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blood_wingedTitle: Roses
Genre: General/Romance
Word Count: 1425
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Gardening is something that they've always been able to do together.
One thing that Alfred and Arthur were always able to enjoy doing together was gardening. Arthur enjoyed it for the fresh air, the sunshine, the feel of the earth on his hands and knowing that he was in some way contributing to the planet’s beauty. He loved the smell of freshly cut grass and the scent of the flowers, and the chatter of the fairies that lived in them as he cared for their homes.
Alfred enjoyed gardening because it was one of the few times that he could be messy without being told off. Although he would no doubt be immediately carted inside for a bath the moment that they were finished outside, for the moment the two of them were as grubby as each other, dirt darkening their fingernails and the odd smudge here and there on their faces where they’d forgotten and scratched an itch.
But more than anything, Alfred loved gardening with Arthur because it seemed to be the only occasion when the other was entirely relaxed. He would always smile when he saw the young American nation, there would always be a look of contentment and calm on his face but he was never truly relaxed. Arthur always said that it was something that Alfred would understand when he was older, and he always looked so sad when he said it, as if it was some terrible secret that he wished the boy didn’t need to know. Alfred didn’t push it, because he didn’t like seeing that look on Arthur’s face. They could both be happy when they were gardening. It was easy enough to pretend that there was nothing outside of this little patch of land, no governments, no bossy locals, nothing except the two of them together.
Arthur pushed the dirt up around the last tulip bulb and sat back, brushing his hands off on his thighs. He flopped back onto the grass, and Alfred looked over at him, picking at the blades of grass next to his bare knees as he watched the older nation. It wouldn’t be long before he had to go home, they both knew it, but at the moment it was something that they didn’t have to think about.
Sometimes, Arthur would tell him stories about adventure and magic and all of the things he did on the seas while he was away from Alfred. Alfred would drink them up eagerly, his blue eyes wide with wonder and admiration of his caretaker, wishing that he could be on those journeys with him to see all the things that Arthur saw. He would often say so and Arthur would always laugh, and pat his head in a way that made him feel warm inside, and he would promise him that one day, he’d take him home to England with him. Not now, but one day. It was hard to believe, after listening to all those stories that this man, lying on the grass beside him with dirt on his face and a flower stuck behind one ear, was the great British Empire.
Alfred didn’t really know what it meant to be an empire, only that it meant that Arthur was very important, and probably shouldn’t have been relaxing on a sunny day with flowers stuck in his hair.
The younger blonde shifted and settled down on his stomach, scooting forwards until he was half sprawled over Arthur. He watched as the other cracked one eye open and smiled, and felt a hand cup the back of his head, his own eyes half closing as blunt fingernails scratched gently over his scalp. It almost made him feel like some sort of pet when Arthur did that but he didn’t really mind, because it felt good, and if it felt good then who cared if it made him feel like he was a cat?
“The garden is going to be very pretty this year,” he said, moving his head so his chin wasn’t digging into Arthur’s ribs. His lower lip stuck out in a faint pout as Arthur ‘hmm’ed but didn’t answer, and he sighed. “Do you think you will be able to come back before all the flowers die?”
The infrequency of Arthur’s visits, particularly lately, had grown to be something of a sore point between them and he was almost reluctant to bring it up, sure that he’d done something wrong in doing so as Arthur sat up and looked about to push him away, but he didn’t. Slipping one arm around the boy he pulled him close and rested his chin on top of his head, letting out a slow breath that Alfred felt ruffling through his hair. He looked down, concentrating on a fold in the English nation’s shirt and listening to the faint thudding of his heartbeat next to his ear.
“I cannot say for certain, Alfred, you know that,” Arthur told him, and he nodded, a tiny frown creasing a line between his eyebrows. “But… I promise you that I will try my best.”
“… I believe you.”
He always said that. Always… and every time, Alfred believed him. Sometimes he made it, but most times he didn’t and those were the times that Alfred would spend his summer sitting at the docks waiting for the man to arrive. It was the times that Arthur had made it that kept him hoping – he knew that he meant it every time he promised, but things just… got in the way. Alfred nodded, tucking his head against Arthur’s chest, under his chin and letting the man hold him, not minding sharing these quiet moments with him now and then… so long as no one was watching.
“Come along,” the older nation said after some minutes had passed and Alfred had been lulled half to sleep by the comforting sound by his ear and the birds quietly singing around them. “We still need to plant the roses if they are going to be sturdy enough to survive the winter. You are going to take care of them for me, are you not?”
“Mmhm!” Alfred hopped off Arthur’s lap and waited for the other to get to his feet, tipping his head up and greeting Arthur’s smile with a sunny one of his own. “I will, so they all look their best when you come back to see them.”
Arthur took the flower from behind his ear and slipped it into Alfred’s hair, then offered one hand, which Alfred happily took, swinging their clasped hands between them as they moved to where several small rose bushes sat in pots waiting to be planted.
“That one is going to be yours,” Alfred told him, pointing to one of the bushes. “And I will not be pruning it, so you are going to need to come back every year to do it.”
---
More than two hundred years later, Arthur stood beside Alfred in the back garden of his Virginia home and carefully clipped the last unruly leaf from one of the rose bushes. It wasn’t the same one, the original had long since died of age or perhaps simply neglect when Arthur had been unable to return each year to care for it as he had been charged with, but this one was being carefully tended. Next to him, Alfred was smiling, smudges of dirt on his face and earth under his nails, and he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze.
“Lie in the grass with me,” he said, and Arthur looked down, the grass by their feet covered in small droplets of water from recent rain. He frowned, but Alfred was still smiling, knowing but not caring. The Englishman laughed softly, and dropped the secateurs down by his feet, sitting down on the lawn with the other and lying back, feeling the damp soaking through to his back. He shifted, and Alfred rested his head on the older man’s chest, half closing his eyes as one hand moved up into his hair. Alfred picked a daisy out of the grass and tucked it behind Arthur’s ear, grinning as the action caused a blush.
“The garden’s gonna look great this summer,” Alfred went on, his voice turned lazy and sleepy by the comforting feeling of Arthur’s fingers in his hair. “You’re going to come and see it, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, you silly boy,” Arthur murmured fondly, not paying attention to the quiet sound of complaint that the teasing produced. “I promise.”
“I believe you.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Genre: General/Romance
Word Count: 1425
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Gardening is something that they've always been able to do together.
*****
One thing that Alfred and Arthur were always able to enjoy doing together was gardening. Arthur enjoyed it for the fresh air, the sunshine, the feel of the earth on his hands and knowing that he was in some way contributing to the planet’s beauty. He loved the smell of freshly cut grass and the scent of the flowers, and the chatter of the fairies that lived in them as he cared for their homes.
Alfred enjoyed gardening because it was one of the few times that he could be messy without being told off. Although he would no doubt be immediately carted inside for a bath the moment that they were finished outside, for the moment the two of them were as grubby as each other, dirt darkening their fingernails and the odd smudge here and there on their faces where they’d forgotten and scratched an itch.
But more than anything, Alfred loved gardening with Arthur because it seemed to be the only occasion when the other was entirely relaxed. He would always smile when he saw the young American nation, there would always be a look of contentment and calm on his face but he was never truly relaxed. Arthur always said that it was something that Alfred would understand when he was older, and he always looked so sad when he said it, as if it was some terrible secret that he wished the boy didn’t need to know. Alfred didn’t push it, because he didn’t like seeing that look on Arthur’s face. They could both be happy when they were gardening. It was easy enough to pretend that there was nothing outside of this little patch of land, no governments, no bossy locals, nothing except the two of them together.
Arthur pushed the dirt up around the last tulip bulb and sat back, brushing his hands off on his thighs. He flopped back onto the grass, and Alfred looked over at him, picking at the blades of grass next to his bare knees as he watched the older nation. It wouldn’t be long before he had to go home, they both knew it, but at the moment it was something that they didn’t have to think about.
Sometimes, Arthur would tell him stories about adventure and magic and all of the things he did on the seas while he was away from Alfred. Alfred would drink them up eagerly, his blue eyes wide with wonder and admiration of his caretaker, wishing that he could be on those journeys with him to see all the things that Arthur saw. He would often say so and Arthur would always laugh, and pat his head in a way that made him feel warm inside, and he would promise him that one day, he’d take him home to England with him. Not now, but one day. It was hard to believe, after listening to all those stories that this man, lying on the grass beside him with dirt on his face and a flower stuck behind one ear, was the great British Empire.
Alfred didn’t really know what it meant to be an empire, only that it meant that Arthur was very important, and probably shouldn’t have been relaxing on a sunny day with flowers stuck in his hair.
The younger blonde shifted and settled down on his stomach, scooting forwards until he was half sprawled over Arthur. He watched as the other cracked one eye open and smiled, and felt a hand cup the back of his head, his own eyes half closing as blunt fingernails scratched gently over his scalp. It almost made him feel like some sort of pet when Arthur did that but he didn’t really mind, because it felt good, and if it felt good then who cared if it made him feel like he was a cat?
“The garden is going to be very pretty this year,” he said, moving his head so his chin wasn’t digging into Arthur’s ribs. His lower lip stuck out in a faint pout as Arthur ‘hmm’ed but didn’t answer, and he sighed. “Do you think you will be able to come back before all the flowers die?”
The infrequency of Arthur’s visits, particularly lately, had grown to be something of a sore point between them and he was almost reluctant to bring it up, sure that he’d done something wrong in doing so as Arthur sat up and looked about to push him away, but he didn’t. Slipping one arm around the boy he pulled him close and rested his chin on top of his head, letting out a slow breath that Alfred felt ruffling through his hair. He looked down, concentrating on a fold in the English nation’s shirt and listening to the faint thudding of his heartbeat next to his ear.
“I cannot say for certain, Alfred, you know that,” Arthur told him, and he nodded, a tiny frown creasing a line between his eyebrows. “But… I promise you that I will try my best.”
“… I believe you.”
He always said that. Always… and every time, Alfred believed him. Sometimes he made it, but most times he didn’t and those were the times that Alfred would spend his summer sitting at the docks waiting for the man to arrive. It was the times that Arthur had made it that kept him hoping – he knew that he meant it every time he promised, but things just… got in the way. Alfred nodded, tucking his head against Arthur’s chest, under his chin and letting the man hold him, not minding sharing these quiet moments with him now and then… so long as no one was watching.
“Come along,” the older nation said after some minutes had passed and Alfred had been lulled half to sleep by the comforting sound by his ear and the birds quietly singing around them. “We still need to plant the roses if they are going to be sturdy enough to survive the winter. You are going to take care of them for me, are you not?”
“Mmhm!” Alfred hopped off Arthur’s lap and waited for the other to get to his feet, tipping his head up and greeting Arthur’s smile with a sunny one of his own. “I will, so they all look their best when you come back to see them.”
Arthur took the flower from behind his ear and slipped it into Alfred’s hair, then offered one hand, which Alfred happily took, swinging their clasped hands between them as they moved to where several small rose bushes sat in pots waiting to be planted.
“That one is going to be yours,” Alfred told him, pointing to one of the bushes. “And I will not be pruning it, so you are going to need to come back every year to do it.”
---
More than two hundred years later, Arthur stood beside Alfred in the back garden of his Virginia home and carefully clipped the last unruly leaf from one of the rose bushes. It wasn’t the same one, the original had long since died of age or perhaps simply neglect when Arthur had been unable to return each year to care for it as he had been charged with, but this one was being carefully tended. Next to him, Alfred was smiling, smudges of dirt on his face and earth under his nails, and he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze.
“Lie in the grass with me,” he said, and Arthur looked down, the grass by their feet covered in small droplets of water from recent rain. He frowned, but Alfred was still smiling, knowing but not caring. The Englishman laughed softly, and dropped the secateurs down by his feet, sitting down on the lawn with the other and lying back, feeling the damp soaking through to his back. He shifted, and Alfred rested his head on the older man’s chest, half closing his eyes as one hand moved up into his hair. Alfred picked a daisy out of the grass and tucked it behind Arthur’s ear, grinning as the action caused a blush.
“The garden’s gonna look great this summer,” Alfred went on, his voice turned lazy and sleepy by the comforting feeling of Arthur’s fingers in his hair. “You’re going to come and see it, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, you silly boy,” Arthur murmured fondly, not paying attention to the quiet sound of complaint that the teasing produced. “I promise.”
“I believe you.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
