldn’t mind doing it more often.”
He caught Arthur’s eyes, the wash of green burning dark with an intent that made Alfred’s mouth go dry.
Arthur smiled, pure evil. “Ten minutes,” he purred against Alfred’s skin, “then I really need to leave for work.”
“More than enough,” Alfred grinned, throwing in a cheeky wink. “With an encore in the office later?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Rating: PG (for mentions of sex; being cautious with the ratings here)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): US/UK
Warnings: Fail!fluff
Summary: Countries being cuddly and cringy romantic types Part 2
Time Frame: Current
A/N: Deanoning from the kinkmeme. Figured I might as well own up.
Sequel to Sofa Time.
They’ve been together so long by now that the torrid, frantic sex of the early days is long past. Closets, the kitchen table and other furniture not built for the purpose still get test runs occasionally, but it lacks the same desperation. They’re not trying to crawl inside each other’s skin anymore: they know each other inside out by now.
That hardly means the passion’s gone though. Just because the bed is used as much for sleep as it is for sex doesn’t mean there’s been a similar dip in their intimacy, it just shows itself in different ways.
Arthur woke with Alfred curled around him, head resting against his chest, his favourite position. On days when he doesn’t need to get up, few and far between, he let Alfred’s heartbeat lull him back to sleep. Today, however, was not one of those days so he reluctantly extricated himself and let a well loved antique of a stuffed rabbit replace him in Alfred’s arms, tucking the Old Glory duvet around both of them. As he braved the lukewarm water of the shower he quelled his jealousy of the toy by remembering the two weeks it took him to make it.
Alfred, a late sleeper, almost never got to wake up with Arthur still sleeping beside him. If he was lucky, he’d stir while the shower was still running- inspiration enough to get up and offer to warm Arthur up where the shoddy boiler wasn’t doing the trick- but today it was the smell of coffee that woke him. He always set up the coffee machine the night before so all Arthur had to do was flip the switch: it was the only way to guarantee good coffee, what with Arthur’s ability to burn water.
The sound of something being set down beside him prompted Alfred to, very reluctantly, open his eyes. Arthur, a blur of immaculate uniform and bone china that must be his third cup of tea of the day, gestured to the smudge of patriotic colours that are Alfred’s mug of coffee on the bedside table.
Alfred smiled, still soft with sleep, and wriggled into a vaguely upright position. His bunny was perched on Arthur’s pillow, watching them both with button eyes.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Join me?”
“No.” Alfred’s dramatic sulk did no good as Arthur wasn’t looking at him, so he waited until the other man set down his empty cup then pounced and dragged him back into bed.
“Oi, you git, I only just ironed my uniform. Let go!” They struggled briefly, until Alfred obediently did as he was told, complete with puppy dog pout, and loosened his grip. His expression melted into a blinding smile when Arthur didn’t move.
“Daft American,” Arthur muttered under his breath, shifting so Alfred’s arms were around him.
Alfred chuckled and obligingly pulled him close. “Stuffy Englishman.” When Arthur looked up to glare at him, Alfred kissed him until his dark expression subsided, tasting Arthur’s complaints as they melted away.
“I’m going to be late,” Arthur murmured when Alfred gave him space to breathe, flushed and oblivious to the state his uniform was in by this stage.
Alfred tightened his grip, just in case Arthur sense of duty kicked in again. “Cameron will forgive you.”
Arthur snorted. So much for being a gentleman. “Cameron is a Tory,” he replied, as if that explained why the man wouldn’t appreciate tardiness on account of early morning intimacy. “Just because Obama makes exception for you doesn’t mean the rest of us are as lucky with our bosses. Lazy American.”
“Fussy Englishman,” Alfred replied automatically, kissing Arthur again to silence the well choreographed retort. “You can go if you really want.”
Arthur stayed where he was, lying against Alfred with his head tucked under Alfred’s chin.
“Cheater,” he grumbled finally.
“Winner,” Alfred corrected him.
He felt Arthur smile against his throat and wondered at the sudden change of tack.
“Don’t be so sure,” Arthur purred, kissing Alfred’s neck just the right way to make him shiver. It promised a multitude of plans, all of which ran in gleeful sparks down Alfred’s spine as Arthur dipped lower, taking advantage of Alfred’s sparse pyjamas.
“If this is losing,” Alfred muttered, somewhat distracted- hard to keep your thoughts straight when all the blood was rushing to the wrong brain, courtesy of one talented and still unfairly fully clothed Englishman- “I wouldn’t mind doing it more often.”
He caught Arthur’s eyes, the wash of green burning dark with an intent that made Alfred’s mouth go dry.
Arthur smiled, pure evil. “Ten minutes,” he purred against Alfred’s skin, “then I really need to leave for work.”
“More than enough,” Alfred grinned, throwing in a cheeky wink. “With an encore in the office later?”
“Don’t tempt me.”