blood_winged (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blood_winged) wrote2011-07-26 05:45 am
blood_winged) wrote2011-07-26 05:45 am
Entry tags:
[USxUK] Theme: Tea & Coffee [Summer Camp Event]
Title: A Peculiar Art
Genre: General/Romance
Word Count: 1073
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred knows just how to cheer Arthur up after a stressful day.
Arthur liked to drink tea. This was a well-known fact amongst all nations and all of them could set their watches to the time when he would decide to have a cuppa.
Sometimes, however, there were times when he just needed to have one, not because it was a particular time of day or even because he wanted a cup of tea specifically, but because he craved the warmth and familiarity. Alfred had become very good at spotting those times, when Arthur would walk into the house or flat or hotel room with a face like thunder and the only thing missing an actual raincloud floating above his head, and he wouldn’t speak or even look at the younger man, just move away and hide himself in a room until he felt better.
Today, Alfred felt it as the hairs rising on the back of his neck the moment he heard the door click quietly shut. He cocked his head to one side, lowering his magazine to his lap and turning down the volume on the television, listening to the softly exhaled sigh and the noises of Arthur setting down his briefcase and sliding his jacket off. The man was talking, probably on his phone, in a language that Alfred didn’t know but Arthur sounded concerned, even upset as he spoke. Alfred frowned, pushing Texas up to rub at one of his eyes as he tossed his magazine aside and stood, moving to the door and poking his head out into the hallway.
Arthur was using a hands-free set, something that Alfred had bought him for Christmas and subsequently needed to teach him how to use, and his eyes were cast down as he crouched to untie his shoelaces. He was still talking, something that sounded like Danish but not quite, and when he finally became aware of Alfred’s presence he looked up with a smile so faint that it made something in the American nation’s chest ache. Closing the distance between them and reaching the other just in time for him to stand Alfred wrapped both arms around his boyfriend/lover/partner (they hadn’t settled on a word for it because they all sounded silly) and squeezed him tight, pressing a kiss to his hair and not speaking a single word. Arthur finished the conversation he was having and tucked the little earpiece into his pocket, and let Alfred lead him by the hand into the house.
He turned the television off, put the magazine away and tossed another log on the open fire that Arthur loved so much, sitting the man down and kissing both of his hands before he moved away and headed to the kitchen. The coffee for himself he made quickly, leaving the steaming cup on the counter as he opened a cupboard and brought down an old aluminium tin. Setting it on the counter, he pulled a kettle down from the same cupboard and filled it with water, lighting a ring on the stove and placing the kettle over it.
While the water boiled, Alfred opened the tin and looked through the rows of small airtight jars stowed inside. Some were more obviously used than others, and he picked one that he knew was an old favourite, measuring a teaspoon’s worth into a pretty little china teapot picked out from another cupboard, along with a matching cup and saucer. He paced the kitchen, sipping at his coffee until the kettle began to whistle, then lifted the lid of the teapot to pour the hot water in, watching how it hit the leaves inside and changed colour from clear to a honey-brown that he knew was just right. A tray was pulled from beside the microwave and he piled everything onto it, heading back to the living room where he found Arthur exactly where he’d left him, gazing somewhat listlessly into the fire.
Alfred’s lips parted, then he pressed them together and crossed to the couch, setting the tray down on the coffee table. The quiet sounds of clinking china slowly drew Arthur’s attention and he felt green eyes on him as he set the strainer over the teacup and poured the golden liquid through it. He used a pair of tiny silver tongs to pick up a single cube of sugar and dropped it into the cup, then he moved, seating himself at Arthur’s side. The saucer felt almost flimsy in his hand as he picked it up and carefully handed it over to Arthur, the English nation picking up the teacup with his pinkie finger daintily held out.
He sipped, and Alfred watched him carefully, noting first the subtle changes – how the line between his eyebrows smoothed and the tenseness in his jaw eased away – and then the larger ones. Arthur’s shoulders dropped and he let out a soft, slow sigh, his eyes half-lidding and the tiniest ghost of a smile touching his lips. Satisfied, Alfred leaned forwards and grabbed up his half-finished cup of coffee, sitting back and holding one arm out for Arthur to rest against him. He curled his fingers around the smaller nation’s shoulder and nosed against the side of his head, the only sound in the room the low crack-pop of the fire and their occasional small sips of their drinks, and Arthur’s quiet, relaxed sighs as Alfred knew he was doing his best to forget about everything that had made him so stressed to begin with.
The American nation turned his head, a kiss meant for Arthur’s cheek landing on his ear and bringing a chuckle from both of them. Alfred liked that. He much preferred to see Arthur smiling, yet it always seemed such a novelty and even more so these days.
Arthur didn’t need to say ‘thank you’, because Alfred could see it when those emerald-green eyes turned up to him with a soft look. Alfred didn’t need to say that he was very welcome, he just leaned down and kissed those tempting lips, tasting tea on them and not finding it in the least unpleasant. He settled, hugged Arthur to his side and swallowed a mouthful of coffee, letting out a hum of pleasure at the taste. Beside him, the smaller man let out a similar, quieter sound and Alfred felt a surge of a strange kind of pride.
It had, after all, taken him three years before he’d hit on exactly the right way to make Arthur’s tea.
Genre: General/Romance
Word Count: 1073
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred knows just how to cheer Arthur up after a stressful day.
*****
Arthur liked to drink tea. This was a well-known fact amongst all nations and all of them could set their watches to the time when he would decide to have a cuppa.
Sometimes, however, there were times when he just needed to have one, not because it was a particular time of day or even because he wanted a cup of tea specifically, but because he craved the warmth and familiarity. Alfred had become very good at spotting those times, when Arthur would walk into the house or flat or hotel room with a face like thunder and the only thing missing an actual raincloud floating above his head, and he wouldn’t speak or even look at the younger man, just move away and hide himself in a room until he felt better.
Today, Alfred felt it as the hairs rising on the back of his neck the moment he heard the door click quietly shut. He cocked his head to one side, lowering his magazine to his lap and turning down the volume on the television, listening to the softly exhaled sigh and the noises of Arthur setting down his briefcase and sliding his jacket off. The man was talking, probably on his phone, in a language that Alfred didn’t know but Arthur sounded concerned, even upset as he spoke. Alfred frowned, pushing Texas up to rub at one of his eyes as he tossed his magazine aside and stood, moving to the door and poking his head out into the hallway.
Arthur was using a hands-free set, something that Alfred had bought him for Christmas and subsequently needed to teach him how to use, and his eyes were cast down as he crouched to untie his shoelaces. He was still talking, something that sounded like Danish but not quite, and when he finally became aware of Alfred’s presence he looked up with a smile so faint that it made something in the American nation’s chest ache. Closing the distance between them and reaching the other just in time for him to stand Alfred wrapped both arms around his boyfriend/lover/partner (they hadn’t settled on a word for it because they all sounded silly) and squeezed him tight, pressing a kiss to his hair and not speaking a single word. Arthur finished the conversation he was having and tucked the little earpiece into his pocket, and let Alfred lead him by the hand into the house.
He turned the television off, put the magazine away and tossed another log on the open fire that Arthur loved so much, sitting the man down and kissing both of his hands before he moved away and headed to the kitchen. The coffee for himself he made quickly, leaving the steaming cup on the counter as he opened a cupboard and brought down an old aluminium tin. Setting it on the counter, he pulled a kettle down from the same cupboard and filled it with water, lighting a ring on the stove and placing the kettle over it.
While the water boiled, Alfred opened the tin and looked through the rows of small airtight jars stowed inside. Some were more obviously used than others, and he picked one that he knew was an old favourite, measuring a teaspoon’s worth into a pretty little china teapot picked out from another cupboard, along with a matching cup and saucer. He paced the kitchen, sipping at his coffee until the kettle began to whistle, then lifted the lid of the teapot to pour the hot water in, watching how it hit the leaves inside and changed colour from clear to a honey-brown that he knew was just right. A tray was pulled from beside the microwave and he piled everything onto it, heading back to the living room where he found Arthur exactly where he’d left him, gazing somewhat listlessly into the fire.
Alfred’s lips parted, then he pressed them together and crossed to the couch, setting the tray down on the coffee table. The quiet sounds of clinking china slowly drew Arthur’s attention and he felt green eyes on him as he set the strainer over the teacup and poured the golden liquid through it. He used a pair of tiny silver tongs to pick up a single cube of sugar and dropped it into the cup, then he moved, seating himself at Arthur’s side. The saucer felt almost flimsy in his hand as he picked it up and carefully handed it over to Arthur, the English nation picking up the teacup with his pinkie finger daintily held out.
He sipped, and Alfred watched him carefully, noting first the subtle changes – how the line between his eyebrows smoothed and the tenseness in his jaw eased away – and then the larger ones. Arthur’s shoulders dropped and he let out a soft, slow sigh, his eyes half-lidding and the tiniest ghost of a smile touching his lips. Satisfied, Alfred leaned forwards and grabbed up his half-finished cup of coffee, sitting back and holding one arm out for Arthur to rest against him. He curled his fingers around the smaller nation’s shoulder and nosed against the side of his head, the only sound in the room the low crack-pop of the fire and their occasional small sips of their drinks, and Arthur’s quiet, relaxed sighs as Alfred knew he was doing his best to forget about everything that had made him so stressed to begin with.
The American nation turned his head, a kiss meant for Arthur’s cheek landing on his ear and bringing a chuckle from both of them. Alfred liked that. He much preferred to see Arthur smiling, yet it always seemed such a novelty and even more so these days.
Arthur didn’t need to say ‘thank you’, because Alfred could see it when those emerald-green eyes turned up to him with a soft look. Alfred didn’t need to say that he was very welcome, he just leaned down and kissed those tempting lips, tasting tea on them and not finding it in the least unpleasant. He settled, hugged Arthur to his side and swallowed a mouthful of coffee, letting out a hum of pleasure at the taste. Beside him, the smaller man let out a similar, quieter sound and Alfred felt a surge of a strange kind of pride.
It had, after all, taken him three years before he’d hit on exactly the right way to make Arthur’s tea.
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I loved it. Well done. ♥
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Thank you for sharing this!
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I never knew that it took three years for Alfred to perfect making tea for Arthur. And I am very pleased about the fluff. It makes me warm and fuzzy. <3
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<3
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Eh. I'm lucky I didn't squeal. Though I did hear myself squeak. Eep.
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