#spadian ballad
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A Feast for the Fae; a ukus faerie tale
:D this was commissioned by @ok-scans. They asked for smut and the supernatural with virgin Alfred, so here it is. Thank you so much!!
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: major age gap: centuries old immortal faerie + 18 year old human
Tags: fae!Arthur, human!Alfred, smut, intoxication, ambiguous non-modern fantasy setting
Summary: Alfred has been selected as his village's sacrifice to the Fae King, to be eaten at the Beltane Festival. It's up to Arthur to stop it from happening.
Word Count: ~3200
“What is your name?” the hushed words slide into the boy’s ear and down his spine as easily as the wine had slid down his throat. Arthur leans in close enough to see the summer sky in the human’s eyes, though it is the witching hour now, in the glen, with the full moon sighing softly on them.
The boy grins. “Alfred!” he declares as if it’s a surprise even to himself. He drinks greedily from the goblet full of Arthur’s wine. The two of them are sat on a large, flat rock before a crackling fire, though Alfred is at every moment about to topple off of it.
Arthur’s glittering emerald eyes flash as he surveys the sun-drenched fields that are the boy’s body, rich and ready for harvest. Alfred is far less a boy now than when they met, for certain, but that smile will always first belong to the little human child that had fully enchanted Arthur thirteen years ago. He hadn’t known the truth about Alfred back then.
Alfred giggles and grins and swirls his cup, he blushes, but it’s certainly not with embarrassment. He’s naked as the day he was born, after the head mage of the village led him out here.
Arthur pours him some more wine and kisses Alfred’s forehead. He has no right to do any of this, yet nothing in the world is going to stop him from doing it. Only last year, when Alfred had turned eighteen, had Arthur learnt that he had been chosen at birth to be his village’s sacrifice to the faerie king upon the Beltane following his eighteenth birthday. Being a summer child, Alfred is nearly nineteen now—and that is fortunate because Arthur had needed the time.
Perhaps Arthur really has become soft. He has spent several centuries with humans at this point, more time than he has spent in Fae, namely with witches and mages, which is how he met Alfred. The witch with whom Arthur lived and worked hired Alfred’s mother as a live-in maid in an arrangement which benefitted them both greatly.
Supposedly, faeries cannot feel love, but if these feelings—the urgent compulsion to save Alfred from being eaten at the Beltane feast, the way he withers at the thought of never seeing his smile again, the desperate want to keep the boy all for himself and make sure he is always happy—are not love then Arthur does not really know what else to call it.
But he is not the faerie king. He is one of the faerie king’s subjects—and a low born one at that, so he has spent all this time, this grace period as it were, trying to find some way to save Alfred.
He has found out there are several criteria that must be met, having much to do with time and place of birth, of parentage, of innate magical energies… nothing can be done for any of those.
But the sacrifice must be un-taken, that is to say, still having their true name so that they can give it to the faerie king… and, to also say, they must be a virgin.
Beltane is three days away and the fae court will come to collect him at dawn, so Arthur has only until the end of the witching hour to… to—oh gods… is it a terrible thing? not that Arthur doesn’t want to claim him. Alfred has grown up so well and he is such a good hearted lad, but that’s what makes it worse. He would rather have Alfred come to him freely.
Perhaps that crush Alfred seems to have been harboring for him signals deeper feelings. The situation is still not ideal, but needs must. “No, pet. I want your true name,” Arthur says, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands and lacing the words with the appropriate spell of taking.
Alfred hiccups. “Can’t give ya that, Arthur, You’re not the king! You’re just a faerie witch.” The situation was only partly explained to Alfred: the part about being made the centerpiece of the Beltane feast being left out.
Arthur winces, knowing Alfred doesn’t mean that how it sounds. Arthur knows well enough that he isn’t “just” anything to Alfred. “Oh?” he says. “How do you know I’m not?” he says in a suggestive tone. It’s not a lie at all, just a question. “What if I had been all this time?”
Falling for the trick perfectly, willing to believe more than anything else that he is meant to belong to Arthur, Alfred’s eyes widen in glee. “Wow! Really!? That’s so good, oh that’s so good, I’m really glad. Yeah! You can have it, it’s Alfred Franklin Jones.”
Arthur’s palms and the back of his neck and the tip of his nose all tingle with energy. It has been quite some time since he has taken anyone’s true name. There hasn’t been one he wanted or needed in so long. Alfred is his now, forever… and can never be truly free again, but it’s certainly better than spending eternity in the bellies of the members of the faerie high court. Arthur can’t help himself then and he surges forward and kisses Alfred deeply.
Alfred responds ecstatically, pulling himself into Arthur's arms. He giggles and whines as Arthur kisses him, tossing his head back as Arthur’s lips paint his cheek, his neck, and then his shoulders. The wine sparkles in his brain and he’s so relieved that Arthur has been the one for him this whole time—just as he has wanted for so long.
Arthur enchants a bed of soft leaves and sweet grass for them and wastes no time in pitching Alfred into it. Seeing the human splayed out in it, the firelight dancing on his skin while the moonlight gently caresses him, Arthur is more enraptured than ever. He kneels between Alfred’s legs and smooths his hands over the boy’s body. Alfred is tall and most of his chores had been rough, manual labor, leaving him tan and well-muscled… with a little bit of softness in his stomach since he was often compensated with food and Arthur only wants him more the more he is able to touch.
A Beltane feast indeed.
Alfred squirms and laughs as Arthur’s palms traverse his body and leave tickles in their wake. The tickling sensation soon reveals something more urgent: his cock hard and twitching and aching for Arthurs pale, elegant hands. “Arthur…”
Arthur leans down and kisses his forehead again. “Yes, love?”
“Am I your bride?” he asks with a bit of a slur due to the fae wine. “Is that why I was promised to you?”
Arthur laughs fondly. “Silly boy. Is that what you want?” He drags his finger along the underside of Alfred’s cock, pressing it just below the head and rubbing. “Do you want to be my bride?”
Alfred wriggles in pleasure and nods, feeling warm and happy as he does. “Yes.”
Arthur won’t completely dismiss the idea that it’s just the wine talking, but even still, he feels a possessive, toothy snarl deep in the parts of him that are still feral and truly fae, despite the many years he has spent with humans. “Shall this be our wedding night, then?” he purrs, magic making short work of removing his own clothes.
Alfred nods again, more emphatically this time. He shifts and spreads his legs wider and can’t help but wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it and smearing pre-cum all over. Seeing Arthur undressed, Alfred releases himself in favor of petting at Arthur’s flawless, fair skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. He smiles giddily as he wanders into Arthur’s eyes, which still flash green in the firelight as if lighted from inside.
Not once does he pause to consider any concerns, the fae wine has driven them all from his mind. And it doesn’t matter anyway; this is what he has wanted for so long. The wine may have freed him from inhibition, but it certainly did not cause him to desire Arthur. He had been besotted with Arthur since they first met and with the first blossomings of maturity, the infatuation deepened… and darkened. But Alfred has never feared it.
Since childhood, Alfred has noticed the way other humans regard Arthur warily, but everything about him that has always unnerved so many others—his pointed ears; his piercing eyes that see through everyone; his fair and flawless skin accentuating fine, almost intolerably beautiful features; and, of course, the unsettling sharpness of both his incisors—are all the things that draw Alfred to him. He has never once felt unsafe with Arthur.
He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe now.
Arthur purrs as he pours his body flush against Alfred’s, claiming the boy’s mouth with his tongue and nips from his fangs. He rolls his hips against Alfred’s, groaning and drinking in Alfred’s wanton gasp at the same time. His wings, which he so rarely has cause or energy to manifest, spring outward, delicate and shimmering green-gold, pulsing with sparks of glittering red in the firelight to indicate the flush of power from taking Alfred’s name as well as the arousal coursing through him.
Alfred catches Arthur off-guard when he leans up, the bed of grass following him, supporting him. Arthur is stand on his knees, the perfect height for Alfred’s mouth to pull him in from this angle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s hips and nuzzles his cheeks against the faerie’s cock, then kisses the tip of it over and over. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve wanted you so bad forever,” Alfred murmurs with heart-wrenching sincerity. He continues kissing lightly, flicking little kitten-licks in the slit of Arthur’s cock.
Alfred is clearly operating off of whatever simply feels good to him and that gives Arthur every reason to do the same. He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Alfred’s head with the other, carefully guiding himself into Alfred’s throat. It feels even more wonderful than he had imagined it would. Combing one hand back through Alfred’s hair, Arthur uses just a little magic to make sure he stays relaxed. “Yes,” he huffs, “yes, good boy.”
Alfred moans in bliss as Arthur rocks into him just barely. The head of Arthur’s cock knocks gently against the top of Alfred’s throat and with the heaviness settled on his tongue, it feels amazing. He does his best to rub his tongue along the underside of it while learning very quickly how to suck it in just the right ways to make Arthur make the best sounds.
A century or so of celibacy has done just enough to increase Arthur’s sensitivity and the way Alfred looks up at him, adoring and also hungry, along with just how utterly enchanted he is with the human all compel him to pull away. Letting Alfred pleasure him with his mouth is not enough; Alfred must experience orgasm from stimulation by someone other than himself in order to no longer qualify as a virgin.
Whining at being denied, Alfred is placated by Arthur’s fingers caressing him, gently pushing him back down. “Arthur…” he pleads softly, shifting and spreading his legs further still, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking for, just that he wants Arthur closer.
“Gods, you are so lovely, Alfred,” Arthur praises, beginning to follow his hands with his lips, more and more until he laces his fingers with Alfred’s and kisses him everywhere he possibly can. Alfred gasps and sighs now, but doesn’t laugh anymore from ticklishness.
Alfred writhes, instinctively lifting his hips, and spasming around an emptiness he’d never realized he’d had until now. He cries when Arthur strokes his tongue along his cock and throws his arm over his face, since seeing Arthur do it is too much to bear.
“Look at me, pet,” the faerie insists, using a bit of magic to compel Alfred to do it. “That’s it, good boy.” Arthur only takes Alfred into his mouth all the way once and then repositions himself to lie between the human’s legs. The bed of flowers and leaves raises Alfred’s hips to give Arthur a better angle while Arthur easily lifts Alfred’s thighs up and out. A fang-baring grin spreads over his face as he rubs two fingers at Alfred’s entrance; those fingers conjure a slick, honey-like substance from out of thin air to help Alfred relax and make him easier to open.
Alfred arches and cries out as Arthur presses one finger into him. His hands pull at the leaves and sweet grasses beneath him, which hold fast. Arthur pushes it in and out for what seems like ages before he adds another, stretching Alfred open. There it is, the emptiness he hadn’t felt until now and only Arthur can fill it. “More,” he sobs. “More, Arthur, please.”
Alfred is well known for being impatient and ordinarily Arthur would take great pleasure in denying him, in teaching him how to move slowly, but there is a tickling clock on their tryst. Arthur has scarcely more patience than Alfred at this moment anyway. He nuzzles Alfred’s cock as he continues to open him, inhaling the scent of a human, green and fresh, but musky with arousal; he has almost never been close enough to Alfred to revel in the scent of him like this. He has three fingers inside Alfred now, as far in as they will go, and he makes certain that Alfred is slick, each stroke of his fingers producing more lubricant.
Alfred’s eyes are squeezed shut as Arthur works him open and he releases his grip on the plants that are their makeshift bed to weave one hand in Arthur’s soft hair, holding on tightly. He wriggles around the wetness now inside him, around Arthur’s fingers. He twists enough that Arthur’s fingers start massaging his prostate and— “AH! Oh Arthur, Arthur, please more. Right there, more.”
Arthur’s wings flutter rapidly as he watches Alfred come apart so freely under his touch. The fire has burned to its embers, giving the moon unbound license to Alfred’s perfect skin. Arthur thrusts his fingers in and out, faster, a frenzied need to make Alfred come just from this pricking at the edges of his mind. He wants to see Alfred come. He pumps in and out, faster, far more dexterous than a human could ever be. “There?” he asks, knowing the answer already.
Alfred nods, biting his lip hard and drowning in a sea of fae wine and moonlight and utter devotion to the faerie he has loved since he was a little boy. “Yes, there, please—I—!” That sea takes him under and his body pulls taut and he comes, begging broken syllables of Arthur’s name for more, to never stop.
Arthur must stop, reluctantly, and only does so once Alfred’s body is quivering from the exertion. He’s trembling a little himself from merely being privileged to witness Alfred’s pleasure. It is delicious, both magically, and, as he leans down to lick Alfred’s cock clean, physically. Alfred is now wet and loosened well and the terms of taking his virginity have been satisfied, but Arthur still wants.
“Arthur,” Alfred slurs, “I’m… I’m…nnnnnggh empty. Please.”
Something powerful and sure and dark at the edges curls around Arthur’s mind and forms a heart where he had nothing before. “Yes, you are. Fear not, pet, I’ll take care of you.” Leaning up and over Alfred, wings beating softly, Arthur kisses his forehead, then his cheeks and his nose and then his mouth, deeply, drinking more magic from the pure, pulsing sunlight that suffuses Alfred’s every cell and earned him the “honor” of being the Beltane sacrifice. With one decisive move, he sinks is cock into Alfred’s entrance. It is absolute bliss: Alfred is loose enough that he yields wonderfully, but so tight, squeezing Arthur with warmth and undiluted desire.
Alfred sighs, hums, moans contentedly as Arthur fills him. Of course, Arthur fits perfectly inside him, it could never have been otherwise. When his body pulses now, it is to pull Arthur in, to hold him, and there is no more emptiness. In the aftermath of his first orgasm, he is pliant and sweet and welcoming. He wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, feeling more in love with him than ever, and doesn’t even notice his own cock getting hard again.
Arthur moves slowly at first, letting the moon rock him against Alfred like the tide. He kisses Alfred over and over and reaches down to stroke his cock. “Good boy,” he murmurs next to Alfred’s temple. “Such a good boy for me.”
Alfred’s eyes roll back as the head of Arthur’s cock strikes his prostate again and again, accurately, but far too languidly. Arthur doesn’t pull out very far, but it’s enough that Alfred can feel and hear how slick Arthur made him. “I love you,” he sighs.
At that, Arthur drives into him harder, a little faster. “I know, pet. I’m so very glad you do.” He watches Alfred’s face, but the human shows no distress at his confession not being reciprocated, if anything, he seems more blissful than before. He begins thrusting in and out of Alfred’s willing body even faster, pumping the boy’s cock and letting the pleasure build up between them. “You are so lovely,” he says; it would be breathless except that Arthur doesn’t breathe.
Alfred orgasms again in no time at all, being young and inexperienced and sensitive, he cries out, begging Arthur for more, to move faster, to never stop.
Arthur rolls his hips in a staccato rhythm, melting at the way Alfred’s body grips him and pulls him in, holds him tightly. Whatever magic forms his makeshift heart receives Alfred’s unadulterated love and feeds on it. This is how Alfred should be feasted upon, Arthur thinks distantly. He comes, plunged all the way inside Alfred, quivering violently due to his own sensitivity, and he buries his face in Alfred’s neck as he fills him with cum. “Beautiful,” he groans, scraping his fangs against Alfred’s skin when he kisses and sucks marks into it, without drawing blood. He’s careful not to draw blood. They might smell blood.
Alfred arches and squirms as Arthur fills him in hot spurts that seem to be endless. But eventually, Arthur falls into the leafy bed next to them—the leaves and sweet grasses having morphed into ferns, royal and maidenhair. Alfred tucks himself against Arthur, head under his chin and admires his wings for the first time, though he dares not touch.
The witching hour is nearly over. Arthur holds Alfred protectively, though Alfred’s body has already been blessed with a spell that cannot be undone to make him ready for Beltane and it cannot be taken back just because he no longer has his name or his virginity. Arthur knows there will be consequences for himself. They can’t kill him and he is bonded to Alfred, so they can’t keep them apart. They could, however, curse his feet to burn with each step or make him feel stabbing pain when Alfred touches him or any number of other cruel and capricious things.
Or they might do nothing at all. The high court fae are fickle and strange like that.
It doesn’t matter. Alfred is safe and whatever happens, Arthur will keep him that way. He will keep him forever.
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤
awww thank you, anon! I'll try to engage in a little shameless self-promotion XD
In no particular order:
A Closer Look - summary: a stranger on the train can't stop staring at Arthur's tattoos so natually Arthur takes him home with him (explicit)
-I really like this one because I think they're really in character despite being strangers and their dynamic still develops so clearly. Also it's the most "switchy" I've ever written them--it skews slightly more ukus of course, but still XD
If It's You - summary: Arthur and Alfred are in high school and are childhood friends. Alfred is gay and has a crush on Arthur, meanwhile Arthur is ostensibly straight... unless of course, he's Alfred-sexual (mature)
-I think this one is particularly in-character and if you're looking for something I wrote that doesn't have any actual smut, here you go XD
Precious Thing - summary: Lieutenant Alfred Jones is the only survivor and now prisoner of Captain Arthur Kirkland, a ruthless pirate who loves only one thing: gold. Alfred is sure that there hadn't been any amount worth stealing on the ship, but Arthur begs to differ.
-Quite delicious (if I do say so myself) pirate smut, what more could you want?
Always Been Yours - summary: England wants to know how long America has loved him. America dodges the question. By some unknown time magic, England instead finds out the answer in very unusual way.
*Note: America is underage in this one and it is explicit so this is not for everyone
-My neverending quest to capture what I love most about their unique dynamic
Payback - summary: France was given America’s virginity as recompense for his assistance in America’s war for independence. He’s just dying to rub England’s nose in it. (explicit)
*Note: America is NOT underage here and he doesn't appear on page, but France and England do speak about him as if he is extremely young because to them, he is.
-Sometimes I'm just so proud of myself for being mean >.> LOLOL
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This is the "ghost" document that I mentioned in that one post. Arthur's a witch and he has a big black dog named Toad and he helps get the dead where they need to go so they don't become ghosts and Alfred is........... someone he's supposed to help >.>
I actually don't remember how I got this idea; basically I really like it when Arthur is actually really good at magic and then it spiraled out into this sorta fantasy au where magic exists, ordinary people know about it, and practitioners of magic are generally as much a part of society as anyone else. And also Arthur's kind of a spooky guy who gets a teeeeeeny bit of mary-sue treatment for my personal enjoyment... as a treat.
I don't think I will continue this, even though I know the plot of it, but I like it too much not to share, I guess P:
cw: homophobic slur, violence, also technically major character death, but it's a story about ghosts so... >.>
An overcast sky has the morning sunlight shifting in and out of Arthur Kirkland’s modest cottage. The air in mid-April is cool and crisp, but promises warmth; a promise on which it may or may deliver and it hasn’t decided yet.
A massive, shaggy, black dog of indeterminate breed dozes on the kitchen floor near his master’s feet. Arthur brews his morning tea, dressed in black from head to toe, black shoes, pressed black slacks, and a black sleeveless shirt with a mock turtleneck, leaving his heavily tattooed arms on display.
Most of the tattoos are sigils, some are gifts, and some are purely aesthetic.
Steam rises from a ceramic mug as Arthur removes the strainer containing leaves and petals of rosemary, thyme, and marigold. He’d have much rather had his usual Earl Grey, but he will need stronger protection today. He flavors the tea with neither his customary cream or sugar, instead using only a small drizzle of lavender honey.
The sun peeks in through the parlor window.
Arthur raises his eyebrow in that direction.
A cloud ushers the sun away again.
Today is not a day for sunshine.
Arthur moves into the parlor from the kitchen and the dog pads along after him. He sits on the small sofa and his green eyes vacantly observe his altar, which is built out from the opposing wall. He pets the dog’s head when it comes to rest on his thigh. “Ah, Toad,” he sighs, “you felt it coming too, did you?” The dog huffs in response.
Ghosts have never been the problem. Actual trouble comes from what they evolve into over time: poltergeists, ghouls, banshees, phantoms, wraiths, and many other dark, tormented beings, all lingering and longing for whatever they never had in life.
In turn, human societies have always relied on the spiritually gifted, known very broadly as magicians, to take care of such beings. Shamans, psychics, witches, sages, practitioners of all sorts have always been able to manage, until recently. With humans becoming more isolated from each other, losing community in the modern world, more and more people are dying alone, unseen, with unfinished business causing the problem of persistent, tortured spiritual phenomenon.
Attempts are being made to change this. Non-magical humans have made solid efforts to reach out to each other, form communities, and look out for anyone who might be struggling so as to prevent violence and suicides—two main contributors to the formation of ghosts.
The air shifts and swirls around Arthur’s altar and he buries his free hand in Toad’s fur.
The other measure has been implemented by various magical and psychic associations banding together to create a very specialized role: the mourners.
Since even the best efforts cannot prevent all souls from dying in pain and alone, a varied group of magicians takes part in a systematized ritual to make sure that high risk souls are appropriately mourned and thus mitigate the chance of them becoming ghosts.
Most people assigned to the job are elder shamans, crones, sages, and the like. The average age of a mourner is around sixty years old.
At thirty-three, Arthur Kirkland is one of the youngest, world wide, but the only age requirement is that mourner must have completed their first Saturn Return and Arthur had signed up voluntarily as soon as he became eligible. Those in charge of the organization had doubts at first, but Arthur is descended from a strong magical and psychic bloodline and they were hardly in a position to turn away volunteers.
When his tea is finished, Arthur stands up and lights a charcoal with some frankincense. Any minute now.
Arthur considers himself well-suited for the job of mourning, given his large internal well of energy, his familiarity with the Lower World and the Fae realms, and his generally grim and eerie disposition.
Initially, the mourners received assignments every day, but due to the non-magical world pulling at least some of its weight, the number of mourners increasing, and the decision to only focus on the more dire cases, Arthur typically receives one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
Once a week is a good pace. It gives Arthur time to find the person’s body (if possible), where it was laid to rest or where it ought to be, sever any ties that might be holding the person’s soul back, soothe any pain and surround the soul in feelings of love and warmth. After that, he performs any relevant funeral rites and then the assignment is completed.
Assignments are nearly always received within twenty-four hours of the person’s death.
The air settles and a small thump sounds from a willow wood bowl Arthur carved himself. In the bowl is the usual gleaming black polyhedral made of jet. This one is an icosahedron with each side carved with a sigil relaying information about the deceased person. Arthur steels himself before picking up the relic. It’s usually fine, but occasionally the information can be terrifying and overwhelming.
The jet is soft and light in Arthur’s palm. Jet is an opaque black stone with a slight gold sheen to it and it has the strange property of looking like it will be much heavier than it is since it is created from decomposed wood subjected to heavy carbon compression: a perfect stone to deal with death. Arthur caresses his thumb over the sigil he prefers to examine first: an image of what the person might look like alive, but at peace.
Arthur gasps slightly at what appears in his mind’s eye: the face of a young man with brilliant blue eyes and strawberry blond hair appears. His smile could light up the dead of night brighter than a full moon. He looks to be in his early twenties. His skin is warm and tan and the rest of him comes into focus, he’s a little on the thin side, but otherwise well-proportioned.
“Beautiful,” Arthur mutters reflexively. He immediately wonders how anything terrible enough to designate this boy as high risk could have happened to him. Something about his general aura is so warm and inviting. Yet Arthur has seen enough by now to know that beauty is hardly a guarantee of happiness or safety in a world that often resents innate joy.
The next facet reveals some basic details: despite having died in England, the boy is from America, his birthday is July fourth and he is twenty-five… or would have been, in just over three months or so. Without having to consult the stone, Arthur senses a very troubled childhood: loneliness, neglect, a desperation for anyone’s attention.
Tragic though it is, it’s nothing so striking as to put this boy on a mourner’s list.
As Arthur’s left thumb traverses the other facets, he sees more of the same. The loneliness grows and the desperation in proportion to it. The cycle seems to repeat itself over and over: loneliness, finding acceptance somewhere he ought not to have looked, things are good until suddenly they aren’t and the boy is removed from the situation… often violently, cruelly. Arthur experiences it each time: the sights, sounds, smells, the feelings. It does break his heart.
Sensing the feeling too, Toad moves to sit by Arthur’s leg, pressing himself against it and Arthur’s right hand finds its way behind his ear for scritches.
“Good boy, Toad,” Arthur says. At last, Arthur comes to the boy’s final moments. After all he’s seen, he doesn’t flinch as his third eye replays the full experience of a horrific beating in the pelting rain: distant shouts of ‘fucking freak’ and ‘faggot’ hit Arthur like bullets. Well. That explains some of it, he supposes. He feels every blunt boot as if it were battering his own ribs and the abject misery, the boy’s own conviction that this is deserved.
Then there is the boy, from his own perspective, vision going dark as he watches the raindrops fall on the pavement around him.
Arthur collapses next to Toad and buries his face in Toad’s soft, schorl fur. He doesn’t cry and he has certainly seen worse, but it never stops affecting him. He considers that to be a good thing and worries for the day he watches such a scene and is unaffected.
Toad whines sympathetically, highly attuned to Arthur, and flops into his lap so Arthur can curl around him.
The next facet shows the boy from the outside, eyes open and lifeless, body distorted and covered in blood and bruises.
Arthur sets the stone aside for a moment and simply cuddles Toad until he can breathe again. When he can, he picks up the stone and digs his thumbnail into the grooves in the facet containing the boy’s name:
Alfred F. Jones.
“Alfred,” Arthur murmurs. “Oh luv. You deserved none of that, to be sure.” He gently strokes the stone. “And yet… what on earth has happened to put you in my hand, hm?” Arthur brushes the facet that contains the time of death only to find it is obscured. That in itself is nothing to give pause, it has happened before. They who make the assignments are not omniscient, Arthur can tell from the scene of Alfred’s death that it is recent and, most likely as usual, to have been within the past twenty-four hours.
Rubbing that facet a little more reveals that an impromptu memorial has sprung up for Alfred—only hours after his body was taken away. While an outcast and unwelcome from most places, the local queer community has already begun vigil for him.
Arthur can't help but scoff just a little. “And yet where were you lot when they were beating him to death, hm?” he mutters. He can’t help but think that, as always, non-magical humans are relying far too much on magicians to do the heavy lifting and the community-building needs a bit more attention.
Still. The presence of such a memorial means that Alfred is already being mourned.
So why does his soul require a mourner?
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The Floor is Lava, a ukus rom-com, Chapter 4
Chapter Rating: T
Warnings: none
Summary: Alfred and Arthur officially start working together.
Word count: ~7100 (yes you read that correctly >.> ...)
Read here on AO3.
On Monday morning, Alfred is pulling on his boots just off to the side of the front door when Matthew suddenly looms over him, making him jump. “Jesus, Mattie. What?”
“You said you were gonna wear scent patches.” Matthew says, a whiny edge to his voice.
Alfred’s brow furrows and he breathes in deeply to keep himself from getting angry. “I said I would consider it. I considered it. I don’t want to, so I’m not going to.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to, I don’t need a reason other than that,” Alfred snaps. If alphas and betas don’t typically wear them, why should he? “Hey, you know what would make you actually supportive to omegas? Respecting our autonomy and independence.”
Matthew looks abashed. “I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
Alfred tugs the laces tightly on his boots, stands up, and sighs. He hugs his little brother, who has been taller than him for almost a year now, squeezing him tight. “It’s not like we still live in caves, you know. Most alphas are just like you and dad, almost as civilized as the rest of us,” he teases.
“Ha,” Matthew says sarcastically. “That’s funny. You’re so funny. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore.”
Alfred ruffles Matthews hair, having to reach up a little to do it. “Mr. Kirkland is a client. That’s it. Dad says he’s cool, he’s got a cute little girl and everything. He’s definitely more progressive and open-minded than any of the alphas on Dad’s crew and you know they’re good guys, so I’ll be just fine.”
Matthew squeezes Alfred in return. “Yeah, okay fine.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting to class? I thought your Monday class has that beta girl you like in it.”
Matthew turns bright red and covers his face with his hands. “I think I messed up. I think I scared her.”
Alfred raises an eyebrow as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He has only met some of Matthew’s university friends one time and Kateryna isn’t one of them, but Matthew gets pretty moon-eyed whenever he talks about her, which is often, so at this point, Alfred has a decent grasp on her character. “She doesn’t seem like the type who scares easily, but if you think you messed up, just talk to her about it.”
Matthew pouts. “Fine, but mind your own business.”
Alfred outright laughs. “Oh that’s rich, coming from you. I gotta go, I definitely don’t want to be late. Just get over yourself and ask her out! Careful though, I’m not ready to be an auntie just yet.” He closes the door on an indignant and sputtering Matthew.
He takes deep breaths outside. Checking the time, he hurries off. He has to make a good impression, to show that Mr. Kirkland’s faith in him is not misplaced which means this project has to go perfectly.
Arthur is putting the groceries away when the knock sounds at the door. He had gone shopping after taking Charlotte to school, hoping to diffuse some of the excited energy that he had picked up from her. Considering how fast she had been vibrating, Arthur is proud that she was able to at least be on good behavior and he had told her so.
She did, however, make him promise several times that she would be able to see Alfred after school.
Arthur places the milk in the refrigerator quickly before heading toward the door. “Coming,” he calls out. He opens the door to see Alfred standing there, laden with a few large canvas bags and a backpack.
“Hi Mr. Kirkland!” Alfred grins brightly. All the way there, he had been stressing himself out about doing a good job, but seeing Mr. Kirkland with that stunned look he seems to have whenever he opens the door puts him at ease.
“Good afternoon, Alfred,” Arthur says. Alfred readjusts the bags, lifting them again. “Ah, here, let me help you with those.”
“Oh? These?” Alfred asks as he steps breezily over the threshold. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kirkland, I got ‘em.” Alfred could almost chuckle, it’s clear that the alpha had taken steps to restrain his scent this time and rather than being overwhelmed, Alfred feels much more comfortable. “Where do you wanna set up shop?”
“Ah, the kitchen is fine,” Arthur says. “And please call me Arthur.”
The casual way he says it shouldn’t send a jolt up Alfred’s spine, but it does. “Sure thing, Mr. K—uh. Arthur.” Alfred sets all of his materials down by the kitchen table and begins carefully laying them out, as well as opening his laptop. The CAD program always takes several minutes to boot up.
Arthur watches Alfred only a moment before turning to put the kettle on. “Would you care for something to drink?” he asks. Alfred seems slightly on edge and Arthur knows that it’s likely not his fault per se; he remembers that this is Alfred’s first time managing a project on his own.
“Um. No thanks, I’ve got my water bottle.” Alfred leans over the computer to type in the password.
“Alright. If you change your mind, I’m making some tea and you’re welcome to it.”
Alfred’s nose crinkles and his eyebrows furrow slightly. “Leaf water. Gross,” he mutters reflexively before realizing he said it out loud. He instantly bites his lip hard and looks up at Arthur, eyes wide. “I mean— I’m so sorry,” he says.
Arthur laughs and suddenly the instinctive tension he had felt due to the proximity of an attractive, unmated omega is gone and there’s air to breathe again. “No need to apologize,” he says. “You’re certainly not the first person I’ve heard say that since I moved here.”
The kettle whistles before Alfred can say anything and he watches Arthur pour his tea. It’s calming somehow. “Yeah, coffee is my drug of choice, but you can’t have heard it that many times. You only just moved here, didn’t you?”
Arthur shakes his head and sits down at the table. He glances briefly at all of the books spread out over it. The staggering number of options makes his eyes hurt. “Ah, no. I mean, I’ve only just bought the house, yes, but I’ve lived on this side of the pond, so to speak, since before Charlotte was born.” He takes a sip of tea and then examines a binder of flooring samples. “Bloody hell, this looks like an awful lot…”
Alfred sits down next to Arthur and grins. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you go through all of it, this is the really fun part for me.” He checks to see if the computer has finished booting up and is thankful that it has. “Oh, so my dad did say that you’re wanting to build an addition to the house? I’m guessing a garage?”
Arthur nods. Anticipation builds since this is the big challenge he hopes Alfred and his company can take on. “An addition yes, but not a garage. I am hoping that the study can be built out and converted into a recording studio.”
Alfred contemplates that from a purely logistical standpoint for a moment. He pulls up the blueprints of the house in the cad/cam program and focuses on the area where the study is. “Hmm. Yeah, that will definitely work in terms of building it out, depending on how big you need it. You’ll need, like, soundproofing and stuff, right?”
Arthur nods, getting more excited about the project that has been on his mind for ages now. “Yes. It will need to be large enough for a live room with an upright piano and full drum kit, an isolation booth, machine room and control room and—” he stops when he notices Alfred is furiously typing. “Am I going too fast?”
Alfred beams. “Nah, you’re good, I’m just making notes. I don’t think we’ve ever built a recording studio before. I’ll ask Dad about it, but I’m betting it’s totally doable. You’re far enough from your neighbors that permitting shouldn’t be an issue.”
Arthur smiles back and takes a sip of his tea. He’s impressed that Alfred already seems to know so much about the house that he can recall such zoning details off the top of his head. “Excellent.”
Alfred finishes typing some notes and pulls up the blueprints of the house again. “That’s a pretty ambitious addition to a house,” he says, trying to sound casual while dying to know what Arthur could possibly need one for, particularly on his house. He had seen the instruments when Charlotte took him through the house during the inspection, but he hadn’t gotten the impression that Arthur is some kind of famous musician. His dad probably would have mentioned something like that.
Arthur laughs. “Yes, I suppose it is, but I am a producer and songwriter, so I know I’ll make good use of it.”
Alfred suddenly remembers what Charlotte had told him, not to mention the instruments in her room. “Oh! Right! Charlotte did tell me you write music.That’s really cool. Do you work with any famous people?” He blushes and feels silly immediately after he says it. He’s supposed to be professional, damn it!
Arthur merely smiles indulgently as that is almost always the first question people ask upon learning what he does. “Not especially. I work with a fair few local artists and bands, but I don’t work for a label, so most of the people I work with are also independent. None of them are exactly mega stars.” Arthur resists the urge to try and impress Alfred by remarking that many of the people he works with are omegas.
“Ah okay. Nice,” Alfred says. Arthur’s relaxed, but intense presence makes more sense now, very fitting for a musician. “Are you in a band?” he asks after a moment.
“Ha! No, not for quite some time,” Arthur replies. Not since before Charlotte was born, actually. “But I fill in as a studio musician if necessary, so I still have plenty of opportunities to play.”
“Sounds really cool,” Alfred says.
Arthur takes another sip of tea. “I do know it’s ambitious, but I want to be able to do my work from home. Sessions can run long and I want to be here for Charlotte,” he says, hoping this emphasizes the importance of the project.
Alfred feels the conviction in Arthur’s voice. It’s obvious that Arthur lives for his little girl and Alfred’s heart turns gooey over it once more. “Yeah, for sure.” He bites back on telling Arthur what a good father he is again. “I know we can get it done, so don’t worry about that. We’ve got good contacts with all the best suppliers, so it’ll just be a matter of figuring out exactly how you want it.”
Alfred’s casual confidence reassures Arthur. “If it will help at all, you’re welcome to visit the studio I’m currently using,” he offers. “The set up there can give you a good idea.” The way Alfred’s eyes sparkle with excitement is so delightfully pleasing that Arthur can’t help but wonder at how he doesn’t have an alpha already wrapped around his little finger.
“Wow! Yeah, that would be awesome! I mean,” Alfred grins sheepishly. “It would be very helpful, and very awesome.”
Cute, Arthur melts and takes another sip of tea. “Good. When you’re ready, give me a time frame and we can plan on a time and date.”
Alfred’s insides squirm at the idea of a date with Arthur… which such a visit will absolutely not be. Professional. He has to do a good job on this. “I definitely will. In the meantime, we can work on the rest of the house,” he says, settling into his neutral, customer-facing frame of mind. “Obviously, some things like flooring usually go through multiple parts of the house, but other than that, I prefer to do it room by room. Though, if you’d rather do it a different way, that’s totally fine.”
Arthur shakes his head, following Alfred’s lead in getting down to business. “No, I think room by room is perfect. You’re the expert after all.”
Alfred beams at him again. “Great, so I’m just gonna go through samples with you and I’ve got the blueprints of the house uploaded so I can mock things up in CAD. Once you kinda have some ideas about what you want, I’ll bring bigger samples and any paint; then we can actually go through the house. So first thing’s first. Exterior paint.”
Arthur hums. “I was thinking dark greys and black.”
Alfred blinks at him and then laughs. “For real?” he asks, smiling when Arthur nods with a mischievously sincere glint in his eyes. “Oh, hell yeah, let’s do it up. I love it when people do crazy paint jobs on old Victorians.”
“I do want it to stand out,” Arthur affirms with a chuckle. "I know eventually, hopefully not for a long time, but eventually I’ll move out of here, after Charlotte is grown most likely, and I want to be able to turn the place into a kind of music school or conservatory.”
Alfred nods while leafing through the exterior paint book for the appropriate color range. “That’s awesome. I’m sure we’ll be glad to help you with that too, when the time comes,” he says in a customer service way and then slides the book over to Arthur. “Okay, so take a look at these let me know which ones you think you like and I can mock them up on the computer.”
After deciding on a few dark greys, a muted indigo for accents, and a nearly-black charcoal for the main portions of the exterior, they move onto flooring.
Alfred quickly realizes that money is not one of Arthur’s main concerns, something that had also been obvious from the fact that he is able to hire a contractor to renovate his entire house at all once. But Arthur’s choices indicate he has rather rich taste in general, though Alfred sincerely hopes that Arthur isn’t simply trying to show off as some alphas do, sometimes without even realizing it. Arthur doesn’t fight him when he makes suggestions about using less expensive options if he thinks they’re comparable or better quality, however, so that’s a good sign.
Best of all, as it turns out, Alfred had been right: Arthur is an excellent client.
For his part, Arthur is very impressed by not only Alfred’s competence, but the easy confidence that comes with knowledge and experience. Remembering what Brandon had said about Alfred’s advancement in the company and the difficulty of finding a client willing to work with him, Arthur is genuinely irritated on his behalf. He himself works with many omegas who have otherwise been turned away or dismissed by other producers, so he is very aware of the unfortunate phenomenon. He is glad to be the one giving Alfred the chance he has so clearly earned, even if he should have had that chance long before now.
After covering as much of the first floor as possible, Arthur insists on a break. “I like to take afternoon tea on the porch on days like this,” he says as he prepares himself a very light sandwich. “You’re welcome to join me, of course,” he adds. He’s about to ask if Alfred would like something to eat, but the omega is already pulling out a small plastic container from his backpack.
“That’d be great. Fresh air is never a bad thing,” Alfred agrees with a smile.
Outside, Arthur sits in his usual spot at the top of the stairs and Alfred sits two steps below. Alfred does consider that it might still be too close, but the staircase is wide and Arthur makes him feel very at ease and they are outside, after all.
“This is a really nice neighborhood,” Alfred remarks between bites.
Arthur hums, “Yes, I got very lucky, I think, though the house is a touch farther from the studio I’m currently using than I would like, but with your help, hopefully that won’t be an issue for much longer.”
Alfred grins. “Nope!” He looks over the porch, which he had done the inspection on before, noting the aging paint. The wood, however, is in decent condition. Then his gaze lands on Arthur, who had apparently been looking at him. “Um. So did you study music in college or something?”
Arthur sips his tea and gives a slight shake of his head. “No, I had a few lessons growing up, but I never made it to university, actually.” He can’t help but smile to himself.
“Yeah?” Alfred asks, “what did you do instead?”
“Well, it was a daft thing to do, but when I was seventeen, I ran away from home and moved here to join a punk rock band after I got to know one of the members online.” He laughs when Alfred’s eyes widen. “Yes, I know I might seem quite posh now, but I’m really not as boring as I look.”
Alfred blushes and coughs, nearly choking on his food. Posh and boring are some of the last words he’d use to describe Arthur. “No! no, I just… wow, you know? That took a lotta guts.” He clears his throat. “But you’re not in a band now?”
“That’s right; not since before Charlotte was born. We gave it our all, for almost two years, but it didn’t work out, as it often doesn’t. I can’t say I regret it though. The experience was very valuable and if I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have met Austen, ah, that is, Charlotte’s mum.”
The casual way Arthur mentions it surprises Alfred a bit. “Ch-Charlotte mentioned that she had passed away, it’s gotta be hard on you guys.”
Arthur nods absently. “I certainly wish she were here now, she was my best friend and I miss her terribly. I know she would have made a great mum, but Charlotte and I have always been just the two of us, since she was born. Being in the position I’m in, an alpha with a child but never mated… I’m told it’s odd, but it’s all she and I know.”
Alfred’s heart wobbles. There’s some sadness in Arthur’s scent, but it’s not grief; it’s definitely not the same sort of pungent, musty basement scent his dad has from time to time, the scent of someone mourning their mate. “I guess that might make it a little easier, huh? Mom died when I was fourteen and since then, it’s just been Dad and Mattie and me. It’s, uh, well it left a gap, you know?” He wants to say more because Arthur makes him feel so safe, but it would be very unprofessional.
Arthur isn’t completely caught off guard by this, he had noticed that scent on Brandon Jones once, but it had been so brief that he dismissed it. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Alfred. I do imagine that would be very hard on all three of you.” He stops himself from reaching out to Alfred, but all of his instincts are alerting him to the omega in need of comfort and they are not easy to ignore.
Sensing the shift in Arthur’s energy, though not knowing the cause, Alfred quickly mentally readjusts himself. He’s here to do a job, not tell his life story. “It was tough at first, but if you love someone, they’re never really gone, right? Dad really kept it together and we’re all super close, and that’s what counts, you know?”
Arthur’s instincts quiet down as the path to soothing Alfred becomes clear: change the subject. “That’s true. Your father has a lot of confidence in you and I think all of it is well-earned. I’m certain it’s the same for your brother.”
Alfred blushes and laughs. “Thanks. Yeah, Mattie’s a good kid. He’s only eighteen, but he’s an alpha, so he thinks he knows better than everyone about everything,” he complains, but with a big grin. “Uh, no offense, of course,” he adds sheepishly.
“None taken,” Arthur chuckles “I thought I knew better than everyone at that age also, but then Charlotte was born and I realized quite quickly that I knew fuck all. But now I’m older and I only think I know better than most people,” he teases.
“… wait, you were only eighteen when Charlotte was born?” Alfred had already guessed that Arthur would have had to be very young, but he hadn’t thought it would be that young.
“Well, nineteen actually, but I believe my point still stands.” Arthur gathers up his dishes. “Shall we get back to it, then?”
“Um, yeah,” Alfred replies absently, following Arthur back inside. Nineteen. Alfred thinks of the alphas he knew in college, he can’t imagine any of them… any of the alphas he knows, really, stepping up the way Arthur did. He can’t imagine any of them raising such a cute, precocious daughter on their own.
“Would you like me to wash your container for you?” Arthur asks when they reach the kitchen. Something is running amok in Alfred’s scent and, along with the omega’s distant expression, it has Arthur mildly concerned. Even so, he runs the water and washes his own dishes.
“Uh, no, I still have some left. Thank you, though,” Alfred says, quickly shoving his container into his backpack. Alfred’s previous comparison of Arthur to the leads in romance novels and movies seems more apt than ever. He is slender compared to most of the alphas Alfred knows, but still strong and so handsome and he’s an amazing father. He must be incredibly devoted to Charlotte and his work or else he would definitely, easily have a mate—any omega whom he so much as glanced at would be willing. He’s the kind of alpha that many omegas secretly dream about, but are too ‘sensible’ to admit it out loud… and Alfred counts himself as one of them.
Alfred blushes. Biology makes his feelings difficult to ignore, but Matthew would say that he should know better by now. And Alfred concedes that he should.
“Are you alright?” Arthur asks. He worries that he has said or done something to offend the omega, but he cannot think of anything that would have done so.
Alfred snaps back to the moment. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, just got a little lost in thought.” He sits back down at the table. “Let’s get back into it.”
They continue on for awhile, their discussion meandering around the house. Alfred reels himself back into some semblance of professionalism. Alfred continually reminds Arthur that there is no pressure for him to make any decisions right that minute since it’s only the first day and it’s a lot to go over. They go over some of the main aspects of the most important rooms: the living room, the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the master suite.
“What about Charlotte’s room?” Alfred asks.
“Ah, I hope you don’t mind. She’ll be home from school soon, I promised that I would let her tell you how she’d like it, though I do know that I want to turn one of the other bedrooms into a music room for her.”
Alfred smiles in that gooey way. “Um, yeah, sure. Of course.” He moves the CAD program past the three bedrooms, thinking about Charlotte and how very outgoing she is, seemingly more so than her father, who seems far more subdued. But then again, he left London at seventeen to join a punk rock band so maybe there is some resemblance. “Her type will probably become apparent soon, right? She’s about that age.”
Arthur nods. “Yes. I’m quite certain she’ll end up as an alpha, given her temperament.”
Alfred hums. “Interesting,” he says mildly.
“You disagree?” Arthur asks, curious.
“Nah, I just always find it interesting, you know? What type parents think their kids will end up as.”
As if on cue, the front door opens just then and Charlotte comes running into the kitchen. Her eyes light up when she sees Alfred. “You’re here!” she exclaims. Charlotte runs over to them, ignoring her father entirely and throwing her arms around Alfred.
“Charlotte,” Arthur says warningly. “You cannot just run up to someone like that. What have we discussed about boundaries?”
Alfred breathes and then smiles, gently moving her off of himself. From the tone in his voice, it’s clear Arthur is very sincere in his belief that she will turn out to be an alpha. But if there’s one thing Alfred knows about, outside of contracting and architecture, it’s kids. “It’s alright,” he assures both of them. “Your dad and I have been working on a plan to deal with all the lava, but he says that had some ideas that might work for your own room, right?”
“Yeah! Will you come see?”
Alfred glances quickly at Arthur, who says gives the okay and he grabs his computer. “Sure thing!”
Charlotte nods and she finally acknowledges Arthur by kissing him on the cheek, at which point he affectionately tugs her ear. She looks between her daddy and Alfred sitting side by side and beams. To her, it seems to be just right, everything in it’s proper place. She sticks herself to Alfred’s side as she leads him upstairs.
Arthur raises an eyebrow at his daughter who is now nearly plastered to Alfred. She is incredibly outgoing, to be sure, but she is rarely this affectionate with an adult she doesn’t know well and he suspects that she might be misinterpreting Alfred’s role in their house. He vaguely worries that he might be doing the same thing and it leaves his thoughts in turmoil. It’s not as if he doesn’t want a mate, but between Charlotte and his career, dating and courting are easy things to put off for later. Always later. Someone as lovely and kind as Alfred makes him want to seriously reconsider his priorities.
He follows them upstairs, after a moment and can’t help but smile. Alfred certainly has in abundance what both Arthur and Charlotte often lack: patience with others: an excellent quality in any parent. But the omega is very young and clearly ambitious in his own way, so it’s not likely he’d want to have children any time soon.
Alfred sits on the floor next to Charlotte in her bedroom, with his computer in his lap. He shows her different paint colors and things like that, which will obviously have to be confirmed later with Arthur. Charlotte claims to want a stained glass window with a crystal chandelier and a huge closet that could maybe, probably not, but maybe lead to other worlds. Knowing what he knows now, Alfred is even more impressed by Charlotte than before. She’s very bright and creative and her mind clearly runs at a hundred miles an hour, but she’s also polite and well-spoken. It speaks very well of Arthur, but also, for Alfred, she’s just a cute kid and fun to be around.
Alfred does notice that she and Arthur have the same mischievous gleam behind their eyes. He can definitely see why Arthur thinks she’ll be an alpha too.
They discuss very preliminary, informal plans about a music room/study/playroom for Charlotte before Alfred glances at his watch. “Oh jeez, it’s getting late. I should probably start packing up.”
“Aw,” Charlotte pouts. Arthur can’t help but (silently) echo the sentiment.
Alfred closes his laptop, stands up, and grins down at her. “You just want me to stay ‘cause you got homework to do, I bet.”
Charlotte’s eyes dart to the side for a moment, then she hops up and grins abashedly. “That’s not the only reason!” she insists.
Arthur tugs her ear and gives her a serious look. “Charlotte, you promised me that you would be respectful of Alfred’s time.” He wants Alfred to leave exactly as much as he wants him to stay, knowing that the former is what’s best.
“Yes, I know,” she agrees quietly.
Alfred frowns and bites his lip for a moment. In Alfred’s imagination, Arthur and Charlotte are like their own little island: a bit out of step with the rest of the world, a little lonely. Charlotte, obviously, wants to reach out, wants to let other people in. “Hey, Charlotte, don’t even worry about it. I really liked hearing all your ideas. Kids have the most awesome ideas that a lot of grown ups forget how to have. But you gotta do your homework, okay?”
Charlotte brightens. “Okay!” She darts past Arthur and hops down the stairs.
“Thank you for being so indulgent of her,” Arthur says as they follow her downstairs.
Alfred blinks. “Indulgent? Not really, she’s a good kid. She’s super smart, it’s fun to talk to her. Most kids are really cool if you just give ‘em the chance to say what’s on their mind. I’ve never not had fun hearing about things they come up with, you know?”
“Your father did say that you’re very good with children,” Arthur replies in confirmation.
Alfred turns a little pink. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. Somehow or other, there have always been at least a few of them around; family, neighbors and stuff.”
“So what type do you think sh—?”
“Daddy! What’s for supper?” Charlotte calls from the kitchen. “Did you forget again?”
“Oh, bollocks!” Arthur curses. “Shit.”
Alfred looks over at him and laughs.
“Sorry,” he says, apologizing for swearing. “I completely forgot,” he confesses to Alfred. It’s terribly embarrassing, after Alfred being so complimentary about his parenting skills, to reveal that cobbling together an evening meal each night is honestly a herculean effort. But Charlotte does have to eat. “I suppose I’ll order something then… again,” he mutters.
Alfred taps his thumb rabidly against the laptop in his hands and bites his lip. He knows he should get home. Mattie will have a shit fit if he’s late. Not to mention it’d be rather inappropriate to stay and he knows that, but he can’t, in good conscience, let them eat junk, particularly not Charlotte since she’s growing child.
“Daddy!” Charlotte prompts.
Rather than asking permission, Alfred walks into the kitchen and puts his laptop away. He quickly stacks a few of the books and grins at Charlotte. “Let’s see what we can throw together, yeah?” he says with a wink. He opens a few cabinets, which are light on cookware, but decently stocked with spices. The fridge is quite full as well. For someone who clearly doesn’t know much about cooking, Arthur is very well stocked for it.
Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Are you going to make dinner?” she exclaims, bouncing excitedly.
Arthur wanders into the kitchen, scrolling his phone and trying to find some place that will deliver that also has nutritional value, but then he looks up to see Alfred pulling out his rice cooker and a steak he had had in the refrigerator. Charlotte is positively gleeful. Oh hell. “Ah, Alfred. What are you doing?”
Alfred smiles. “I’m just gonna throw together a quick stir-fry, I hope that’s okay. There will be leftovers so you don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”
“I’d hate for you to be in trouble,” Arthur insists, “This is surely well beyond the scope of a contractor’s job.”
Alfred sets the rice cooker and then begins cutting the steak into strips with ease and precision. “It’s okay, I’m off the clock,” he replies cheerfully, nodding toward the packed up books and laptop.
Charlotte dances around Alfred, watching his every move. Arthur watches his every move too. Alfred is extremely efficient in the kitchen, he notes. Though it’s not a huge surprise, really; if his mum died when he was a teenager, the task of cooking likely fell to him.
Arthur doesn’t have a wok so Alfred makes do with a sauté pan. He uses plenty of vegetables and he laughs when Charlotte leans her head against his arm as he shreds a few carrots.
“No!” she cries, “Don’t put carrots in it, I hate carrots.”
Alfred laughs. “Just trust me, okay? I promise you’ll like it.”
“What if I don’t?” she presses. Alfred is doing something different to them, cutting them into thin strips. Daddy never does that, he just puts them in a pot with water until they’re all soggy.
“Hm… well, if you really don’t like it, you can dump your whole plate on my head, how’s that?”
She doubles over in giggles. “How did you learn to cook?” Charlotte asks. “Does your mummy teach you?”
Alfred pauses briefly. He decides that it’s probably good for Charlotte to know someone who can empathize with her. “She did teach me a lot of things before she passed away,” he says carefully. “She taught me a lot of the fundamentals.”
Charlotte presses against him again. “You mum died too?” she asks. “How did she die?”
“She got very sick,” he explains, “but I have my dad and my little brother and we do things to remember her. Like my younger brother, Matthew, he makes more of her recipes than I do. Lots of cheese and butter and sugar and yummy things.”
“Why didn’t you make something like that? Instead of something with carrots?”
Alfred chuckles and ruffles her hair a little, though not much since it is still in a French braid. He idly wonders if Arthur had done that or perhaps a friend at school. “Don’t get me wrong, I love all that stuff. My favorite food in the whole world a big, fat cheeseburger, but I try to make sure we all eat healthy, so that we don’t get sick.”
Charlotte’s mouth forms into a little “o” and she nods. “I get it,” she says. “Is your little brother an omega too?” she asks, her mind immediately changing gears.
“Nope, he’s an alpha,” Alfred replies.
“Is he courting anyone?”
It’s not too surprising that romance occupies much of Charlotte’s brain, given that her father has no mate. “No, he’s only eighteen,” Alfred says. “He better not be courting anyone yet. He just started college, but I know there’s a beta in one of his classes that he likes a lot.”
Arthur stays out of the way and, sitting at the kitchen table, he observes the two of them as if they’re in a television show. It’s almost surreal to see Charlotte so bright and engaged with someone she hardly knows, but Alfred has put her wholly at ease. Arthur himself might be similarly relaxed if not for the fact that Alfred is so beautiful and so kind and that indulging those thoughts is very dangerous.
It seems a shame that Alfred is so keen on working, since he would clearly make an excellent mother. Arthur kicks himself internally. Good work, man, he chides himself, oh so very enlightened. Of course Arthur doesn’t actually think that about omegas and of course Alfred can do both if he wants and of course it’s none of Arthur’s damn business.
Yet Arthur finds himself as drawn to the omega’s warm, open demeanor as Charlotte is. The kitchen smells wonderful and Alfred deftly works around Charlotte without being the slightest bit bothered by her, and he just seems to belong there. Arthur’s brain shifts into a reverie that is only broken when a plate of colorful stir fry resting on a cushion of white rice is placed in front of him.
“Oh. Thank you, Alfred. This looks delicious.”
Alfred beams, blushing a little, and sets out a plate for Charlotte. He pushes in her chair when she climbs into it and hands her a fork. He then begins packing up the sample books and his computer.
Charlotte readily tucks into her food, her face lighting up. If all of Alfred’s cooking tastes this good, he has to stay forever. “This is so good!” she exclaims.
Alfred smiles as he finishes packing up. “Yeah? Even the carrots?”
Charlotte grins and nods eagerly.
“Told ya,” Alfred says with a wink.
Arthur takes a bite and immediately agrees with Charlotte, “This is quite exceptional, Alfred,” he praises, but then notices that Alfred has not served himself and he appears to be readying himself to leave. “Will—” Arthur pauses. “Will you not join us?” he asks awkwardly.
“Nah, I’m good. I made it for you guys, so there will be plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.” It has gotten late and Alfred feels like if he sits down and eats with them, somehow that would be a step too far. For his heart as much as propriety’s sake. “Matt and my dad will get really worried if I’m not home soon.”
Arthur can certainly understand that. Omegas somehow have the reputation of being the anxious sort, but in Arthur’s experience, alphas are far more fretful in general—often worried in some way or another for the betas and omegas they care about. Alfred’s relaxed personality and attitude prove the point well enough. “Yes, of course,” he says, rising from the table and taking one of Alfred’s tote bags. It’s a fair bit heavier than he expected. “You’ve already done too much for us, I’m very grateful.”
Alfred doesn’t resist when Arthur helps him with his bags. “It’s really no problem at all,” he says and they both quiet as they walk outside to Alfred’s well-loved, old truck. “So I’ll be back tomorrow around the same time and once we’ve got a good handle on most of it, I’ll have my guys come and help you move whatever you need to move. You and Charlotte aren’t staying in the house, right?”
“Right, we’ll be staying with a family friend.” Arthur hands Alfred his bag and watches him throw them into the truck. He notes that Alfred seemingly effortlessly throws them into the cab—the omega is very strong, though Arthur supposes it is no accident.
“Awesome,” Alfred says, turning to Arthur and beaming. Now outside, he realizes just how much Arthur’s scent had been affecting him. A fatigue hits him then, which is not uncommon after spending time around an unmated alpha. The effort of resisting very strong, baser instincts takes its toll. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then,” Arthur replies and he waits until Alfred has driven off before going back inside. The fresh air does him some good as well.
“Hey, I’m home!” Alfred calls out as he enters the house and kicks off his boots. He braces himself for Matthew’s fury, but he doesn’t seem to be home. Alfred wanders his way into his father’s at-home office, where Brandon is diligently tending to some paperwork. “Hey, Dad.”
“Oh, there you are,” Brandon looks up, smiling. “How did it go?”
“It went great, Mr. Kirkland is really cool and easy to work with. He wants to build a recording studio where the study is. We can totally do that, right? I told him we could.”
“A recording studio? Hmm. We’ve definitely done soundproofing before, with heat rooms and everything. Does he have an idea of the layout?”
Alfred nods. “Yeah, he said I can take a look at the place he’s using now.”
“Good, that’ll help. Let him know it won’t be a problem. And I hope that you staying this late won’t become a problem,” he says warningly. “I know you don’t want me to start sending a chaperone.”
“No! It won’t be, like, a thing, I swear. It just…” Alfred fidgets, brushing the back of one calf with his opposite foot. “Um. We finished at a normal time, but I kinda stayed and made dinner for Mr. Kirkland and his little girl.”
Brandon heaves a sigh. “Alfred. You can’t seriously think that was an appropriate thing to do. Staying late at an unmated alpha’s house, a client’s house to cook for them?”
Alfred’s face grows warm. “I know! But Charlotte was hungry and Arthur didn't have anything made already. We were done working, so I thought it’d be okay…”
Brandon can’t help but shake his head. He knows that Alfred knows better and he also knows that his son would have absolutely done the same for almost any client, so it’s difficult for him to get all that upset. He stands up, walks over, and hugs Alfred tight, rubbing his cheek against the top of his son’s head to place his scent on him—a protective move. “You said you were done working? and it was clear that you were done?”
Alfred nods, leaning into his father and his familiar, naturally comforting scent. “Yeah.”
“Then I suppose you were on your own time, but I would really rather you not do that kind of thing again.”
“Okay… are you going to take me off the project?”
Brandon sighs. “Ordinarily, I would, but we’ve waited quite awhile to have a client willing to work with you, so unless Mr. Kirkland makes a complaint, I won’t.”
After dinner, Arthur cleans up the kitchen while Charlotte sits at the table doing her homework. Alfred has left them enough food for a few suppers at least. When he’s finished, he sits down at the table.
“Is Alfred coming back tomorrow?” Charlotte asks hopefully.
“Yes, but you’re going home with Luna and Astre tomorrow, remember?” Arthur hates dashing her hopes, but it must be done. Earlier, he had considered letting her come home and see Alfred one more time, but now he realizes what a terrible idea that would be.
“No!” Charlotte exclaims. “I can’t!”
“Oh? Why ever not?”
Charlotte looks down and pokes at her pencil. “Because.”
“Because you like Alfred?” he asks.
She nods without lifting her head.
“Charlotte, you know he’s here to do a job. We’ve already talked about this. He is very kind and I know you had fun with him today, but he’s not here to be our friend, do you understand?” Arthur is keenly aware that he’s talking to himself as much as he is to Charlotte.
She again nods only by pressing her chin against her chest twice. She does understand that Alfred is technically only there to do work on the house, but he and Daddy could definitely fall in love while they’re working, right? Though with how Daddy talks about Alfred, it definitely won’t happen if she’s not there to push them.
Arthur reaches over, tucking a stray strand of Charlotte’s auburn hair behind her ear and takes her hand. “I know it’s hard for you, with Mum being gone. Sometimes, it’s hard for me as well,” he says softly. “But let’s concentrate on one thing at a time, yes? Let’s get the house in proper shape and move onward from there.”
Charlotte curls her hand around his and finally looks up. “Okay,” she says. But one thing at a time? To her, that doesn’t seem very efficient.
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Payback, a canonverse short, rated M+
you can thank @pastelsugar6w6 for this and also @irisoflunadreams because she’s not the only one who can be sadistic! HA! Please read warnings
Rating: M/M+
Warnings: angst, graphic discussion of sex... which was arguably dubcon, America is spoken about as if he is very very young, but he’s not underage; definitely no happy ending, not even a proper resolution
Notes: the transition from country names to human names is not accidental, but it is merely symbolic. Takes place very shortly after 1783. France and England are both perverted bastards.
Summary: France was given America’s virginity as recompense for his assistance in America’s war for independence. He’s just dying to rub England’s nose in it.
Word Count: ~1950
The early afternoon sun is streaming in through the study window when England's servant brings France into the room and announces him as Mr Francis Bonnefoy and leaves when England waves his hand.
France flounces casually, smugly, into an armchair some distance from England's desk.
England says nothing, pretends to be busy with his correspondences. He has an inkling of why France is here and he's not eager to engage in conversation.
"And a 'good afternoon' to you as well, mon ami," France says, the smirk dripping from his voice. "Will not you not even acknowledge my presence?" He is very eager to engage in conversation because he knows his news will devastate his dearly hated enemy and rival.
“I’ve hardly patience for you even when I’m in good humor which I am certainly not today. Just say whatever it is you came to say and then be gone.”
“I thought you would like to know that I have recently returned from the United States. I thought you would like to know that he was very hurt that you could not even be bothered to properly fight him and that you would not even be present at the resolution of it.”
England continues writing, but it’s actually only scribbling across the page. He doesn’t want to hear about America, particularly not anything France has to say about him. “Those colonies weren’t worth the trouble. I simply could not let his little tantrum go wholly unopposed, it would set a terrible precedent. If he no longer wants my protection or my resources, then fine. We can all watch him collapse under the weight of his own stupidity. Apparently, his nascent government is utterly inept. They do little more than squabble. Although from what I hear, you are more than willing to support him. How very generous of you.”
France could almost cackle with glee. “Not so generous, really. You are right about the men in power, if there is any to be had in all that mess and confusion, but they were quite desperate. Desperate enough to promise me anything I wanted in exchange for my help to defeat your armies.”
England freezes and finally looks up at France’s stupid, arrogant face.
“I could tell part of his anguish stems from his... fervent wish that you would see him as more than a child. That you might see him... as a man, so to speak,” France grins lewdly. “America has so much anger toward you because dear little Alfred is so in love with you, he hardly knows what to do with himself.”
England tries to hide his surprise at this revelation. “Having such an outsized fit over minor grievances was never likely to convince me he is not still a child,” he says dryly even as his stomach churns.
“Indeed that is a shame, for he is a very fine young man and even you can agree that he is quite beautiful.”
England grits his teeth. America is handsome enough that it borders on absurdity, but England has a feeling where France is leading the conversation and so he says nothing.
“And when his leaders, desperate for aid to fight your exceptional army against whom they had no chance otherwise, asked me what I would require as repayment, the answer was obvious,” Francis says airily. He laughs as the blood drains from Arthur’s face. “They were so desperate to defeat you that even their silly human mores against it didn’t stop them from delivering him to me. To my bed.”
Arthur growls. “Shut up.”
Francis continues as though he hadn’t heard. “They delivered to me a blushing virgin of a boy and I returned him to them as a fine young man,” he says, preening. He directs a cruel look at Arthur. “If I am honest, I think he was saving himself for you, mon ami. Your loss,” those last words twist around his smirking lips.
“Shut the hell up!” Arthur shouts, jumping up from his chair and leaning over his desk. His stomach churns and then drops. He has known for awhile what a fine young man Alfred has become and he has had so many fantasies of coaxing the boy into his bed, of taking him, claiming him... loving him. “I don’t care!”
“Yes you do,” Francis says plainly. “I know you, Arthur. You adored him so much. He captivated you. Now he has allowed them make him a whore to your one of your most hated enemies. I flatter myself to say he enjoyed it.”
Arthur goes to reach for the pistol he keeps in his desk drawer, but notices one at Francis’ hip and rethinks his plan. He himself is weakened, tired from being spread too thin. He wishes he could have been there, at the end, to beg Alfred to reconsider, to plead for amicable relations between the two of them if nothing else. In any case, he has no advantage over Francis in this moment. “I am certain he did not,” he hisses back instead of firing his gun. “Or do you forget that I have also been in your bed?”
Francis laughs. “It was quite forgettable, Arthur. Alfred, on the other hand, I believe I shall remember how lovely he was as I deflowered him for the rest of my days. You want to hear all about it, do you not? Shall I be gracious and let you live vicariously through me?”
Arthur turns red and turns his face away, scowling. “I absolutely do not want to hear it.” It’s mostly the truth.
“Non? You do not want to hear about the pretty shade of pink that graced his cheeks? How he regarded me so shyly until I eased him from his trepidation with sweet kisses and soft whispers of how handsome he is, how well he has grown. It took almost no time at all to erase whatever notions of my supposed cruelty with which you had poisoned him. You are the one who starved him so for affection and made him yearn for it from anyone who would show it to him.”
Arthur collapses into his chair, hanging his head in his hands, but he says nothing. He closes his eyes since the light of the sun seems to pass judgment on him: a clear condemnation.
“Ah, he was so eager, he melted under my touch and did absolutely anything I asked. Incidentally, though his technique needs refinement, he has a tremendous natural talent with his mouth. He instantly engulfed all of me and swallowed around me again and again as if to consume me. I thought I might die and he did not choke even a little when I thrust into his throat. He said it feels so good to him. Can you imagine?”
Arthur feels like he might die right then because he can imagine, it’s too easy to imagine. “Shut up,” he mutters, even though he can admit to himself (and to only himself) that he wants to hear more. He wants to know what Alfred is like in bed so he can torment himself with even more vivid fantasies. His own cock twitches.
“The whole time, he looked at me with curious eyes in that striking shade of blue. I had him with me for two full months, you know. He hardly left my bed, he didn’t want to,” Francis sighs. “His skin, ah~ it is so soft, like golden silk and every inch of his body is delightfully sensitive. To confirm it, I spent the course of several days merely mapping him with my lips.”
Arthur tries to stifle the groan that escapes his throat. How many times had he imagined doing that very thing?
“If I tormented him enough, he would achieve release without my touching his cock even once. It broke my heart a little for him, truly, when the first several times I brought him to his fall, he called your name,” Francis says, affecting an insincere tone. “It was precious how he apologized for it, but when my time with him was finished, he knew exactly who was giving him such pleasure.”
Arthur bites back a sob. “No more,” he says and he half means it.
“He’s quite the hedonist, he’ll chase anything that makes him feel good. And oh, his cute, perfect ass. It should be a crime for him to clothe it. I had him on his knees, his face hiding in my pillows, while I kissed that tender flesh, bit him, pressed my tongue inside him. He liked that so well that he nearly screamed. Don’t hide your face like that, you and I both know you’re enjoying this even if you hate it,” Francis snaps. “Filthy lecher.”
Arthur knows he’s right. Advantage be damned, he should kick Francis out right then. But he cannot... and he cannot show his face. The sunlight reminds him too much of Alfred.
Francis relaxes into the armchair he occupies, uncrossing his legs and throwing one of them over the armrest. “When I finally took him, he wailed. He begged me for more. I wish I could adequately convey how sweet he sounded. His stamina is quite infectious and I stayed inside him for a few hours at least until he cried for me to fill him and then I did. I will always have been the first to mark him that way, isn’t it grand?”
“He deserved better,” Arthur grinds out through his teeth, even though it’s all too easy to slip his hand under his desk and press harshly against his cock. Alfred did deserve better. He deserved to be made a man by someone who loves him. He’s not nearly mature enough to properly handle being used by Francis like he was. The lad must surely be in some sort of emotional turmoil right now, Arthur knows him well enough to know that. Yet all he can do is mash his palm against his cock.
Francis scoffs and stands up from the chair. He sneers at Arthur. “Like you? As if I cannot see what you are doing at this very moment? You are a disgusting pig. But I know you care for him very much.” He moves toward the door, donning his coat. “Do not worry yourself, mon ami, I was very gentle with him. Someday, if you are ever fortunate enough to have your chance with him, you’ll thank me.”
Arthur curses after Francis as he leaves. He shouts for his servant to bring him a bottle of whiskey, yes a whole bottle, yes at this hour just do as I say. The servant closes the door and Arthur takes a long burning swallow of the amber liquid. He splays out on the floor on his back in the patch of sun on his carpet, undoing his breeches and furiously stroking himself, all while lamenting his own foolishness.
It could have been him.
Alfred had wanted it to be him.
Arthur could have spent all that time making love to him, not merely using him.
Instead, the men who stole Alfred away, filled his head with nonsense about liberty and independence, the men who hate England the most, made America into a whore… a means of repayment to France.
France! of all bloody people.
England drinks and imagines America on top of him, his cock buried in the boy’s perfect arse. He could have had it; he could have had America in his arms, England thinks bitterly when his orgasm hits him.
England lies spent on the floor. He drinks more and more whiskey until all he can think about his how much he hates that damn frog. The feelings of fatigue fade away and suddenly, his motivation has returned and all that matters is get back at France.
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The Floor is Lava, a ukus rom-com; Chapter 3
>.> as promised
Chapter Rating: T
Warnings: omegaverse, alpha Arthur/omega Alfred
Summary: Arthur has a meeting with Brandon, Alfred and Matthew bicker until Brandon makes an announcement, Arthur explains some stuff about the renovations to Charlotte
Word count: ~2300
Read here on AO3.
Arthur wishes he weren’t feeling such an elevated level of anticipation as he opens the door to Brandon Jones’ office. He can’t even be certain that Alfred is there and he is acutely aware that his instincts signaling the thrill of the chase is a rather inappropriate response to a simple meeting with his contractor.
Brandon’s administrative assistant smiles politely at him as he enters. She’s an omega, probably around Arthur’s age, and mated judging from the ring on her finger and the faint red scaring on one side of her neck. “Good morning, Mr. Kirkland,” she says, obviously having expected him. “Mr. Jones will be out in just a minute. Would you like some coffee?”
Arthur returns her polite smile. “No, thank you.” He surveys the office; it is small, tidy, and clean, but the decor is very minimal. As Arthur understands it, Brandon doesn’t usually have clients here—they are normally met at their own homes, which only makes him more curious as to why he had asked Arthur to come by.
The door to Brandon’s office opens. “Ah! Mr. Kirkland. Thank you for coming in, I know it’s a bit unorthodox.” He greets Arthur with the firm sort of handshake Arthur has come to expect from Americans, particularly other alphas. “Shall we?” he gestures to the open door.
Arthur nods and follows him in.
Brandon sits at his desk and directs Arthur to have a seat across from him and clear his throat. “So to start off,” (one thing Arthur appreciates about Brandon is his ability to just cut right to the point), “the inspection of your house went well and we’ve only found some minor plumbing and electrical issues. The house is in excellent shape considering its age, so we’re able to get started as soon as you say go.”
“That’s excellent news,” Arthur replies, relieved. Of course, the house had been inspected when he’d purchased it, but it’s good to have a second opinion confirming its good condition.
Brandon nods and takes a sip from a coffee mug branded with his own company logo. “I also wanted to thank you for letting Alfred do your inspection and for—”
Not molesting him on-sight? Arthur thinks, but he understands completely and jumps in to save Brandon. He nods, showing his comprehension, and immediately says “It’s perfectly alright, he clearly did a very thorough job and he was very kind and obliging with Charlotte.”
Brandon laughs. “That sounds like him. Even when he was a kid himself, he always had the younger ones following him around like ducklings, even his little brother.”
Arthur forces himself not to melt. He clears his throat. “You thanked me for ‘letting’ him do the inspection. Do clients often take issue with him?”
Brandon hums mildly. “Not always, but it happens. Alfred got his bachelor’s in architecture. He’s very intelligent and capable, he always has been, and my guys have taught him how to do the job right, but as far as the world has come, some people still don’t see past a person’s type. So thank you. It means a lot to him.”
As Brandon speaks, Arthur starts to have the surreal feeling that he has traveled back in time a hundred years or so to some matchmaker’s office. “It was really no trouble at all,” he says neutrally. “I could see he is very competent.”
Brandon positively beams. “Excellent! I was hoping you’d say that. You see, any contractor who works under me has a kind of apprenticeship period before they’re cleared to do work on their own. Alfred has helped manage projects and managed parts of projects by himself before, but he’s never managed one all on his own. We would have had him doing it quite awhile ago, actually, but it’s been… ah, difficult finding the right client.”
Arthur reads that one like flashing neon.
“I haven’t even mentioned this to him yet, I didn’t want to get his hopes up, but I was thinking of having him manage yours, if you’re open to working with him.”
Arthur blinks. He clears his mind and detaches this situation from his attraction to Alfred. He focuses on the old house he had purchased precisely because it is in dire need of updating and he wants to update it. He hired Brandon based on a personal recommendation, various glowing online reviews, and his own impression of the alpha. The man knows what he’s doing. Furthermore, Arthur thinks, this is their process. There should be nothing appreciably different about Alfred taking this on than any other member of Brandon’s team. Except that Alfred is beautiful and smells like sunshine. No. Stick to the situation at hand. “Uh. Yes. Of course.”
“Great! Obviously, I’ll be checking in on him and evaluating him. And if you ever have questions or concerns about anyone on my team, including him, I encourage you to contact me.”
Arthur can’t help but smile at that. Though Brandon’s love and affection for his son are very apparent, he is clearly committed to treating Alfred the same as anyone else who works for him, as much as it is possible. Arthur respects that, he doesn’t know if he could be so impartial toward Charlotte. “I most certainly will, Mr. Jones, thank you. I look forward to working with Alfred.”
—
Alfred sniffs the air as he wanders into the kitchen. He grabs a can of soda from the fridge and leans toward the stove without getting too close in order to investigate the various pots and dishes surrounding it. “Smells good, Matt,” he says with a grin. He reaches out to stick his finger in a saucepan full of melted cheese only to have his hand slapped away.
“Don’t you dare. Ugh. You don’t smell good, did you just get home or something?” Matthew, Alfred’s eighteen year old alpha brother, grabs Alfred by the upper part of his arm and pulls him in close to sniff near his head. “Hm.”
“Hey, let go,” Alfred yanks his arm away. “Jesus, I’ll take a shower. What are you making anyway?”
“Macaroni and cheese cheeseburgers,” Matthew answers.
Alfred’s mouth waters and his stomach growls, but he frowns. “Jeez! Make sure the buns are donuts while you’re at it. Ugh. Your cooking is the reason I have to spend so much time at the gym. I hope your future mate has a great metabolism. And I was supposed to cook tonight. You’re supposed to be studying.”
“Well I did it anyway.”
Alfred sighs in exasperation. “Mattie, I like cooking, okay? I don’t do it just because I’m the omega in the house.” He knows Matthew is a product of the radically egalitarian way they’ve been raised as much as he himself is, but sometimes his little brother has weird ideas about what Alfred should and shouldn’t do as an omega. But he likes cooking. Alfred’s mind flashes to Mr. Kirkland and his little girl from a few days ago. Steamed carrots… that poor kid. Alfred would have protested too.
There’s noise from near the front door indicating their dad is home.
“Boys!” Brandon calls out.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Alfred and Matthew call back simultaneously.
Brandon strides into the kitchen, beaming, and hugs Alfred so hard that his feet come off the ground. "I have great news for you, Alfie," he announces as he releases his son. He places both hands firmly on Alfred's shoulders. "A client has agreed to let you manage their project!"
"No fucking way!" Alfred exclaims, his face breaking into a similar beaming grin, but he winces when his dad gives him a pointed look. "Right. Sorry. Language. So... who is the client?" Alfred tenses excitedly, it has to be him, right?
"Arthur Kirkland," Brandon says.
“Sweet!” Alfred cheers. So Mr. Kirkland is really as open-minded and relaxed as he had seemed to be. He certainly hadn't hovered over Alfred's shoulder or questioned his capability even by insinuation. And his daughter is so adorable. Alfred has been waiting for ages for this chance and Mr. Kirkland seems very calm and composed and he has great taste, so he's likely to be an awesome client.
It definitely doesn't hurt that he's so handsome, either, but the most important thing is to do the job exceptionally well. Alfred is always aware that he has more to prove than others.
Matthew frowns from his spot by the stove. "Hey wait, isn't he that unmated alpha? Dad, are you crazy? And you," he brandishes a cheese covered spoon at his older brother. "You're crazy for sure. You know the most likely reason why an unmated alpha would want to work with you, don't you?"
Anger rises up in Alfred cheeks, turning even his ears red. "Well I guess it definitely can't be because I know what I'm doing or because I'm good at my job!"
Matthew turns and frowns at the macaroni. "You have literally no sense of self-preservation," he mutters.
“That’s enough, you two,” Brandon warns, placing his hand on the back of Matthew’s neck and stares him down. “First of all, your brother can take care of himself,” he says. “Second of all, is that how you would behave, Matthew? Are you saying you’re the kind of alpha that would take advantage of an omega the way you’re insinuating?”
“No, never!” Matthew protests, also instinctively bending in deference to the leader of their house.
“Damn right. And third of all, I wouldn’t have asked Mr. Kirkland if I thought he had any bad intentions. Are we clear?”
Matthew nods. “Yes, sir,” he responds firmly.
Brandon releases him only to ruffle his hair. “I know you’re just looking out for your brother. It’s alright.” He then turns to Alfred. “Alfred. You still need to be careful, got it? I know how you feel about suppressants—”
Alfred folds his arms over his chest and scowls.
“—don’t give me that look. I’d really like you to consider at least wearing scent patches around Mr. Kirkland, please.”
“I’ll think about it,” Alfred concedes.
Matthew smirks smugly at Alfred behind their dad’s back.
Alfred flips him off. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he announces. He can’t help but grin all the way upstairs. His first solo project and it’s such an extensive overhaul of such an amazing house and the client is sure to be great to work with.
But… what Matthew said needles at him. What if Mr. Kirkland actually does have bad intentions toward him? It couldn’t be the case, could it? Alfred smiles when he remembers Charlotte and how bright she is and even though it has been a few days, Alfred can still clearly remember Mr. Kirkland’s scent, an ancient forest, dewy and clean.
There is no way Arthur Kirkland is the kind of alpha Matthew always worries about.
Alfred settles into his determination: Mr. Kirkland agreed to let Alfred head his renovation because he believes Alfred will do a good job… and not for any reason that Matthew thinks. Alfred will prove it.
—
Arthur returns home from his meeting with Brandon just before Charlotte gets home from school. He sits on the porch with his bass, strumming a few chords idly. With all of the moving, he hasn’t had much chance to play.
“Daddy!” Charlotte exclaims when the bus drops her off. She bounds toward him, drops her backpack on the porch steps and sits right at his side. “What are you playing? Are you writing something?”
Arthur leans over and kisses the top of her head and tucks her close to him. “No, love, not at the moment. But I have some good news!”
Charlotte springs back and gives him an expectant grin. “What is it?”
Arthur strums the instrument softly. “The renovations of our house will begin on Monday.”
Charlotte dramatically flops over and sighs in relief. “Finally!” she exclaims.
Arthur musses her hair. “Oi. Behave,” he says, tweaking her nose lightly. “I know it’s been frustrating for you; you’ve been a very good girl and I appreciate you. But yes, we are finally getting started, so on Monday after school, Grammy Lucy will pick you up and then I’ll bring over your things. So this weekend we have to pack, understood?”
Charlotte nods enthusiastically. “Is Alfred going to help us fix the house?” she asks, eyes bright.
Taken slightly aback, Arthur tentatively nods his head. “Er. Yes, he is, but—”
“And if I’m not here, how will you know how I want my room to be?”
Arthur ruffles her hair again. “You can tell me or write it down or draw it for me and I’ll sort it out.”
Charlotte scrunches her nose for just a second. “But what if you get it wrong? Isn’t it better if I tell Alfred myself?”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at her. “Lottie, I know that you like him, but you want the renovations to be done as soon as possible, don’t you? He’ll be here to work, not play. The fewer distractions that he and his team have, the faster the house will be finished.”
Charlotte scrunches her nose and it stays scrunched this time. “I won’t be a distraction!” She pouts. “I’ll be good, I promise! I won’t get in the way. You said it’s my room and I can make it however I want.”
Arthur sighs. She’s definitely going to be an alpha, he’s certain of it. “I did say that. Yes. Very well, but” he holds up his hand when her eyes light up and she starts to speak, “wait— but the rest of the time, you will be with Grammy Lucy. Once the construction beings, I’ll be there too, alright?”
Charlotte nods happily. “Yup. Thank you, Daddy!” She slides off of the couch and dashes up the stairs, not doubt to start making plans.
Arthur shakes his head, but smiles. Of course, it’s then he realizes that before anything begins, he’ll have to explain his own plans to Alfred and… they are quite extensive. He sincerely hopes Alfred is up to the challenge.
#ukus#usuk fanfic#omegaverse#spadian ballad#Lucy is not Arthur's mom she's Charlotte's maternal grandmother
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Always Been Yours, ukus one-shot (AO3 link)
The porn is the plot on this one XD
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: underage/America is physically about 15 for most of it
Tags: UKUS, time fuckery, established relationship
Word Count: ~4800
Summary:
“America. We’re not in your room, we're in London,” England says slowly. “What year do you think this is?”
America blinks. “It is 1763…” he says and then his eyes widen as they scan England. He covers his eyes and turns bright red. “You’re… you’re naked!” he exclaims.
England wants to know how long America has loved him. America dodges the question. By some unknown time magic, England instead finds out the answer in very unusual way.
LINK
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Luck of the Draw; ukus drabble
This is from the alternate timeline of Thief of Spades in which Alfred actually finished his apprenticeship and became a master jeweler and designer in record time... and never became a thief. By sheer luck, Arthur meets him anyway.
it’s also a belated-by-three-hours birthday present :D
Rating: T+ for Alfred’s innuendos
Warnings: none in particular
Summary: Arthur gets called in on late-night break-in at a jewelry store.
Word count: ~1900
minor points: Detective Sergeant is the rank below Detective Inspector and SO7 refers to the Metro Police robbery department (I finally bothered to look it up LOL they’re also called the Flying Squad! XD What even are British people?) and The Twat is no one in particular.
An unusually quiet night at New Scotland Yard has Detective Sergeant Gilbert Beilschmidt spinning mindlessly around in his desk chair while his partner, also Detective Sergeant Arthur Kirkland is moping over a plastic container and stabbing glumly at chunks of pineapple with his fork.
After another heavy, despondent sigh from Arthur, Gilbert groans. “Mate. You’ve got to let this go. The boy is a twat, I told you that from the start.”
Arthur glares over at him and then stabs the fork into the pineapple chunks so that it sticks straight up on its own. He frenetically scrubs his hands through his hair and sighs, but more assertively. “I know, I know he’s a twat. No one has told my heart, apparently,” he mumbles.
It has hardly been two weeks since Arthur caught his boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—cheating. It had been going on for awhile and The Twat accused Arthur of being a terrible boyfriend, the worst lover on the planet, and kicked him out.
Gilbert uses Arthur’s distracted mood as an opportunity to finally swipe a piece of the Pineapple Pirate’s coveted treasure. He grins as he savors the sweet, tangy fruit. “No one’s told your dick, that’s the real trouble.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Quite. Don’t think I didn’t see what you did just there. You’ll pay for that.”
Gil licks the sticky juice off of his fingertips. “It was worth it. You know, you’re supposed to be one of the leading detectives in SO7… if you can’t prevent a known associate from stealing your own property, it seems to me you might need to rethink your career choice.”
“Oh sod off.” Arthur grumbles. You’re only jealous because you know I’m going to make inspector before you.”
“Like hell,” Gilbert says with no bite before spinning around his chair again. “Even if you do, you’ll have earned it. You probably could have gone for MI5 or even MI6. No one’s as smart as you and no one works as hard as you do.”
It’s a compliment, but it has Arthur poking at his pineapple bits again. “Perhaps I might be working too hard. My superior work ethic was recently cited as cause for my eviction,” he drolls.
“Ha!” Gilbert laughs and shakes his head. “How’s your mum feel about you moving back in, anyway?”
Arthur eats a piece of pineapple. “She’s glad I’m out of that relationship more than anything. I suppose it was quite awful, but… well anyway, she and I are just alike, so living with her isn’t a problem and it is only temporary.”
“Just alike? Does she have shite taste in men too?”
Arthur raises his eyebrow. “Well, she has four boys by three different men, so you tell me.” In his desire to move on from this part of the conversation, Arthur inadvertently violates a cardinal rule known to all cops, paramedics, nurses, doctors, and anyone who works in emergency services by stating, “Bloody hell, it’s quiet tonight isn’t it?”
“Fuck,” Gilbert groans. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?”
Arthur curses himself. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Whatever happens now, you have to deal with it. Christ. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the gods weren’t listening.”
“Lucky. Right.”
Not five minutes later, the phone rings. Gilbert stares at Arthur pointedly until he answers it. The call is from an alarm and security company stating that there has been a break in and possible robbery in progress on the property of one of their clients: a high end boutique jewelry designer. Their personnel are already en route and they require an actual officer of the law to meet them. After obtaining the relevant information, Arthur dashes off, not even bothering to ask Gil if he wanted to come too.
The shop is situated on a corner and all of the windows have solid shades down to prevent prying eyes after business hours. The security team consists of two people: a man and a woman, both are equally sober and serious. Arthur tells them that if they know the layout of the store, he will follow their lead.
The front of the store appears deserted, though a light is on in the backroom. Arthur makes note of this as odd. Wouldn’t a thief be working under cover of darkness? The whole store is covered in cameras, so why turn on a light? He splits off from the security team in search of whoever tripped the alarm. Arthur immediately heads to the backroom, not seeing anyone at first, although one of a trio of safes is open.
“Oh shit, you guys are quick!” a voice sounds from behind him.
On reflex, Arthur whirls around and forces the suspect face first against the wall. He observes the back of the thief. He is definitely a man, but dressed in a red silk cocktail dress with a diamond wreath sparkling around his neck… and he’s barefoot. His sunny blond hair is disheveled and from the arms sticking back over his ears, he wears glasses. What an odd thief. “I’m Detective Sergeant Arthur Kirkland with the Metro Police Service. You are under arrest for trespass and suspicion of burglary.”
“Ooo a sergeant, huh? I’m afraid you’re gonna have to buy me dinner before we get physical,” he quips. It’s then that Arthur hears his accent: American.
Arthur flips the thief around, making quick note of skewed glasses, flushed cheeks, and bright blue eyes. Pretty… he shoves that last thought aside. The thief is young, though, in his early twenties at most. “Identify yourself.”
“Name’s Alfred Jones. As it happens, this is my store. Got my logo on the door and everything. I tripped the alarm on purpose, I wanted to see how quickly this new security company would respond. Real quick it seems… and they even brought a ‘coppa,’” he says the word with an exaggerated English accent. “Pretty decent service for the money.”
Arthur pulls his handcuffs from their holster, releasing the thie—Alfred, but staying close. “You understand why I’m going to need verification.”
Alfred sways his hips and swishes the skirt of his dress, which is just so distressingly alluring to him. (Arthur shoves that thought aside too.) “And where exactly would I have put that, Detective? Though you’re more than welcome to do a cavity search.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. It’s almost a shame Gilbert didn’t take the call, he would have gotten a good laugh over this idiot. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Jones. The security company has two of its agents on site, they’ll be able to verify your claim, will they not?” He places the handcuffs on Alfred’s wrists.
Alfred grins wildly. “A bit kinky for a first date, but I’m down. Hey, if I make a break for it, are you gonna shoot me?”
Arthur sighs. Americans. “I am not armed.”
“That’s a damn shame. Would’ve loved to see your gun.”
“Sergeant, are you there?” the female security officer calls out. Both she and her colleague enter the room and it’s only then that Arthur looks around enough to see that the expansive room isn’t another showroom, but a full-on jeweler’s workshop.
“Hey, you guys mind? You’re kind of interrupting,” Alfred calls over to them.
“Don’t speak,” Arthur admonishes. “Have you found anyone else?” he asks the agents as he holds tightly to Alfred’s upper arm.
“No,” they say.
“This man claims to be the owner of this establishment and your client, but he cannot produce any identification.”
The male security officer nods and pulls out his phone. “We should be able to determine if it’s him or not. Your name, sir?”
“Alfred Jones, but really, you don’t have to go to all the trouble. This fine detective here is about to haul me away and I should really be punished so…” Alfred rocks back and forth on the balls of his bare feet.
Arthur yanks on his arm, hard. “Don’t. Speak.”
The security officer turns his phone to show Arthur the array of photos they have on file of people who have permissions with the company and right at the top is Alfred’s photo, smiling the same cheeky grin. “It’s him, Sergeant. We apologize for any indignity, Mr Jones.”
Alfred pulls his arm back from Arthur. “No worries, I never had any dignity in the first place.”
“That much is obvious.” Arthur glares at him, but Alfred only preens smugly.
“You guys respond fast, color me satisfied with the service.”
The two nod. “We’ve swept the rest of the store and have found everything else to be in order, Mr Jones, but we’d be happy to do another sweep if you’d like.”
“Nope, you’re good. I know I’m totally safe here with such an upstanding British detective. I’ll lock it up when we leave.”
“Very good, sir.” The security officers exchange strange looks as they start to leave as if wondering what kind of game they walked in on.
Arthur shakes his head, exasperated. Well, if an annoying (annoyingly attractive) American is the worst he has to deal with tonight, he can still call it a good night, though he doesn’t dare say that out loud; he’s already pushed his luck enough for one evening. He moves to release Alfred Jones from his handcuffs, but Alfred tugs his hands away and out of Alfred’s reach.
“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Alfred calls out. “Can you hit the lights? I think Sergeant Kirkland is probably the shy type, ya know?”
Arthur sputters furiously. Oh he’ll show Alfred shy! Alfred is so energetic, he probably gets flustered easily. He’d probably yelp so cutely at being pushed over any one of these benches, still cuffed, and his pretty red dress bunched up over his hips and— Arthur freezes. “Will you shut up?” He roughly tugs on Alfred’s arm and releases the handcuffs before the git can try anything. Pushing Alfred away, he mutters, “Bloody hell.”
The lights turn off and the security officers are gone.
Alfred leans forward in the dark and kisses Arthur’s cheek quickly. “Thanks for coming, Sergeant. I’ll definitely rest easier knowing the auspicious Metro Police Service has fine people such as yourself on the job.”
Arthur blushes despite himself. All thoughts of The Twat have evaporated entirely and he hardly even notices it. “Yes, well. You’re welcome, I suppose. Would you like me to escort you out?” He regrets asking the instant the words leave his mouth.
But surprisingly, Alfred shakes his head, a thoughtful and quietly intense look in his eyes. “No thanks. I’m actually going to stay and work, I think. This has been a rather… inspiring incident and I want to get some sketches down while it’s all fresh in my mind.”
“Sketches?”
Alfred nods and moves toward one of the benches. “Yeah, for new designs.”
“You’re the designer?” Arthur asks, resisting the urge to follow.
“Yeah and I machine most of them in-house, me and a couple other jewelers. Pretty much everything I do is one of a kind.” He sits down and pulls out a sketchpad and pencil.
“It’s rather late, isn’t it?” Arthur also suddenly wonders where Alfred had been to be dressed as he is, but doesn’t dare ask.
“It’s fine, like I said, I want to get this stuff out of my brain or else I’ll just chew on it all night and go crazy.”
Arthur suddenly finds Alfred far more interesting and much less annoying. Clearly, he was only having fun before, but he is capable of sincerity and seems quite intelligent.
“If you come by tomorrow,” Alfred says, smiling genuinely at him. “I’ll show you.”
Arthur considers this for a moment. It’s the first time in two weeks that he’s felt any spark of his usual self. “Perhaps I might, with any luck.”
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The Floor is Lava, a ukus rom-com; Chapter 1.5: Alfred’s point of view
**The whole fic will not be like this with alternating chapters. I just wanted to get some characterization of Alfred on the table as well as a better view of Arthur, who obviously doesn’t describe himself in his own thoughts. All subsequent chapters will be third person omniscient rather than third person limited.
Fic Rating: E
Chapter Rating: T+
Warnings: omegaverse, alpha!Arthur/omega!Alfred, Alfred’s hormones
Summary: Alfred F Jones is a twenty-two year old omega who currently works for his father’s contracting business, despite the obstacles he encounters due to being an omega. So he’s surprised when he gets sent to do the home inspection for a client who is an unmated alpha and single father. He’s even more surprised when Arthur Kirkland is ridiculously hot.
Word count: ~3600
Read Chapter 1 (Arthur’s POV) here.
Read here on AO3.
Twenty-two year old Alfred F. Jones rocks back and forth on the soles of his work boots while he waits for someone to answer the door. He has just rung the doorbell and is vibrating with anticipation. He’s usually not this nervous when going to a client’s house for the first time.
But it is so rare that he is allowed to go to an unmated alpha’s house alone. In fact, the only time before this was an elderly, confirmed bachelor with a bad limp who had long ago lost his sense of smell and probably never even knew Alfred’s type. He had been nice enough, though his sense of humor was very out of date.
Now, however, Alfred is about to do an inspection for an alpha who is a single father with a young daughter whose type isn’t even apparent yet, so the alpha himself is probably quite young. Alfred’s dad had said Mr. Kirkland seemed like a really good, honorable person and that Alfred would be perfectly safe.
He still can’t help but be a bit nervous though.
The door finally opens with an accompanying, “Hello, how can I help you?”
Alfred bites his lip to make sure his jaw hadn’t fallen open. He holds tightly to his clipboard. He had been right: Mr. Kirkland is young, but still clearly older than himself and he’s ridiculously hot in an understated kind of way. He looks strong, the way all alphas do, but he has a more lean build than the alphas Alfred is used to being around—namely, his father’s employees. His eyes are so insanely green, Alfred wonders for a moment if they might be contacts and there’s the faintest stubble lining his clean shaven face.
Oh right, he’s supposed to say something. “Um, hi, Mr. Kirkland, I’m Alfred Jones. I’ll be doing your home inspection.” He takes a deep breath of fresh air. Right. He’s here for the job. It’s not professional to be ogling clients. Dad would not be pleased if he found out.
Mr. Kirkland just stares at him, seemingly confused.
Alfred sighs internally, that’s a familiar look. He braces himself for the inevitable demands to see the actual inspector, what’s an omega doing outside the office, etc.
But the alpha just keeps staring.
Alfred starts to feel self-conscious in a different way. He coughs. “Mr. Kirkland?”
“Yes. Sorry. What?”
Oh god, he’s British, Alfred thinks. Even those short, dazed words in such a warm, rough voice send chills up Alfred’s spine. His dad should have said something, but then how would he know about Alfred’s weakness? Alfred gives his most charming smile, hoping Mr. Kirkland won’t tell him to pound sand. “I was just saying I’m Alfred Jones, I’m here to do the inspection.” He adjusts his glasses with his pencil out of habit.
This seems to snap the alpha back to reality. “Ah, yes. Please come in.” He steps back and opens the door further. He almost looks as nervous as Alfred feels.
Alfred steps inside and glances around. He sincerely hopes that he only whistled appreciatively in his mind. “Uh. Nice place,” he says. It is a beautiful house. It is badly in need of updating, but that’s why Mr. Kirkland has hired them. Alfred can see through the superficial things to the structure of the house and combining that with Mr. Kirkland’s tasteful, though sparse, furniture, Alfred can see lots of potential.
Then Alfred breathes in through his nose and realizes this might be the most difficult inspection of his life.
Mr. Kirkland must not have many visitors. Normally, an unmated person of any type living alone will take steps to restrain their own scent, at least when they’re expecting company, but Mr. Kirkland clearly doesn’t bother… and he certainly hadn’t been warned that the person doing his inspection would be an omega.
The misty air of a deep, ancient forest surrounds Alfred, it’s amazing and he can’t stop his cheeks from flushing. It’s not his fault, he reasons, it’s just biology. In the past, he has declined to use suppressants, but he questions that decision now. Hopefully, Mr. Kirkland won’t notice.
He does seem to be standing a bit straighter though. “Thank you,” he replies with a soft smile that makes Alfred’s stomach wobble. “And you’re Brandon’s son, correct?”
Alfred returns the smile with a grin. He’s acclimating quickly to the scent permeating the house and maybe this won’t be too terrible after all. He doesn’t want Mr. Kirkland to think that that’s the only reason he has the job though. The alpha hasn’t kicked him out yet, so Alfred is hopeful. To bolster his case, he says, “Yeah. I just graduated college, so I’m helping Dad until I can figure out my next move, but don’t worry, I’m definitely licensed. I can show you my credentials if you want.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” He readjusts the hem of his well-fitted burgundy sweater and runs a hand through his hair—which looks like he hasn’t combed it in days, but given how impeccable everything else about him is, Alfred suspects that it just always looks like that, like he just got out of bed.
Alfred sternly tells himself not to think about clients in bed. He inhales deeply, but that hits him with more of Mr. Kirkland’s scent. Maybe if he can just get started, he can make it through this. “Cool, so I’m gonna get started if that’s alright with you. I’ll be done and outta your hair in a jiff,” he says brightly.
Mr. Kirkland looks at him curiously again. “Right. Well, let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
Alfred’s whole body knows exactly how Mr. Kirkland could be of assistance. “You bet,” he tries to say without breathing through his nose again. He heads toward the kitchen, shaking his head quickly and placing his hand over his nose and mouth before realizing his client might still be watching him and that could seem unprofessional, so he drops it.
There’s a bright teal backpack with black marker drawings all over it on the kitchen table—it’s the first indication Alfred has noticed that Mr. Kirkland even has a child. Though when he looks around again, the evidence becomes more clear. The house is very clean, but the refrigerator is covered in elementary school artwork, soccer team and music lessons schedules, as well as a fourth grade class’ parent volunteer schedule, on which the name Kirkland appears several times. Mr. Kirkland seems like a very attentive father, for sure. A warm fondness washes against Alfred’s chest.
But it’s time to get to work. Alfred checks the tap on the sink, checks the disposal and then kneels down. He opens the cabinet doors and notes how all the usual cleaning supplies and trash can are immaculately arranged. He makes a note of it in his mind so he can put everything back the right way.
He’s just gotten under the sink, looking up at the underside of it from his back, when he hears Mr. Kirkland enter the kitchen. Well at least under the sink, the alpha’s scent is more muffled.
“Are you alright down there?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m good, Mr. Kirkland,” he replies, checking the fastenings and making mental notes about what he’ll need to write down. “I do this all the time,” he says casually. He doesn’t want yet another client second-guessing him simply for being an omega. “Of course, I usually have one of my dad’s guys hanging over me in situations like this, so this is actually a lot easier.”
“Situations like this?” Mr. Kirkland prompts, it’s hard to tell if he’s skeptical or intrigued.
Alfred slides out from under the sink, puts everything back exactly as he had found it, and stands up. “Yeah. My dad needs the help and I want to work, but I usually can’t go to an unmated alpha’s house by myself.” While not universal, it is common practice for many people and Alfred is surprised and kind of impressed that Mr. Kirkland hasn’t said anything about it yet. “But Dad said you seemed like a good guy, so I got to come alone, obviously. He’s kinda overprotective, but that’s how dads are, right?”
The alpha’s face softens and he nods his head, a short laugh escaping his lips. “Yes. Fathers can be that way, I suppose.” The twinkle in his eyes has to be for his daughter and it’s unfair how gorgeous it makes him look.
“You’d probably do anything for your little girl, I bet. Dad told me. I only just met you and all, but you seem like you’re probably a great dad.” Alfred curses himself the moment he says it. How stupid can he be to say something so loaded to a client? He can feel his cheeks getting hot. He needs to be not in the same room as Mr. Kirkland now. “Uh. Anyway. It’s none of my business, so I’m gonna check all the sinks and then I’ll need you to show me where the breaker box is.”
He’s just getting started on the downstairs bathroom when a little girl appears suddenly in the doorway. Obviously, she’s Mr. Kirkland’s daughter; she has auburn hair in a single braid, and her green eyes are just like her dad’s with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks and just like Mr. Kirkland, she is beautiful in a refined sort of way. “Hello,” Alfred beams at her.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte!” she says, but that’s all she gets through before Mr. Kirkland suddenly lifts her up.
“Charlotte, you have to let him do his job, understood?” Mr. Kirkland admonishes her. He holds her fast even though she’s squirming.
Alfred kneels down to check under the bathroom sink. This serves the dual purpose of showing a client that he is not easily distracted and of hiding his silly grin. “Aw, it’s alright, Mr. Kirkland, she’s not bothering me. She’s a way cuter supervisor than any of my dad’s guys.”
Mr. Kirkland puts her down and his face softens. “If she’s making herself a nuisance, please let me know.”
Alfred beams up at him. “Sure thing.”
Mr. Kirkland tugs gently, but pointedly on his daughter’s ear, clearly something she is used to judging by her bored reaction.“Charlotte, you must let him do his job, I mean it.”
Charlotte sticks her tongue out at him as he walks away. She rocks back and forth on her heels as Alfred finishes the inspection of the sink. “You’re an omega, right?” She has a cute accent, caught somewhere between Arthur’s British one and whatever American one she’s probably picking up at school.
Alfred laughs. “Yup, I sure am.”
“Do you have a mate?”
Alfred chokes and hits his head on the way out from under the sink with a good thud. To his credit, he resists the impulse to swear. “Ow. Uh. No, not yet.”
“You’re really pretty, though. Are you being courted by someone?”
Alfred stares at her for a minute and picks up his clipboard, realizing she must watch a lot of Disney movies. “Heh. Well, thank you, Miss Charlotte, but no. Not yet.” He starts formulating how to dodge any further questions, but instead she asks,
“And Daddy says you’re inspecting the house.”
Alfred breathes a sigh of relief. “Yes, so that the company I work for can help him remodel it.” He looks up the stairway, just a few feet from where they are. “I need to find all the sinks, can you show me where they are?”
She smiles, motioning for him to follow as she bounds up the stairs.
Alfred shakes his head in amusement and heads up after her.
Charlotte’s questions are relentless as they make their way through the house. She’s very smart too, which only makes it more difficult to dodge her. She’s tactful for a nine year old, but she still manages to catch him off guard while he checks the sink in the bathroom of the master suite, where Mr. Kirkland’s scent is making him dizzy. In that moment, he seriously reconsiders his decision to abstain from pharmaceutical suppressants.
“Is there someone that you want to court you?”
“Ah, you know… not right now,” he answers with forced casualness, focusing hard on making his notes. She certainly doesn’t need to know about his dating life; about how most alphas and betas who he is on good terms with see him as “one of them;” about how all of the alphas who have approached him, even agreed with Charlotte about his looks, were immediately turned off by his general refusal to conform to many societal expectations set out for omegas. “Maybe someday, though.”
His head clears somewhat once they’re out of Mr. Kirkland’s bedroom. He could tell Mr. Kirkland that Charlotte is distracting him, but it’s actually fun having her trail after him. She’s ridiculously cute, despite some of her questions being a bit uncomfortable, she’s also curious about what Alfred is doing and asks a lot of good questions.
To try and distract Charlotte, Alfred says, “I need to check all of the light switches now. How about you show me the one in your room first?”
Charlotte’s face lights up and she takes his wrist and drags him down the hall.
Alfred checks the light switches and the outlets. He notices that, like the rest of the house, Charlotte’s room is somewhat empty. He knows that Mr. Kirkland bought the house only recently and must have planned on renovating it from the start. He definitely notices the picture by Charlotte’s bed—a pretty young woman, probably in her early twenties, with deep auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a cheeky smile.
“That’s my mum,” Charlotte says. “Daddy said that she died just after I was born. She didn’t want to be his mate, but he said they loved each other a lot. They were best friends.” She sounds a bit wistful.
“She’s very beautiful,” Alfred says gently. Despite his best efforts, curiosity starts to poke at him.
Charlotte suddenly grins up at him. “You’re beautiful too!” she insists, as though Alfred had sounded very envious.
Alfred laughs and shakes his head. “Thank you, Miss Charlotte, but let’s keep it moving. I don’t want your dad to think I’m wasting too much time.”
They enter a room that, according to Alfred’s knowledge of home floor plans, is meant to be a study. It’s full of boxes, a couple of large speakers, a few guitars and basses, and an upright piano.
Charlotte peeks into the room from behind him. “Those are for Daddy’s job,” she says. “He said he wants to start working from home and not at the studio.”
Alfred blinks. That’s certainly good to know from a professional standpoint, although it’s not likely Alfred will have much to do with the project after this. The disappointment brought on by that thought is not unexpected given that he already feels an attachment to it. “What is your dad’s job?”
“He writes music,” Charlotte says casually.
Alfred looks at all of the equipment and thinks of his earlier interactions with Arthur. He had thought Arthur would have some kind of job in a nice office with an assistant where he wore a tie, but this revelation more interesting, even less like the typical alphas Alfred knows. He checks all of the necessary elements of the room and then continues on, shoving all of this into the back of his mind to contemplate later.
Alfred moves along through the inspection very smoothly with Charlotte occasionally disappearing when Alfred has to go outside or do something slightly more dangerous, like checking the electrical grid and the furnace—which will probably need to be replaced, but he’s betting Arthur already knew that. She also just wanders off if she gets bored and Alfred certainly doesn’t blame her.
She bounces back over to him as he’s finishing up and smiles deviously. “I know a secret,” she says coyly.
Given how precocious she has been all day, this statement makes Alfred a bit nervous. “Do you now?”
She nods. “Yes. It’s about the house. I think you haven’t noticed yet.”
Alfred raises an eyebrow. He’s covered every square inch of the house, making thorough and extensive notes. “Is that so? I’m afraid you’re gonna have to tell me what I missed, Miss Charlotte.”
She nods very seriously. “The floor is made of lava,” she says, trying not to giggle.
Alfred kneels down and looks her square in the eyes, also trying not to giggle. “Is that so?” She nods. “Does your dad know?”
She covers her mouth with her hands and shakes her head.
“We’re gonna have to tell him then; that’s a pretty serious issue.”
She grins, eyes twinkling, and nods vigorously.
Alfred heads into the living room where Arthur is having a cup of tea and reading on the sofa. Butterflies flitter lightly in his stomach; he doesn’t know any alphas who are so refined and tempered. To Alfred, alphas like that only exist in those novels he swears he doesn’t actually read or movies he swears he only watches ironically.
Charlotte presses herself up against his leg, grinning like an adorable, little lunatic.
Alfred clears his throat. “Uh, Mr. Kirkland?”
Arthur looks up at them, somewhat caught off-guard, but it’s obvious to Alfred now that he hadn’t really been reading, more staring off as though deep in thought. “Hm? Yes. What is it?”
Alfred laughs and looks down at the top of Charlotte’s head. “Well, I thought everything was up to code from what I could see, but I’ve been speaking with Charlotte here and she informs me that the floor is actually lava, which—I’m sure I don’t need to tell you—is a pretty serious safety violation.” He manages to get through it with a sufficiently straight face.
Charlotte bursts out laughing and collapses on the floor in giggles.
Arthur’s face softens fondly at her and then smiles graciously at Alfred. He stands up and clearly exaggerates how difficult it is to pull her to her feet, acting like she’s very heavy when Alfred saw him lift her up in the air effortlessly not a few hours ago. He holds her to him and kisses the top of her head.
Alfred’s insides turn to goo, warm sparkly goo.
“Go wash up now,” Arthur pats Charlotte between her shoulder blades. “We’ll have supper soon.”
“What’s for supper?” she asks.
Arthur’s expression looks slightly pained. “Roast and mashed potatoes and steamed carrots.”
Alfred bites the eraser end of his pencil to keep from snorting when Charlotte scrunches up her nose. It doesn’t sound particularly appetizing to him either… obviously an opinion that even Arthur shares.
“Do we have to have carrots?”
“Yes, you must have proper nutrition,” Arthur insists. “Do we have to have this conversation every night?”
She sticks her tongue out at him and, surprisingly, Arthur does it right back. “I’ll eat carrots if Alfred can stay for supper.”
Arthur looks over at Alfred, seemingly considering it for a moment. The alpha’s scent flares up for a moment and it knocks Alfred off balance.
Alfred freezes up, knowing his face is turning red and the tips of his ears are warm. He holds his clipboard against his stomach and pushes his glasses up with his pencil. “Oh. Me? No. Sorry, Miss Charlotte, I have to get back to the office so,” so what? Shit. He has to say something, he needs to get out of there at this point or else risk doing something stupid thanks to his hormones. “So! I can work up a plan to deal with all this molten lava!” he exclaims cheekily, gesturing to the floor.
Arthur pats Charlotte between her shoulders again. “Go. Go wash your hands.” He sends Alfred a guilty look. “I’m terribly sorry, I hope she didn’t bother you too much. I appreciate you indulging her.”
Alfred turns to goo again. “It’s really no problem. She’s a sweet kid. I was right. You are a great dad.” Fuck. He coughs and shifts into his hyper professional mode. Arthur is a client. That’s all. An unfairly attractive client. “Anyway, I found a couple things I’ll need to run by my dad, but nothing major, and then he should be able to get started asap.” He tears off a page from his carbon copy inspection form and hands it to Arthur. “Here’s a copy of my report, it’s pretty self-explanatory, but let us know if you have any questions.”
Arthur skims the page and nods appreciatively. “Excellent, thank you. So that’s it for now then?”
Alfred smiles his customer service smile. “Yup.”
“Very good.” Arthur leads him to the door. “Do you work on the crew as well or is your part of the job finished?”
Alfred really hopes Arthur isn’t asking as a polite way of making sure an omega won’t be doing work on his house, but Arthur’s tone certainly doesn’t sound that way. Alfred doesn’t dare let himself think that Arthur sounds interested. “Ah well, this is all Dad has let me do so far,” Alfred steps out onto the doorstep and tries not to visibly take a deep breath as that would be rude, but the fresh not-Mr. Kirkland-scented air is a relief, “but I always want to learn more things, so we’ll see. Have a good night, Mr. Kirkland,” he calls as he strolls to the sidewalk.
Now all Alfred needs to do is figure out how to beg to be allowed on the crew without raising suspicion.
#ukus#usuk#usuk fanfic#omegaverse#spadian ballad#I feel so accomplished right now no joke#tFiL#YES I WENT OUT OF MY WAY TO DESCRIBE HOW HOT ARTHUR IS#you're just gonna have to be okay with that#it's a rom com. it's fanservice
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Merely Players, a ukus fake dating au, Chapter 1
I need to work on something that isn’t smut for a bit.
Fic Rating: M/E
Chapter Rating: T+
Warnings: Arthur is kind of an ass, Alfred is Perfect™, mentions of escorts and such, UST
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a successful screenwriter and showrunner in Hollywood. When he is summoned home to England for his brother’s wedding and subsequently mocked for not having a Plus One, Arthur decides to hire an escort for the three week trip. Through a convoluted series of events (that really don’t actually matter that much, do they? It’s a fake dating au), he ends up hiring a struggling, but gorgeous actor named Alfred F Jones
Word count: ~3,300
Read here on AO3 if you prefer
Arthur Kirkland, English, twenty-nine, successful screenwriter and showrunner, acclaimed novelist, tosses back the entire, generous portion of whiskey the airline attendant had just placed before him. Three weeks of planning, four days of preparations and packing, and two hours into a flight to London and only just now is his mistake, his terrible, terrible mistake, coming to light.
“Doesn’t that burn real bad?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to pretend that no, it didn’t burn very badly, and turns to glare at the young man sitting next to him in their own little first-class pod. The glare is difficult to maintain even with the burn.
Arthur imagines it would be far easier if said young man weren’t quite possibly one of the most beautiful humans to ever exist—all sun-bleached, warm blond hair, sun-soaked skin, and Pacific blue eyes behind stylish titanium eyeglasses. He actually reminds Arthur very much of where he’d rather be right now.
Home.
In Los Angeles.
Alone.
Pissed enough to slip in the bath and hopefully hit his head on the way down.
“Hey, don’t gimme that look. I thought this was a legit job, okay?” the young man, Alfred is his name, retorts as if he can read Arthur’s mind and frowns as well. “You’re the one who was tryin’ to hire a… a—” Alfred blushes. “An escort,” he hisses lowly.
“Don’t be so naive. You live in LA. You know what it’s like,” Arthur flags the flight attendant over and indicates that she should bring him another generous portion of whiskey by handing her a very generous tip. She smiles politely and goes to do his bidding. “Alright, so you’re not an escort. This has been a terrible misunderstanding and I… well… I suppose it’s my fault then, is it? Although perhaps if you weren’t so thick, you could have caught on and told me sooner.”
Alfred’s face scrunches up in an adorable pout; an expression which has no right to be that precious on twenty-four year old man’s face. It’s too bad he isn’t an escort, Arthur thinks. “Thick!?” he demands indignantly, with a quick glance down at his own very toned, slender body, before catching the British meaning. “Oh. Whatever. I could say the same about you.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow. The attendant returns, hands Arthur his drink only for him to swallow it all and hand it back to her immediately. “Oh honestly,” he says, the words starting to blur around the edges. “What did you think I meant just sitting down at your table? Didn’t your mum teach you not to talk to strangers? You should have told me to bugger off.”
Alfred turns even more pink. “I thought you were just being friendly… and I thought you were hot,” he mutters. The thought of the actual person Arthur was supposed to meet at that restaurant suddenly occurs to him and he laughs.
“What’s funny?”
“Just think about that poor guy you stood up!”
Arthur drops his head into his hands. “Oh god.” The flight attendant returns one more time, but rushes off discreetly so that Arthur won’t be able to hand her the glass again. Arthur downs the drink once more in one gulp.
“Isn’t that—?” Alfred starts.
Arthur put his hand over Alfred’s mouth. “Shh. Don’t speak,” he slurs. “There are many more hours on this flight so just… don’t speak for at least the next three.”
Alfred is kind of actually hurt by this. “Fine, but you’re gonna have to deal with it sooner rather than later,” he mumbles, jamming his earbuds into his ear, but not starting any music on his phone.
This sucks. Alfred had liked Arthur from the moment the man had inexplicably sat down at his table. He had been eating alone and didn’t mind the company. He definitely didn’t mind the company of someone so handsome. Arthur had been smiling then, so suavely too. The regal cut of his jawline and cheekbones served to highlight piercingly intense green eyes, while his scruffy ash-blond hair and large, cute caterpillar eyebrows rendered him more approachable.
In the days Alfred has spent with Arthur since then, namely the few days leading up to the flight, Alfred has learned that Arthur rarely smiles and that he is almost anything but approachable. He’s elegant and diplomatic, but rather snarky and a bit of an ass.
Alfred has also learned, however, that he is the Arthur Kirkland, creator and writer of several of Alfred’s favorite TV shows… TV shows he definitely wouldn’t mind getting a part in. A San Diego native, Alfred studied acting in New York City and then moved back to California, LA specifically, to pursue a career in that field.
So far, he hasn’t had much success.
When Arthur had mentioned something about Alfred’s “agency,” Alfred had naturally thought that Arthur had heard about him through the woman Alfred currently pays way too much money to be his agent. It was a bummer to realize Arthur wasn’t actually into him, but it had still been totally cool to be singled out by a popular writer, so Alfred had gone along with what seemed to be a vague and unconventional audition. He had reasoned that if his manager knew about it, it must be on the up and up.
Of course, now that it’s clear what Arthur had really wanted for his trip home, Alfred feels very foolish. It’s unlike him to do something so stupid or to fall for something so strange, but in his defense… Arthur is really hot when he smiles and the thought of pretending to be his boyfriend was, and somehow still is, very appealing.
Alfred sighs as he thinks about the trip now. He doubts very much that Arthur will still take him home to spend Christmas with him and his family. He’ll probably be sent on the first plane back to LA. It’s a shame really because he hasn’t had anyone to spend Christmas with in forever.
Meanwhile, next to him, Arthur tries to puzzle out the situation, but whiskey has taken the place of brain fluid, so instead, he just passes out for the next two and a half hours.
When he comes to, Alfred is dozing upright in the seat.
Arthur sighs. This whole thing has been a nightmare from the start. His family couldn’t have been content to just let him be for holidays, as they have done for the past few years. No. This year, his mum and older brother Ian had to conspire to get him to come home using sneaky, underhanded manipulation. Ian and his fiancee had decided to have a Christmas wedding and their mum had insisted no one tell Arthur until it was far too late for him to concoct a way to weasel out of it.
Sneaky. Underhanded. He’d have been impressed if it hadn’t obviously been a carefully formulated plan meant to ruin his life.
Arthur’s brow furrows. His head hurts. His mum had texted him and his two other brothers that Ian and Holly weren’t having a wedding party other than Ian’s best mate and Holly’s sister and that Arthur didn’t have to worry about bringing a plus one. Allistair had jumped in that moment to say that no one could stand to be around Arthur anyway if he wasn’t paying them.
It had been in that moment that Arthur had gotten his own sneaky, underhanded idea. If his family were going to ruin his Christmas plans of sitting alone and drinking eggnog and brandy, then he’d show them. LA had all sorts of agencies for that kind of thing. It’s lucky he’d come out to his family years ago, but it’ll still be a proper shock since they’ve never seen him with anyone before in person.
Arthur had decided to hire an escort. That way, he could stick it to his brothers and maybe actually have a bit of fun over the three weeks he’d be stuck in England.
Now… sitting next to him on a massive jetliner, is Alfred F. Jones, a struggling actor who apparently agreed to this entire thing believing it to be some kind of audition. The lad must not be very bright. Well, Arthur thinks, he’s beautiful enough that he doesn’t have to be.
The questions is: what to do with him?
Arthur pokes Alfred until he stirs and withdraws his hand as Alfred blinks blearily at him. “Ah good, you’re awake.”
“And you’re not in a coma,” Alfred retorts. “Miraculously.”
Arthur beams. “British metabolism. Now. I suppose you and I need to figure out what to do… or rather I need to figure out what to do with you.”
Alfred frowns. Being at Arthur’s mercy hardly seems ideal, particularly as it dawns on him that Arthur saw him sitting alone in a restaurant and assumed he was a prostitute. “Right,” he says slowly.
“The most logical thing to do would be to put you on the first flight back to Los Angeles when we land at Heathrow.”
“I figured.”
“There are two problems with that, however. The first is that I have already told my family that I am bringing someone and my brothers will all take far too much pleasure in it if I show up alone and have to make up some story about why you couldn’t come.”
Alfred raises his eyebrow. “Okay, fair point, but I—”
Arthur carries on, “The second is that now that I know you are not bound by any confidentiality agreements, I can hardly trust you to keep this whole affair to yourself and frankly, my reputation is bad enough as it is without anyone knowing that I had this… distinct lapse in judgement.”
Alfred folds his arms over his chest defensively. “I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he says firmly.
“I can’t know that for certain, can I?”
Alfred is about to counter that he definitely doesn’t want to be known as someone Arthur Kirkland thought was a whore, but Arthur continues.
“So here is my proposition for you. If you agree to accompany me to my family’s home, spend the next three weeks pretending to be my adoring boyfriend, and never speak of this to anyone ever for as long as you live, I will guarantee you a regular speaking role on the new series I’m writing for.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course I can. I can’t say you’ll get into the main cast, but I can pull some strings.” Arthur’s fingers curl around the empty glass still sitting on the tray. “If you can manage to pretend you’re in love with me for three weeks, you’ll certainly be a better actor than most of those in my acquaintance,” he mutters.
This uncharacteristically self-deprecating admission takes Alfred aback and the gossamer-thin moment of fragility he’s witnessing keeps him silent.
It’s over as soon as it began. “So do we have a deal or not?”
Alfred chews on his lip. On the one hand, having a guaranteed role on what’s guaranteed to be a hit show, if it’s the one Alfred is thinking of anyway, is too good to pass up. On the other hand, hearing Arthur mention his family and seeing the brief peek behind his armor, Alfred feels like he has no idea what he might be getting himself into.
Arthur jumps on Alfred’s hesitance. “I’ll also agree to pay you the wage we had already discussed.” The stunned look on Alfred’s face has him backpedaling a bit. “Not… not for the services of an escort. Just for the acting.”
Alfred doesn’t want to take money Arthur was going to use to pay for sex, but it’s a lot of money and his apartment is small and the fridge is empty and there are student loans and bills overdue… and yet… Alfred hasn’t let LA force him to sell out so far and he doesn’t intend for that to change now, not when he’s almost positive he’d willingly spend time with Arthur anyway.
He holds out his hand to Arthur. “Alright. Deal.”
Arthur shakes Alfred’s hand. “Deal.”
“But I don’t want your money.”
“Wh-what?”
Alfred stares at Arthur, holding eye-contact. “I don’t want your money. A regular speaking role on a TV show comes with a steady paycheck, right?”
“Yes, but you’d have to be some kind of imbecile to—”
Alfred raises his eyebrow. “Besides, if I let you pay me, then maybe you decide the deal is done and won’t keep your promise about getting me on the show.”
Arthur’s mind and self-esteem levels can comprehend this display of logic, even be impressed by it. Perhaps the lad isn’t as dim as he thought. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says.
“Well, I can’t know that for certain, can I?”
Arthur chuckles. “Touche.”
Alfred smiles. “Okay, so what’s my character?” he asks earnestly.
“What?”
“You know, what’s our story? Who am I in front of your family? How’d we meet? What’s my job? Where’d I go to school? Did I go to school? How long have we been together? Who kissed who first? Have we slept together yet? Am I funny? Am I a total charmer? Am I a complete nerd? Am I a cat person or a dog person? What’s your type? Am I your type or am I a deviation?”
Alfred’s barrage of… comprehensive questions takes Arthur aback. “Er. I hadn’t… well, I work in television, so it’s fine if you’re just… you. You know? An actor.”
Alfred rolls his eyes. “Oh fine, make it boring then.”
Arthur can’t help but smile a little at that. “No need to make anything complex. A simple cover story is best, easier to remember and therefore less likely to be buggered up. Did you go to school, by the way?”
The pained look of one saddled with student loans crosses Alfred’s face. “Yeah. I did. Kinda wish I hadn’t, it hasn’t done me much good and now I’m in debt.”
“Which school did you attend?”
“NYU, got my Bachelor’s. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Alfred squirms internally over the attention being focused solely on him. As a remedy, he turns it back to Arthur. “So where did you go to school?”
“What?”
“You keep giving me that surprised look, it’s kinda freaking me out.”
“Er… it’s just been a long time since anyone asked, is all. I attended Kingston University. In England.”
Alfred nods. “Alright, what else? I’m your marble, Pygmalion. Sculpt me. Give me a character.” Arthur gives him that dumbfounded look yet again. “What? Shocked I can make a reference to Greek mythology? I’ve got a minor in Classics. I’m not just some dumb blond, okay? Unless that’s the character you want me to play.”
Arthur rolls the edge of the bottom of the empty glass against the tray. “Am I that transparent?” But before Alfred can answer, he continues. “Just be yourself, Alfred. As I said, best not to complicate things. You’ll have a hard enough time… keeping up the appearances of being my boyfriend in front of my family.”
Alfred grins. “Nah, I don’t think it’ll be that hard.”
Arthur sniffs haughtily. “Hm. You can ask my last partner if you don’t believe me.”
Alfred’s eyes search Arthur, trying to read him. After a moment, he figures he had better start getting into character and declares, “Hey. I don’t wanna hear about your ex. And I’ll be damned if I allow anyone I’m dating to be all down on themselves, okay? I’m here with you now and I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to be. And that’s the truth.” He can feel his cheeks turning pink, but Arthur’s do too a little and suddenly he seems more approachable again.
Arthur coughs and stares out the window behind Alfred. “Yes well.”
“So am I your type?” Alfred asks, trying to sound really nonchalant.
Yes, Arthur thinks immediately. A little loud, but otherwise utterly perfect, blast it all. So far Alfred is beautiful and kind, having not once mocked Arthur for his stupid decision, not to mention he’s apparently quite witty and intelligent. How horrifically unfair that Arthur should be put in such a farcical situation where he can only pretend to have someone like this, someone he could never normally dream of attracting. “Ah, I don’t think I have a type, per se.”
Alfred suspects Arthur does actually have a type, but he lets it be. “That’s fair. You’re my type though,” he confesses.
Arthur scoffs to hide just how much the casual, sweet way Alfred said it had affected him. The young man is clearly a very skilled actor and he must simply want to show off for Arthur given their deal. “Am I now?”
It’s becoming clearer to Alfred that beneath Arthur’s arrogance lie layers of heartache and insecurity and honestly, it’s refreshing even though it’s very common because the alternative was that Arthur is really just an asshole. Alfred smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I got a thing for cranky, old British guys,” he teases. He watches the jab register on Arthur’s face and laughs outright.
“I’m hardly old,” Arthur says, having landed on that bit as the truly insulting part. He cannot deny that he is, in fact, often “cranky.”
“Maybe not physically, but you’re, like, eighty on the inside,” Alfred insists.
Arthur sputters. “I am not! Just because I’m far more mature than you doesn’t mean— it’s…I’m a writer and we merely tend to be wise beyond our years and—. I’m not old, I’m bored and—and disaffected and I do not enjoy pretense.”
Alfred laughs harder. “You don’t enjoy pretense and you live in Los Angeles? And work in tv? Are your self-preservation instincts turned off or are you just a masochist?”
Again, Arthur can’t help but smile. Damn, Alfred really seems to have a way of doing that to him. His laughter is just so contagious. “As a matter of fact, it’s a little of both and I’ll thank you not to mention it,” he says mirthfully. In the instant that Arthur relaxes, he tenses back up again. Alfred is clearly an exceptional actor. “We still have a few hours before we land,” he says neutrally. “You can relax for now.”
Alfred’s brow furrows slightly as he watches Arthur lean back in his seat as if trying to disappear into it. He clearly thinks this is part of the act. Alfred is positive there will be times when he has to actually act on this trip, but right now isn’t one of them. He wants Arthur to relax more than anything else. “Okay,” he says softly, reaching over and taking Arthur’s hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Arthur makes no attempt to pull away, but he decides then and there to put Alfred on the first flight back to Los Angeles as soon as they land at Heathrow. Except he can’t. That would mean going back on his word and even excepting his desire to be an honorable man, he can’t risk it. Alfred had said he would keep Arthur’s secret, but surely refusing him what will most certainly be his big break would change his mind.
Arthur closes his eyes, focusing on Alfred’s warm hand in his. Maybe he really is a masochist… and maybe he can actually enjoy the pretense of having someone so far out of his league.
He does smile to himself about one thing: the crow his brothers will be forced to eat when he shows up with someone as lovely as Alfred.
Of course, knowing them, they’ll claim Arthur is just Alfred’s sugar daddy.
He curses them preemptively for not exactly being wrong.
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for a human au where the bois have cats, i headcanon alfred's cat is super loving and playful, loves to be carried but is too damn fat (not overwight just a big ass mainecoon). gets sad when put down. arthur's cat is super picky about people and swipes at every1. if he likes u enough MAYBE u will be blessed by having your organs crushed under little paws while trying to sit or sleep. loafs on u but try to pet and u WILL get bit. arthur is the only 1 who can actually pick up and hold him
I took some liberties, anon, I hope you don’t mind.
Alfred F. Jones is in the kitchen, prepping his lunch, when he hears the distinctive sound of his cat, Crumpet, meowing in the isolation room. He had only put the little ball of fluff with folded ears in there less than half an hour ago and the white and orange Scottish fold would never cry like that while getting to know a new foster animal.
Alfred wipes his hands on a dish towel and treads carefully toward the room. Crumpet’s meowing is decidedly frantic and now Alfred can also hear the scared whimpering of the older pitbull in there with him.
“Okay buddy, I’m comin’,” Alfred says, carefully nudging open the door. He doesn’t want to upset the dog any further since his task is to see if he can rehabilitate the animal after a life of abuse. Alfred is indispensible to the local shelter in this role and Crumpet is an integral part of getting frightened or anxious animals to trust him.
Crumpet himself was one of Alfred’s fosters and Alfred had fallen in love with the skiddish, little cat with such severe, grumpy-looking face markings. Crumpet’s history of abuse and neglect had broken Alfred’s heart and he had tried his best, but he knew Crumpet would probably not do as well a typical home. So Alfred kept him. He is still incredibly shy around humans, but he works wonders with other animals and he is completely bonded with Alfred.
Alfred enters the room to find the dog hiding behind the large armchair he has placed in there and Crumpet looking back at him and then meowing loudly at the window. Alfred had left the blinds drawn to let in the afternoon sun, but he can see now why that was a mistake.
“Oh jeez,” he says, shaking his head at the absolutely massive white and brown Maine Coon cat perched on a tree branch, staring intently at Crumpet. “Crumpet, buddy, it’s just a cat.” He closes the blinds and pets Crumpet soothingly until the little orange fluff trots over to the nervous pup. He slips out of the room on tip toe and heads out the front door to try and find the other cat.
What captures his immediate attention is the moving truck across the street. Ah. That explains the new face.
A loud, vibrato “mrrrow” resonates from somewhere near his knees.
Alfred laughs and shakes his head. “Aren’t you a charmer?” he says, extending his hand, which is head-bumped, and scratching the cat’s chin. “Not even been here a whole day and you already own the place.”
“Mrrrrow!”
Alfred picks the cat up and inspects him; he appears to be in good health, very well taken care of--pampered even, but he has no collar. “Not an outdoor kitty, I see. That’s good, you’d be a total menace to the birds around here. You’ve already set your sights on Crumpet though, right?”
“Hero!” A man, about Alfred’s age, comes running toward them, looking anxious and terrified with tears in his eyes. “Dear god, thank you! Where did you find him?” He has gorgeous green eyes and a thick British accent.
“He was in my tree,” Alfred says, passing the massive cat into the Brit’s arms and he looks almost comically huge against the man’s slight frame. “He found a good spot to spy on my cat, it would seem.”
“I’m so sorry. He normally isn’t even allowed outside without a lead, but with all the chaos of moving, well,” the man laughs a little, “I suppose he saw his chance and took it. Hero, you can’t do that. I’m Arthur, by the way,” he says, awkwardly shifting the cat, Hero, to reach out his hand.
“I’m Alfred,” he says, shaking Arthur’s hand and trying not to swoon at how cute he is. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just I do foster parenting for the local shelter and he spooked my cat and the dog I’m currently working with.”
“I really am sorry,” Arthur says, flustered, “I promise it won’t happen again. He’s only allowed outside for walks on his leash.”
Alfred grins at him. “Hey, that’s okay. No harm done. He’s just mojito cat, he’s gotta be friends with everyone.”
Arthur laughs. “You’re right about that. I got him as a kitten and we’ve always been inseparable. When I take him on walks, he helps me to--ah, let’s just say he’s quite a good conversation starter. Clearly.”
Alfred reaches out and scratches Hero between his ears. “I have no doubt. Listen, I was in the middle of making lunch. How about you and your family or partner or whoever take a break from moving and have some?” He hopes it doesn’t sound too much like he’s fishing for information even though he is.
“Ah, no family or partner,” Arthur says. “It’s just Hero and I. But won’t we disturb your cat?”
Alfred beams. “Nah, I think Crumpet and Hero are gonna get along great.”
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Arthur had had no way of stopping himself from falling in love with Alfred. To this day, he is completely defenseless against Alfred’s charm. With his sunshine smile and shiny blue eyes, golden hair, and absolutely perfect body, which is to say nothing of his warmth and affection, Arthur is helpless and hopelessly in love.
Alfred is tucked under his arm, naked and utterly sated. He sighs contentedly and nuzzles against Arthur’s chest.
Arthur’s heart aches. “Tell me I’m the only one,” he murmurs desperately.
Alfred yawns. “Of course you are, sweetheart,” he says dutifully, a feeble and ineffective attempt at placating Arthur’s jealousy, of which he is well aware by now.
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, holds Alfred closer, as if that would keep the young escort there, with him. He kisses Alfred’s forehead and suffers. There is absolutely no reason for him to keep hiring Alfred for his... companionship. For access to his body in lieu of his heart, but Arthur cannot stop himself at this point.
Alfred leans up and over him. “Hey. Stay here, don’t wander into the back of your mind, okay? I like it better when you’re here.”
Arthur never knows if anything Alfred says to him is real. Well. That’s not entirely true. He is very certain that Alfred’s mewling and crying out and calling Arthur’s name as Arthur works himself inside of him is real. “Alright,” he says. “I’m here.”
Alfred looks him in the eyes. “I know you want more, you know. I know that I should cut you off for that, but I like you, Arthur. I answer your calls ‘cause I want to, even if I know better, yeah? Can that count for something?”
No, Arthur thinks. He wants everything, but doesn’t he settle for this anyway? “Yes.” He can tell his heart not to want this man, but it’s not so simple. Alfred has never been swayed by the promise of a good life with Arthur, of having money without having to sell himself, of being loved. Yet Arthur holds out hope. “Tell me you’ll be mine someday.”
“‘m yours right now, but sure. Definitely.”
It’s not even a convincing lie, but Arthur is defenseless and believes it.
#ukus#spadian ballad#wfsn-ish#I just like the idea of escort/prostitute!alfred idk why#angst#lotta angst
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The Floor is Lava, a ukus omegaverse rom-com about home renovations Ch 1
Fuck. I guess we’re doing this. Yes it has chapters. This is all @irisoflunadreams’s fault.
inspired by this tweet.
Fic Rating: E
Chapter Rating: T+
Warnings: omegaverse, I mean not much it’s really a rom-com, Arthur is too proper for his own good, Alfred is too Alfred for Arthur’s sanity XD, dunno if there will be actual mpreg but Arthur sure has some thoughts. alpha!Arthur/omega!Alfred
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is an alpha and single, unmated father to a nine year old daughter, Charlotte. When Arthur hires a contractor to renovate his house, he definitely hadn't been expecting that contractor's omega son, Alfred F. Jones, to be involved in the process. He hadn't expected his heart to get involved either.
Word count: ~2100
read here on AO3 if you prefer
Twenty-eight year old Arthur Kirkland has always considered himself to be a very enlightened, progressive, open-minded alpha…
… By necessity if nothing else. The beta mother of his now nine year old daughter, Charlotte, had declined to become his mate even after she’d gotten pregnant. She had released Arthur from all obligations, though he had insisted he truly wanted to be a part of the baby’s life. In a cruel twist of fate, she had died in childbirth. This immediately cast Arthur in the role of single unmated alpha father, a highly unusual role to say the least, and he often relies on the understanding of others in the parenting of his sweet and very precocious little girl.
Enlightened. Progressive. Open-minded. Arthur certainly doesn’t think that alphas should be in charge of everything or that omegas are inherently subservient or should be made to stay at home or not allowed to work… and yet…
This particular world view is currently failing to account for him being nearly nose to nose with the adorable, athletic blond-haired omega standing on his doorstep with shining blue eyes and a smile which is enormous even by American standards. He has a clipboard tucked under his arm and his fitted t-shirt displays the contractor’s as well as the flat plane of his stomach. The tool belt around the young omega’s shapely hips drags his jeans down almost far enough to see skin.
He smells like sunshine.
“Mr. Kirkland?” the omega prompts tentatively.
“Yes. Sorry. What?”
“I was just saying I’m Alfred Jones, I’m here to do the inspection.” He pushes his glasses up with the eraser end of his pencil. Cute.
Arthur does his best not to outwardly baulk. What is an omega doing working for a contractor as anything other than a receptionist or office manager? …Oh yes, very enlightened, he chides himself silently. “Ah, yes. Please come in.” Arthur opens the door a bit wider and backs a good few steps away, both out of propriety and in the vain hope that Alfred won’t pick up any small whiffs of Arthur’s interest. With any luck, Alfred is on suppressants and won’t be able to smell very much.
Alfred steps in and lets out a low, appreciative whistle as he surveys the foyer and the living room. “Nice place,” he says, nodding, but seemingly inadvertently inhales through his nose and his cheeks turn rather pink. Of course, the most reasonable explanation is that unfamiliar alpha pheromones do have an effect on him. So much for luck.
But really, who let an unmated omega like this go to the home of an unmated alpha unaccompanied? Arthur is starting to seriously question the judgment of the contractor he’d hired and then stops. Oh yes, very open-minded, he thinks bitterly. “Thank you,” he finally replies, trying not to puff up with pride at an omega praising his home. Only then does it occur to Arthur that Alfred has the same last name as the contractor, an alpha by the name of Brandon Jones… and the same blond hair, though Mr. Jones’ eyes are brown. “And you’re Brandon’s son, correct?”
Alfred beams at him. “Yeah. I just graduated college, so I’m helping Dad until I can figure out my next move, but don’t worry, I’m definitely licensed. I can show you my credentials if you want.”
Arthur shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” God, the lad is so young, not more than twenty-two if he graduated in the usual timeframe.
“Cool, so I’m gonna get started if that’s alright with you. I’ll be done and outta your hair in a jiff.”
Arthur nods, feeling somewhat stunned—whether by the omega’s gregarious attitude, his scent, or his poor grammar, it’s difficult to say. “Right. Well, let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
“You bet,” Alfred grins lopsidedly and heads off to the kitchen, shaking his head as if to clear it and raising his hand to cover his nose and mouth before dropping it almost immediately.
Brandon Jones had seemed like such a steady, level-headed sort of alpha to Arthur when they’d met. Tall, brawny, and solid, he is certainly a formidable man. That must explain Alfred being unusually tall for an omega. Arthur had hired Mr. Jones partly because he had seemed so even-tempered and sensible. Yet he sent his son here knowing Arthur’s situation. Arthur is positive, as a father, that if Charlotte turns out to be an omega, he certainly wouldn’t allow her to enter the home of an unmated alpha without a chaperone.
Oh yes. Quite progressive.
Arthur wanders into the kitchen after a few minutes, pretending to be intent on making himself a cup of tea, only to find Alfred halfway under his kitchen sink on his back. He coughs. “Are you alright down there?” he asks.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m good, Mr. Kirkland. I do this all the time. Of course, I usually have one of my dad’s guys hanging over me in situations like this, so this is actually a lot easier.”
“Situations like this?” Arthur asks casually, trying to hide his curiosity.
Alfred pushes himself out from under the sink, puts everything back exactly as it was and hops to his feet. “Yeah. My dad needs the help and I want to work, but I usually can’t go to an unmated alpha’s house by myself, but Dad said you seemed like a good guy, so I got to come alone, obviously. He’s kinda overprotective, but that’s how dads are, right?”
Arthur suddenly feels very silly. After condemning Mr. Jones and overreacting to a hypothetical version of future Charlotte, it turns out that Mr. Jones thinks highly enough of Arthur that he trusts him not to be a prick toward his son. Well. “Yes. Fathers can be that way, I suppose.”
Alfred smiles at him. “You’d do anything for your little girl, I bet. Dad told me. I only just met you and all, but you seem like you’re probably a great dad.” A cute blush blooms over Alfred’s cheeks. “Uh. Anyway. It’s none of my business, so I’m gonna check all the sinks and then I’ll need you to show me where the breaker box is.”
Statements to an unmated alpha which amount to “you would make a good father” are high praise from any omega and often indicative that they are thinking of the alpha in that capacity and as such, Arthur’s traitorous baser instincts flood his higher mind with images of a pregnant Alfred, all plump and glowing. He’d probably smell like sweet lemon biscuits.
“Daddy, who’s that?” Charlotte appears behind Arthur as Alfred heads in the direction of the downstairs water closet.
Arthur shakes himself as if being mentally splashed with cold water. “He’s Alfred and he’s inspecting our house. Remember I told you that we’re going to be making a lot of changes soon? He’s here to insure that it’s safe to make them,” Arthur explains.
“Oh,” Charlotte says. “Is he an omega?”
Arthur laughs a little as Charlotte is at an age now where she is able to distinguish types. Her own will probably become apparent in the next year or so. Despite his earlier hypothesizing, Arthur has a strong feeling she’ll turn out to be an alpha. “Yes, he is.”
“He’s pretty,” Charlotte states as if it were merely an obvious fact. “And he’s here to inspect the house.” She looks up at Arthur and smiles, nods knowingly.
“Yes, and I want you to stay out of his—” but Arthur can’t even finish the sentence or make sense of her conspiratorial expression before Charlotte is under Alfred’s feet, grinning at him. “—way.” Arthur follows them and hoists the protesting young girl into the air. Lord, if she does turn out to be an alpha, he’ll really be in for it. “Charlotte, you have to let him do his job, understood?”
Alfred grins as he kneels down to check under the bathroom sink. “Aw, it’s alright, Mr. Kirkland, she’s not bothering me. She’s a way cuter supervisor than any of my dad’s guys.”
While Arthur resists the urge to follow Alfred all over the house—only obliging any of Alfred’s requests to be shown this thing or that, Charlotte certainly doesn’t. She trails after Alfred as he goes and he’s so perfectly patient with her that Arthur is certain it isn’t merely a good show of “customer service.” Alfred does seem like the type to have a natural affinity with children, but all his indulgence of Charlotte does is confirm what pheromones have already told him: Alfred will be an amazing mother someday.
Arthur forces himself to sip tea and pretend to read a book in the living room as he listens to Charlotte giggling, occasionally accompanied by Alfred, and contemplate the way he has been living his life thus far. The pangs of longing are not necessarily specific to the omega inspecting his home, but Alfred’s sunshine scent and Charlotte’s apparent adoration of him make it easy to slot him into Arthur’s fantasies of a more traditional domestic life.
“Mr. Kirkland?”
“Hm. Yes. What is it?” He snaps out of his thoughts to see Alfred standing before him with his clipboard on his hip and Arthur’s daughter stuck to his leg.
Alfred shakes his head a little and laughs. “Well, I thought everything was up to code from what I could see, but I’ve been speaking with Charlotte here and she informs me that the floor is actually lava, which—I’m sure I don’t need to tell you—is a pretty serious safety violation.”
Charlotte collapses into giggles on the floor.
Arthur’s heart melts into a puddle.
Alfred’s big, beaming grin is even more endearing now than it was when he arrived a few hours ago.
Arthur stands up from the couch and pulls Charlotte up off the floor, exaggerating how much effort it takes to lift her as always and kissing the top of her head. The whole world aside, Arthur is happy when his darling girl is happy. “Go wash up now,” he instructs. “We’ll have supper soon.”
“What’s for supper?” she asks.
He had never been much of a cook and still isn’t, but he tries. He tries for Charlotte. “Roast and mashed potatoes and steamed carrots.”
Charlotte scrunches up her nose. “Do we have to have carrots?”
“Yes, you must have proper nutrition. Do we have to have this conversation every night?”
She sticks her tongue out at him and he returns the gesture. “I’ll eat carrots if Alfred can stay for supper.”
Arthur looks over at the omega, having almost forgotten he was there.
Alfred looks at them wide-eyed and a bit shaken for some reason. He’s blushing to the tips of his ears and clinging to his clipboard and pencil—the latter of which he once again uses to push up his glasses. “Oh. Me? No. Sorry, Miss Charlotte, I have to get back to the office so,” he pauses, “so I can work up a plan to deal with all this molten lava,” he waves comically in the direction of the floor.
Arthur gently pats Charlotte between her shoulder blades. “Go. Go wash your hands.” He looks apologetically at Alfred. “I’m terribly sorry, I hope she didn’t bother you too much. I appreciate you indulging her.”
Alfred’s expression goes just a bit gooey and cute. “It’s really no problem. She’s a sweet kid. I was right. You are a great dad,” he says softly. He coughs. “Anyway, I found a couple things I’ll need to run by my dad, but nothing major, and then we should be able to get started asap.” He tears off a page from a carbon copy form and hands it to Arthur. “Here’s a copy of my report, it’s pretty self-explanatory, but let us know if you have any questions.”
Arthur looks over the page, noting its completeness and legible handwriting. “Excellent, thank you. So that’s it for now then?”
Alfred is back to beaming. “Yup.”
“Very good.” Arthur leads him to the door. “Do you work on the crew as well or is your part of the job finished?” It’s a question born of pure curiosity about an omega who works with a contractor, of course. It’s certainly not fishing at all.
Alfred steps out of the open doorway and takes a deep breath. “Ah well, this is all Dad has let me do so far, but I always want to learn more things, so we’ll see. Have a good night, Mr. Kirkland,” he calls as he heads down the path to the sidewalk.
“Same to you, Alfred.” Arthur shuts the door and shakes his head. We’ll see. Somehow, he really hopes so.
#ukus#usuk#usuk fanfic#spadian ballad#what can I say I just needed some rom com silliness in my life#and some ukus omegaverse XD
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Message Not Sent, a usukus time traveler/immortal AU drabble
cw: angst
The timeline does not make sense and it never will that’s kinda the point >.>
read these first: 2542 | Will-O-the-Wisp | Fireworks
3201 AD.
That’s the farthest into the future, if such a thing even exists christ it makes his head spin, that Alfred has been thrown.
The farthest forward he had gone before now was 2776 and since then, he has not gone past 2400. Often, he goes to what he would consider the past. It is rare that he jumps forward very far and he has discovered that when triggering the jump himself, he can only go back in time, not forward. Arthur has a linear memory and this is a rare time they have met where he will remember every time before now and once Alfred inevitably gets thrown back, his memory will be different.
He taps his pencil absently against his notebook--he uses these since all digital forms of his calcuations tend to be erased during jumps. The air is so warm and serene in Arthur’s garden. Birds chirp amongst the trees and shrubs, the breeze is sweet with ripe fruit and budding flowers.
Alfred glances over at Arthur. The garden table rests in the shade of an ash tree and the dappled sunlight flickers over the faerie, as he reads quietly from a book. His eyes are soft, his expression peaceful and the breeze teases his hair as it wafts by. A more perfect view does not exist, in Alfred’s mind.
3201 and Arthur looks the same as he did when they first met. Of course, so does Alfred.
Alfred doesn’t want to jump anymore. He has yet to find a mechanism that will stop it from happening, but god does he ever not want to do it ever again. He wants to stay here, with the beautiful faerie who has helped him keep his sanity all this time. He’s in love with Arthur and he can’t really remember when it started, it may have just always been so. Does the past exist if the future doesn’t? Who even cares?
For Alfred, the only real thing in the universe is Arthur and his pretty smile, his gorgeous green eyes, the kind patience in his voice, and his adorably strange pointed ears... just Arthur. His heart is so full sitting there, in calm and companionable silence, with the faerie. The faerie who warned him not to fall in love with him so long ago. Was it so long ago? Hasn’t Alfred always been in love with him?
The words threaten to come bursting out of his mouth. Why should he stop them anyway? Arthur likes him, he knows it and maybe Arthur could love him, maybe a true love’s kiss could save him. Well it’s not more impossible than anything else about the whole situation.
“Arthur?”
Arthur looks up from his book, “Hm? Yes? Are you alright?” there’s a faint but real smile on his lips and his eyes twinkle as they focus on Alfred.
The words suddenly want to cower in Alfred’s throat and choke him to death. “I think... I think I’m... in love with you. Like... a lot.”
Arthur opens his mouth to speak and in that instant, the little round device that is the bain of Alfred’s entire existence lights up, chirps, and flings him through time.
When he lands, it is still in Arthur’s garden, as he always does when he doesn’t trigger the jump of his own volition. He looks frantically at the year on the device’s display.
1256 AD
Tears spring from his eyes and lies on the ground and cries. It’s like he never said it at all. He might never know what Arthur was going to say.
Arthur, who of course remembers nothing, who isn’t even that familiar with Alfred at this point, comes over and sits next to him. He strokes Alfred’s hair soothingly. “There there,” he murmurs. “I know all of this is difficult for you, but you musn’t lose hope. You’ll figure out your mathematics soon,” he says, clearly assuming that Alfred is troubled by the same thing he has been troubled by in their previous meetings.
“I hope you’re right,” Alfred replies, taking a deep breath of the cool air and the cool grass beneath him. He wipes his face and smiles wearily at Arthur, whom he has always loved. “I’m just tired.”
Arthur pats his head gently. “Then you must simply lie there for awhile. I will bring you something to eat. Something sweet.”
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I hope this is at least somewhat what you had in mind, anon!
not dubcon, I decided play on the notion of brat-tamer/brat dynamics from bdsm but it’s a very fanfic-version, not actual depiction of kink.
warnings: omegaverse, it’s a bit aggressive (but not violent); also choking but I hope that’s obvious from one of anon’s prompts
---
Alfred grunts slightly as Arthur shoves him up against the door as soon as it’s closed. It’s all he can do not to smirk. Hell, he might as well go ahead and do it because he’s about to get his ass whooped anyway. Arthur’s alpha pheromones are crackling just under his paper-thin patience.
Arthur clenches Alfred’s jaw in his hand and growls. “What did I tell you?” He has had it with Alfred’s shenanigans for today and now his omega is really in for it. Of course, Alfred’s scent is burning with need, almost to the point that if Arthur didn’t absolutely know better, he’d think his mate was about to go into heat. But Arthur keeps diligent track of such things, so the more likely explanation is that Alfred is in rather desperate need of attention. Which would, in turn, explain his behavior that evening. “Answer me.”
“Uhh look both ways before crossing the street?” Alfred retorts and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to cackle as Arthur releases his jaw in favor of grabbing him by the arm and forcibly dragging him to the bedroom. “Wait twenty minutes after you eat before going swimming?”
Arthur is on the shorter side for an alpha and Alfred is tall for an omega, so they are about the same height really, with Arthur edging out Alfred by a few centimeters, but biology comes down in Arthur’s favor in matters of strength and he all but tosses Alfred onto their bed. Immediately, he rolls Alfred onto his stomach and straddles him, knees pressed tight against the slight swell of Alfred’s hips. “What did I tell you?”
Alfred relishes the way Arthur manhandles him, knowing exactly what he’s about to be in for and he’s just about lost his motivation to keep goading Arthur, but not quite yet. “That my belt and shoes needed to match?”
Arthur holds both of Alfred’s wrists behind his back with one hand, fisting the other in his omega’s hair. “I told you to watch. Your fucking. Mouth. And what did you do?” He flips Alfred over, pulls the omega’s shirt up over his head and uses it to bind his wrists.
“Watched your fucking mouth instead?” Alfred asks cheekily. He wriggles against the make-shift restraint, but it’s only performative. Arthur smells amazing when he’s aroused (and also all the time) and Alfred is hard and even a bit slick and his desire to get fucked really good now outweighs his bratty tendencies.
“Ha.” Arthur stands up just long enough to remove both his and Alfred’s trousers. A lascivious grin curls around his lips when he sees Alfred’s flushed skin and swollen cock. He doesn’t bother with his own shirt, even though Alfred spilled wine on it at Arthur’s office dinner party earlier. He leans over Alfred, sliding two fingers inside of him and is pleased to find his omega won’t need much preparation. “Brat,” he mutters.
Alfred cries out and arches his hips off the bed. “You love it,” he accuses with no venom at all. He whines when Arthur removes his fingers.
“I love you,” he says, almost casually, as he buries his own hard cock inside his mate’s welcoming body. “And I do love your mouth,” he continues, heavy emphasis on the innuendo. He rolls his hips sharply against Alfred and revels as the omega nearly screams.
“Well I love your dick, so I-- AH!” Alfred practically melts as biology once again comes down on Arthur’s side as Alfred has no resistance against being fucked by the alpha who mated him.
“I really ought to have made better use of your mouth right now, hm?” Arthur wraps his hand around Alfred’s neck as he continues to thrust into him. He flexes his fingers, keeps his hold firm, but not squeezing.
Alfred shivers and moans softly, tilting his head back in a display of submission--both intentional and instinctual.
Arthur chuckles darkly. “Oh? You’re going to be a good boy now?” he asks. He already knows the answer. No matter what, Alfred will always succumb and no matter what, Arthur will always treasure it. “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.” He squeezes for just a moment, but it’s enough.
Alfred sobs through his orgasm, having not even been touched, and he can do little more than sob until Arthur releases his hold. He mewls and sighs as the intense pleasure subsides.
Alfred’s body pulsing tightly around him triggers Arthur’s own climax and he groans and bites Alfred’s mating mark just because it feels good to do it. Alfred is always quiet after he comes and the sweet sounds are music to Arthur’s ears. Removing the shirt that had been binding Alfred’s wrists, Arthur cuddles him close, enjoying the scent of sated omega permeating Alfred’s skin. “See? Isn’t it better when you just behave?”
Alfred hums contentedly. “Nah, my way’s better for getting you all riled up.”
Arthur groans and smacks him with a pillow. “Brat.”
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Will-O-the-Wisp, a usukus time traveler/immortal AU drabble
How Alfred and Arthur first met. This is a gift for @irisoflunadreams This is totally unedited. continuation of this (link).
Alfred F. Jones shouts as he tumbles out of the twilight sky and crashes into a tree. Limbs strewn across branches, he clutches the sleek mirror-like orb in his hand and tries not to sob. Leaves and twigs poke him from every angle until he can catch his breath enough to jump down.
When he does, he leans back against the tree trunk and sighs. His face screws up and his body readies itself for a good round of crying, but Alfred suppresses it. He doesn’t know where, or when, he is. Taking deep gulps of air, he surveys his surroundings and then looks at the readout on the orb. England, but a long, long time ago. The spot where he’s standing will eventually be part of London in the time that Alfred originates from, the 21st century.
Damn.
He remembers feeling that he had been so close to a breakthrough--an equation that would detach him from the orb and the infinite time loop it has created. While he can control the device somewhat, the glitch continuously throws him through time and space when he least expects it, meaning that he sometimes lands somewhere dangerous and has to “jump” his way out. He does, however, seem to be bound to planet Earth so at least there’s that.
The light in the sky is fading. The sun is a faint pink glow above the trees and a bright full moon illuminates the untouched landscape of forest and rolling hills.
Looking at the date on the orb again, Alfred doubts he will run into any humans, but he’s an engineer, not a historian, although he is fast becoming one. He keeps careful track of the timeline he got pulled from and it has been almost three years since he disappeared from his own life to exist outside of time.
It is becoming increasingly lonely.
Alfred shifts the orb slightly to trigger another jump since there is really nothing for him here, but when the sun sets, the moon seems to glow even brighter, pouring white light over the leaves of the trees. Alfred breathes in and shivers, overtaken by the oddest sense of deja vu.
Looking around, he sees a hazy ball of soft green light hovering a few feet away near the ground.
It has to be some kind of trick. A bug or a bit of natural gas or something like that.
But the wilder sides of his mind needle him with lore he learned from reading fantasy books and playing Dungeons & Dragons as a teenager: it’s a will-o-the-wisp.
It’s not likely triggering the jump will send him back to where he was working on his equations, so there doesn’t seem to be any harm in remaining here for a moment or two and examining the thing.
Alfred pockets the orb and steps toward the green light. When he is just within a few inches, it disappears and reappears a few feet further away. This can’t be happening. He’s just tired and lonely and upset. But he steps toward it again and again it disappears, reappearing a few feet ahead.
Alfred doesn’t even realize how far he has followed it, or that the white light of the moon has shifted to a pale green until he’s stopped in the middle of a clearing with a circle of white mushrooms in the center. He rubs his eyes and scrubs his hands through his hair as he stands before it. He must be hallucinating. The loneliness has driven him mad and now he’s hallucinating things straight out of the books he read as a kid. A fairy ring! Seriously? Of all the bizarre concoctions his subconscious could dream up...
Alright, he decides, he’ll humor his deteriorating mental state. He steps into the ring as if plunging into cold water, eyes shut and breath held and when he opens his eyes, he’s standing in the same spot but it’s... different. Rather than merely a forest, the same trees he just saw are laden with flowering vines. Some of the trees are lush with ripe fruit and others are flowering themselves. It is lit with the warm glow of the afternoon sun and a stream babbles beside him, flowing into a small pool.
This cannot be happening.
“H-hello?” he calls out, not daring to take a step.
Some form of... being appears. Humanoid, but with gossamer wings and pointed ears and the brightest, greenest eyes Alfred could imagine. Male, probably, if jawline, dark eyebrows, and lanky physique are anything to go by. He’s clad in a pale green tunic with shimmering gold trim, but barefoot. He is nothing short of the most beautiful thing Alfred has ever seen.
He looks at Alfred as if alarmed. “What are you doing here... human?” he asks in a voice that sounds British but somehow Alfred doubts the words are even coming out of his mouth in English. The word human is said with a heavy amount of skepticism.
“I... I stepped into the ring,” Alfred explains clumsily. “Then I was here.”
“From what tribe do you hail? I have never seen clothing like yours and your accent is strange. Are you from another land?”
Alfred looks down at his light blue t-shirt and dark denim skinny jeans with red sneakers. “Uh. I’m from... America. It... probably hasn’t been found by these people yet. I’m from... the future.”
The being, the fairy, scoffs and hovers closer, inspecting Alfred. “That is impossible. Even we fair folk cannot travel out of time.”
Alfred pulls the orb from his pocket. “I can. I figured it out, but now I’m stuck. It jumps and takes me with it seemingly at random. I’ve been doing this for... three years and I can’t figure out how to make it stop, I don’t know if I ever will. It spits me out wherever it wants, sometimes in the middle of the ocean. I can’t ever see my friends or family again, even if I somehow end up in the same time as them and I--” the tears he had been holding back now fall.
The fairy brushes Alfred’s hair back soothingly, sending warmth through the human’s body. “There, there. Shh. Don’t make yourself sick now. I can see that you are telling the truth although it still seems perfectly outlandish.”
Alfred hiccups a laugh. “Not quite as outlandish as you. When I come from, people don’t believe in magic. Fairies are nothing more than stories. Myths.
He snorts. “It is the same now and that is the way we prefer it. How you even found this places is a mystery to me. You may call me Arthur, by the way. I think this name is commonplace enough to you?”
“Yes,” Alfred answers. “And I just followed the lights... the wisps.”
Arthur looks surprised by this. “They led you here, did they? Hm.”
“Should they not have?”
“They do what they think is best,” Arthur replies, trying to sound casual. “You are... not the only one who experiences loneliness. We fae are immortal, but few in number. To avoid detection, we do not often meet with each other.”
“Oh,” Alfred says in understanding.
“May I have your name?” Arthur asks smoothly.
Alfred grins back. “No, but you can call me Alfred,” he says.
A smile spreads across Arthur’s face. “You’re quite savvy for a human who doesn’t believe in faeries. Although you did follow the wisps. Would you care for something to eat? The fruits in my garden are the most delicious you will ever taste,” he boasts proudly.
“Only if I can repay the kindness,” Alfred replies carefully.
Arthur looks him up and down, clearly impressed. “Alright. You can sit and converse with me for awhile in exchange for a fruit of your choice.”
“Thank you, although I don’t know how long I can stay.”
“It’s fine, any company is welcome at this point.”
“Same.” Alfred plucks a pear from one of trees and follows Arthur to the little pond. He sits when directed and Arthur sits next to him, lowering his feet into the water. Alfred takes a bite of the pear and it is indeed the most delicious fruit he has ever tasted. “This is really, really good,” he says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Arthur says. He pauses. “I can sense your distress,” he says plainly. “And... I cannot solve your problem, but the wisps did bring you here so I think that maybe I can help.”
“How?” Alfred asks, finding himself as fascinated with the slight glimmer and sparkle of Arthur’s rosy cheeks as much as his words.
“Well. As I said, we fae are immortal. Ageless. I think, perhaps, if you agree, I can bind us together so that where--rather, whenever you end up in time, you will... materialize near me. That way you won’t end up in the ocean. And you and I will both have the pleasure of a familiar face.”
Alfred swallows around a bite of pear he hadn’t chewed enough. He searches Arthur’s green eyes, light like the sun dappled through trees on a warm summer day. “Um. I think that would be really good,” he says.
Arthur nods. “I think so too.”
Alfred eats a bit more of his fruit, sort of waiting for Arthur to initiate something. When he doesn’t, Alfred asks, “So. How do we do this binding thing?”
“I will place a sigil on your left hand and it is sealed with a kiss to your mouth,” Arthur says, smiling shyly.
Alfred blushes and swallows on nothing and stares at Arthur’s plush, pink lips. “Oh.”
“Is that alright with you?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Alfred says emphatically. “We should do it soon before this thing jumps me out of here.”
Arthur nods. “Right. Good idea. Let me see your hand,” he says, holding out both of his.
Alfred presents his left hand and shivers pleasantly when Arthur takes it, palm up, in his.
Arthur traces his right index finger over the skin, warm green light emanating in its wake, forming a complex symbol and when he’s finished, he places his palm over Alfred’s. He leans in and then pauses. “Alfred. I must caution you. Do not fall in love with me. I cannot love you back and I do not wish to cause you any more distress.”
Alfred nods slowly.
Arthur leans in all the way and kisses him, softly, gently. The first physical contact Alfred has had in quite a long time. And when Arthur pulls back, Alfred knows the faerie’s warning is all for nothing.
He’s already falling in love with Arthur.
#usuk#ukus#usuk fanfic#keep in mind that as their relationship grows Arthur also falls in love with Alfred LOL#spadian ballad
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