…that was just plain terrible.
When Arthur pulled away, Alfred had no hesitation in returning the grin. He felt almost dizzy with how happy he felt. He almost wanted to get up and jump around (though maybe that might not count as being too different than normal). He wanted to sing terrible love songs and hold Arthur close and kiss more and have silly antics with his animal friends and perhaps even defeat an evil sorcerer or witch. That was it. He knew what to do.
He smiled at Arthur and snuggled with him before bursting into song. “Say you’ll love me every waking moment~ Turn my head with talk of summer time. Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That’s all I ask of you~” he crooned before trying to nuzzle his boyfriend. Alfred was clearly the least embarrassing and most romantic boyfriend on the planet. Clearly.
Sometimes Arthur felt like Alfred was simply completely incapable of feeling shame. Now was one of those times.
Grabbing a pillow, he threw it squarely at Alfred’s face as he tried (futilely) to push Alfred away from him. “Good god, Alfred, please don’t ruin a perfectly good song like that,” he spat, although with the blush that coloured his cheeks and the fact that his lips were still red and ravaged, his words sounded more like an empty insult than anything else. And, okay, alright, maybe he should admit that he kind of liked the song, and yes, perhaps if Alfred wasn’t being so silly it would have been kind of romantic, and, fine, Alfred’s singing voice wasn’t that bad, but… but still. Arthur wasn’t going to swoon like some kind of teenage girl. Or, god forbid, join in the duet. Of course not. The thought never even crossed his mind at all. Instead he just crossed his arms and gave in to Alfred’s nuzzling like the mature, sensible adult that he was.
H…how on earth am I supposed to reply to that—?!
Alfred thought that Arthur’s smile was absolutely precious. It wasn’t something he got to see very often, and now that it was there and genuine… It simply made Alfred’s heart do a few backflips because he was making Arthur smile, Arthur was in love with him too! Alfred’s train of thought fizzled out quite quickly when Arthur roughly dragged him in for another kiss. He tried to press himself closer to Arthur as they kissed.
Somewhere in the back of Arthur’s mind he dimly registered the fact that Alfred was not actually very good at kissing—it was messy and sloppy; though, what the kiss lacked in finesse Alfred more than made up for it in enthusiasm, so Arthur couldn’t really complain. Not that he wanted to, and even if he did, it would berather hard to do so with Alfred’s tongue halfway down his throat.
He wasn’t quite sure how long it lasted, but eventually he was the first to pull away, red in the face and breathing quite heavily. He looked at Alfred and just couldn’t stop grinning, damn him, and oh god there was that lightheaded feeling again—some part of him was berating himself for acting like a teenage girl from a silly romantic drama, but a larger, more dominant part of him couldn’t quite bring himself to care—he was in love, he realised, the word passing through the haze clouding his mind to strike directly at his heart and cause it to leap in his chest. He was in love and there really was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Alfred couldn’t help but give Arthur a goofy smile when the other man patted his cheek. “Nah, Matt’s got my back. Maybe I’ll check on them later, but right now I just wanna snuggle with you, butter butt,” he explained. He then tried to style Arthur’s hair into a fauxhawk, or at least as close to one as he could get. He loved having Arthur just be right there and being able to just touch and snuggle. Simply feeling the rhythmic beating of a heart and breathing meant Arthur was alive and close to him! He tried to lean over and nuzzle noses before stealing a quick kiss.
“Your pet names are absolutely atrocious,” Arthur declared. Alfred was smiling at him in a completely ridiculous way, and Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that the look on his face wasn’t much better either; he couldn’t help it, though—he felt lightheaded, dizzy, and there were butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t felt this way in decades, and here he was, completely losing his head over a total idiot. Arthur really was completely hopeless. So when Alfred leaned over to kiss him he immediately felt like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting, but by the time all his good sense had returned to him and he had half a mind to return the sentiment Alfred had already pulled away, still grinning that same idiotic grin, and Arthur really didn’t feel like opening his mouth because he knew once he did he’d probably end up saying something he would immediately regret, and so he instead responded by grabbing Alfred rather roughly by the lapels of his suit and going in for another kiss, longer and not quite as sweet this time round.
Arthur snuggling with him was… cute. Really cute, if Alfred was honest. Just the feeling of having Arthur move close and then bury his head in his neck made Alfred’s heart feel like it was fluttering so much it was going to pop out of his chest. Either that or his cheeks would turn so red they’d burst. Despite this nervousness, there was something so very nice about having not just a warm body but Arthur next to him.
Alfred couldn’t help but reach out and try to mess with and style Arthur’s hair. He just wanted to touch the other man, just wanted to kiss his cheeks and hug him close, and touch his hair and know what makes Arthur feel calm and comfortable.
The feeling of Alfred’s fingers in his hair was… rather nice, actually. There was just something about the rhythmic touch of Alfred’s fingers against his scalp that just felt inexplicably calming. Arthur closed his eyes, lazy and contented, and he stretched his limbs, almost cat-like, pulling himself away from where he was leaning against Alfred’s chest so that he was face-to-face with Alfred. He smiled, slow and fond, and patted Alfred on the cheek. “You don’t mind being up here with me while your guests are quite possibly destroying your living room downstairs?” he said quietly, green eyes staring intently into Alfred’s baby blues.
Alfred stuck his tongue out at Arthur before grabbing the older man and pulling him onto the bed with him, thereby firmly ensconcing the brit into a tight bear hug. “I can flop on beds however I want to,” he explained, trying to squeeze Arthur tightly as a sort of revenge. “A healthy inner child is a good sign, anyways. It means I’m not Mr. Grumpy Gills like a certain boyfriend of mine.” He loosened the hug a bit, opting for more gentle snuggling now that he had made his point.
Arthur would have given a scathing response if the surprise of Alfred’s embrace hadn’t caught him completely off guard. His first instinct was to struggle and try to fight against Alfred’s grip, but for various reasons (namely the fact that that Alfred was practically suffocatinghim which made it quite hard to do anything, not to mention the realisation that he was lying in bed with Alfred holding him, oh my god) Arthur decided that it would be much better to simply stay pliant. And even when Alfred loosened his grip Arthur decided to remain silent, opting to bury his head in the crook of Alfred’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s back, and suddenly keenly aware of how fast his heart was going.
Alfred accepted Arthur’s explanation, if only because Arthur was not only holding his hand and leading him to snuggle time. Besides, he figured he’d know if Arthur was telling the truth or not. He just gave Arthur a big smile.
So what if he was completely head over heels? Arthur probably was too. It was rather nice. And well, who can object to cuddles? Then again, Alfred demanded cuddles of close friends too. When they got to his room, Alfred flopped down on the bed and motioned for Arthur to join him. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he said with a laugh.
“Just shut up, won’t you?” he said drily with a roll of his eyes, though the badly-concealed smile that tugged at his lips only served to subtract from the harshness of his words. As Alfred beckoned at him to join him on the bed he felt a sudden twinge of what felt like shyness, but he quickly brushed it aside and, ignoring his heated cheeks, crossed the room to sit down at the edge of the bed, twisting his body to look down at where Alfred was lying sprawled over the bed in a most undignified manner, and which he deigned to tell Alfred so: “Don’t just flop down on the bed like that, you’re not five years old—though it must be hard to tell sometimes,” he chided, words brimming with sarcasm (which he had a sneaking suspicion would completely fail on Alfred).
Alfred puffed out his cheeks and pouted. “You should still eat something, honey. It’s dinner time. Skipping meals is bad!” he tried his best to mimic Arthur lecturing him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating or angry as Arthur generally was on those occasions. So Alfred tried to cement his point with his kicked puppy look™. Though it was quite hard to look pitiful when Arthur was holding his hand and Alfred really really wanted to smile. He silently cursed Arthur for his sneaky sneaky tricks. Obviously this was part of some dastardly plot on the part of his villainous boyfriend. Obviously.
Arthur raised an eyebrow at the look on Alfred’s face—obviously he was trying to get some sympathy of some sort, but it wasn’t really working, to be completely honest… it was actually kind of cute, if Arthur was to be totally frank with himself.
He was vaguely aware of the fact that his mood had just done a complete one-eighty turn from wanting to brutally murder Francis to feeling all warm on the inside with the way Alfred was looking down at him, and something tugged at the back of his mind about that, but he decided he was tipsy enough to not really care by this point. And so he simply smiled and assured Alfred, “It’s fine, I’ve had enough to eat.” He tugged at Alfred’s hand as he led him away from the buffet table and towards the stairs.
