[Fanfic] In Whatever Time We Have [APH]
Mar. 5th, 2010 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: In Whatever Time We Have
Genre: General/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: US, UK, Canada, Prussia
Rating/Warnings: PG. Language, angst
Summary: The most recent drama from myself and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amael_elen . After Alfred is (protestingly) seduced by Francis, he returns to his brother's house with his tail between his legs. Will Arthur forgive him? Tune in to find out!
***
Arthur had sounded so heartbroken on the phone. He’d known. He’d known without Alfred even having to tell him and it had taken all of the American’s courage to tell the taxi driver to take him back to Matthew’s house, where he and his now husband had been staying during the Winter Olympics.
He stood outside the door, reaching for the handle before letting his hand drop again. If the ground had opened up in that moment and swallowed him he couldn’t have been happier about it. He could still feel the man on him, taste the red wine and cigarettes on his lips and hear the low, seductive words that had been purred into his ear. Arthur had warned him. Not in words, but in his hesitation. He hadn’t wanted Alfred to confront Francis about his repeated attempts to playfully seduce the Englishman, but Alfred hadn’t listened, and he’d given Arthur a kiss, told him ‘see you later’, and gone.
“Shit...” he muttered. His throat felt tight and his stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots, his hands shaking as he reached for the handle again. If this was fear, he didn’t like it. Matthew was pacing the hall just inside, and when the door opened he couldn’t hide the relief on his face as he rushed forwards and took his brother’s arm, shutting the door behind him to prevent him from backing out.
“Finally,” he said, and Alfred, now having dealt with the door, was faced with the problem of the hallway.
“... How’s Arthur?” he asked, not liking how his voice sounded.
“He...” Matthew cast an uneasy look towards the living room door. “He’s not good, Alfred.”
“Oh.” The American looked at the floor. His shoes were suddenly very interesting. “Want to tell him I’m... uh... here?”
“I think you should tell him yourself.” The younger man pointed to the front room and Alfred looked up at him, frowning slightly.
“I couldn’t... I... he won’t be able to look at me,” he protested, somewhat ineffectually as Matthew stepped up behind him and gave him a shove, followed by several more. Alfred went reluctantly, wracking his brain for something to say to Arthur and coming up short, though the scene that greeted him as he finally stepped through the door robbed any words he might have spoken. Arthur, his Arthur, was sleeping, curled up tightly to a certain Prussian’s side, and Gilbert was gently holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Alfred did not like this picture, and he stared, coming to a stop by the sofa and standing with his shoulders slouched. The Prussian had watched his progress across the room, and when he stopped, he gave Arthur a little shake. Arthur made a soft sound, and opened his eyes, his gaze finding Alfred and slowly moving up to meet his eyes. In his customary way, Alfred couldn’t help but attempt a smile, but it withered before it could be fully formed.
“I came back...”
“You...” Arthur looked away, then back, then stood and hit one closed fist, hard, against the American’s chest. “Bastard!” he shouted, hitting him again, then again, and again. “How could you?! H-how, with Francis?! Fucking tosser!”
Alfred closed his eyes, hung his head and endured, remaining silent, and eventually Arthur ran out of steam, sagging against his chest as he dissolved into bitter sobbing. Hesitantly, the American wrapped an arm around him and spoke softly, his voice shaking slightly.
“I’m... not going to ask you to forgive me,” he murmured, and when Arthur simply clung to him, quietly hiccupping, he went on in that same tone. “I didn’t even... I... I’m sorry, Arthur. So sorry.”
“I promised something not long ago,” Arthur said then, resting his head against Alfred’s shoulder. “I said that I loved you enough to believe in us, our relationship, through the worst of times... to have faith in our strength as a couple and to never give up on us.”
The American buried his face in Arthur’s hair and choked out a wobbly ‘yeah’. All he wanted to do was hold tight to Arthur and never let go. “I know you did...”
Almost tentatively, Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred. “And you said to me,” he went on. “You promised me... that you’d always be worthy of my love.”
His eyes shut tight, the younger man drew in a shuddering breath. “I know...”
The pause that followed was almost painful. Alfred had promised. He had promised, and then he’d let that slimy Frenchman touch him, to provoke him into giving him exactly what he wanted. Somehow, he couldn’t help but think that it had all been some kind of elaborate scheme to hurt Arthur, and he wouldn’t have put it past the man. Well, it had worked. Arthur placed a hand against Alfred’s pounding heart, and stroked his fingertips gently over the fabric of his shirt, and looked up at him.
“... I don’t intend to let you back out of that promise.”
Alfred went still, then he crushed Arthur close, hearing the man make a quiet sound before he held him just as tightly.
“I never meant to... Don’t deserve it, second chances... forgiveness... I didn’t want...! I’m just... sorry, so sorry, Arthur...” He babbled on, saying the same things over and over, his self-confidence shaken, until Arthur pressed one finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.
“Alfred...” he said, his tone almost gentle. “You’re an idiot. But... you are husband. You’re my life... and I love you. I know what my brother is like, and how persistent he is, and I know you feel nothing for him... I forgive you.” He lowered his hand, and smiled weakly. “No more accidents, hm?”
Puzzled, Alfred didn’t say anything for a bit, just watching him with troubled eyes, his brow wrinkled. “Of course not...” he replied eventually. “But, Arthur, you’re not supposed to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.”
Again, in that same gentle tone, ‘I forgive you’, and Alfred let his forehead fall to Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re too...” he began, then sighed, unable to express the feeling, settling for holding Arthur as close as he could while the man lifted one hand to stroke his hair.
“I love you so much,” he all but whispered. Alfred turned his face into Arthur’s neck and mumbled.
“I know... maybe too much, sometimes.”
“No...” And Arthur was smiling. It was small, but it was there, and it was undeniably a smile. How could he be smiling now? “That’s impossible.”
“I love you, Arthur. So much.”
“You’re still my hero...”
Alfred shook, trying to keep himself from crying. He could handle the tears and the anger, the physical blows, but this... this simple acceptance and forgiveness was something entirely alien, something that he hadn’t expected. Arthur kissed his cheek, and sang softly, his voice shaking.
“We could live a hundred years, or the world could end tomorrow... But we know we’ll be together, in whatever time we have...”
“W-we know life can be a battlefield...” It was their song, but Alfred found that he couldn’t sing it. He took another shuddering breath and fell silent, instead beginning to sway back and forth with his husband, breathing in the scent of tea and scones from his hair. Arthur rubbed his back, soothingly, in slow circles over his shoulders, and after a moment, cupped his cheek and finally kissed him.
Alfred had thought it would feel strange, that ‘first kiss’, but he fell into it as if nothing had happened, closing his eyes and kissing back, reaching for one of his hands and interlacing their fingers, feeling the gentle pressure of the Englishman’s hand on his. The others had long since left, but it wouldn’t have mattered. They were each other’s worlds, everything else forgotten. Minutes later Arthur drew back, and Alfred exhaled softly.
“Let’s... go to bed. Okay?” Something in the older man’s voice was oddly hopeful. Alfred gave his hand a squeeze.
“Yeah... I like that idea.”
A little later, Alfred slipped into bed beside Arthur and pulled him close, wrapping his limbs around him, hearing the quiet, pleased sound that the other man made. Arthur nuzzled against his collarbone, then tucked himself against Alfred’s chest and immediately fell asleep, leaving the American to trace his finger over his lover’s back, spelling out words and shapes until eventually, he too gave in to sleep.
Genre: General/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: US, UK, Canada, Prussia
Rating/Warnings: PG. Language, angst
Summary: The most recent drama from myself and
amael_elen . After Alfred is (protestingly) seduced by Francis, he returns to his brother's house with his tail between his legs. Will Arthur forgive him? Tune in to find out!***
Arthur had sounded so heartbroken on the phone. He’d known. He’d known without Alfred even having to tell him and it had taken all of the American’s courage to tell the taxi driver to take him back to Matthew’s house, where he and his now husband had been staying during the Winter Olympics.
He stood outside the door, reaching for the handle before letting his hand drop again. If the ground had opened up in that moment and swallowed him he couldn’t have been happier about it. He could still feel the man on him, taste the red wine and cigarettes on his lips and hear the low, seductive words that had been purred into his ear. Arthur had warned him. Not in words, but in his hesitation. He hadn’t wanted Alfred to confront Francis about his repeated attempts to playfully seduce the Englishman, but Alfred hadn’t listened, and he’d given Arthur a kiss, told him ‘see you later’, and gone.
“Shit...” he muttered. His throat felt tight and his stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots, his hands shaking as he reached for the handle again. If this was fear, he didn’t like it. Matthew was pacing the hall just inside, and when the door opened he couldn’t hide the relief on his face as he rushed forwards and took his brother’s arm, shutting the door behind him to prevent him from backing out.
“Finally,” he said, and Alfred, now having dealt with the door, was faced with the problem of the hallway.
“... How’s Arthur?” he asked, not liking how his voice sounded.
“He...” Matthew cast an uneasy look towards the living room door. “He’s not good, Alfred.”
“Oh.” The American looked at the floor. His shoes were suddenly very interesting. “Want to tell him I’m... uh... here?”
“I think you should tell him yourself.” The younger man pointed to the front room and Alfred looked up at him, frowning slightly.
“I couldn’t... I... he won’t be able to look at me,” he protested, somewhat ineffectually as Matthew stepped up behind him and gave him a shove, followed by several more. Alfred went reluctantly, wracking his brain for something to say to Arthur and coming up short, though the scene that greeted him as he finally stepped through the door robbed any words he might have spoken. Arthur, his Arthur, was sleeping, curled up tightly to a certain Prussian’s side, and Gilbert was gently holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Alfred did not like this picture, and he stared, coming to a stop by the sofa and standing with his shoulders slouched. The Prussian had watched his progress across the room, and when he stopped, he gave Arthur a little shake. Arthur made a soft sound, and opened his eyes, his gaze finding Alfred and slowly moving up to meet his eyes. In his customary way, Alfred couldn’t help but attempt a smile, but it withered before it could be fully formed.
“I came back...”
“You...” Arthur looked away, then back, then stood and hit one closed fist, hard, against the American’s chest. “Bastard!” he shouted, hitting him again, then again, and again. “How could you?! H-how, with Francis?! Fucking tosser!”
Alfred closed his eyes, hung his head and endured, remaining silent, and eventually Arthur ran out of steam, sagging against his chest as he dissolved into bitter sobbing. Hesitantly, the American wrapped an arm around him and spoke softly, his voice shaking slightly.
“I’m... not going to ask you to forgive me,” he murmured, and when Arthur simply clung to him, quietly hiccupping, he went on in that same tone. “I didn’t even... I... I’m sorry, Arthur. So sorry.”
“I promised something not long ago,” Arthur said then, resting his head against Alfred’s shoulder. “I said that I loved you enough to believe in us, our relationship, through the worst of times... to have faith in our strength as a couple and to never give up on us.”
The American buried his face in Arthur’s hair and choked out a wobbly ‘yeah’. All he wanted to do was hold tight to Arthur and never let go. “I know you did...”
Almost tentatively, Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred. “And you said to me,” he went on. “You promised me... that you’d always be worthy of my love.”
His eyes shut tight, the younger man drew in a shuddering breath. “I know...”
The pause that followed was almost painful. Alfred had promised. He had promised, and then he’d let that slimy Frenchman touch him, to provoke him into giving him exactly what he wanted. Somehow, he couldn’t help but think that it had all been some kind of elaborate scheme to hurt Arthur, and he wouldn’t have put it past the man. Well, it had worked. Arthur placed a hand against Alfred’s pounding heart, and stroked his fingertips gently over the fabric of his shirt, and looked up at him.
“... I don’t intend to let you back out of that promise.”
Alfred went still, then he crushed Arthur close, hearing the man make a quiet sound before he held him just as tightly.
“I never meant to... Don’t deserve it, second chances... forgiveness... I didn’t want...! I’m just... sorry, so sorry, Arthur...” He babbled on, saying the same things over and over, his self-confidence shaken, until Arthur pressed one finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.
“Alfred...” he said, his tone almost gentle. “You’re an idiot. But... you are husband. You’re my life... and I love you. I know what my brother is like, and how persistent he is, and I know you feel nothing for him... I forgive you.” He lowered his hand, and smiled weakly. “No more accidents, hm?”
Puzzled, Alfred didn’t say anything for a bit, just watching him with troubled eyes, his brow wrinkled. “Of course not...” he replied eventually. “But, Arthur, you’re not supposed to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.”
Again, in that same gentle tone, ‘I forgive you’, and Alfred let his forehead fall to Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re too...” he began, then sighed, unable to express the feeling, settling for holding Arthur as close as he could while the man lifted one hand to stroke his hair.
“I love you so much,” he all but whispered. Alfred turned his face into Arthur’s neck and mumbled.
“I know... maybe too much, sometimes.”
“No...” And Arthur was smiling. It was small, but it was there, and it was undeniably a smile. How could he be smiling now? “That’s impossible.”
“I love you, Arthur. So much.”
“You’re still my hero...”
Alfred shook, trying to keep himself from crying. He could handle the tears and the anger, the physical blows, but this... this simple acceptance and forgiveness was something entirely alien, something that he hadn’t expected. Arthur kissed his cheek, and sang softly, his voice shaking.
“We could live a hundred years, or the world could end tomorrow... But we know we’ll be together, in whatever time we have...”
“W-we know life can be a battlefield...” It was their song, but Alfred found that he couldn’t sing it. He took another shuddering breath and fell silent, instead beginning to sway back and forth with his husband, breathing in the scent of tea and scones from his hair. Arthur rubbed his back, soothingly, in slow circles over his shoulders, and after a moment, cupped his cheek and finally kissed him.
Alfred had thought it would feel strange, that ‘first kiss’, but he fell into it as if nothing had happened, closing his eyes and kissing back, reaching for one of his hands and interlacing their fingers, feeling the gentle pressure of the Englishman’s hand on his. The others had long since left, but it wouldn’t have mattered. They were each other’s worlds, everything else forgotten. Minutes later Arthur drew back, and Alfred exhaled softly.
“Let’s... go to bed. Okay?” Something in the older man’s voice was oddly hopeful. Alfred gave his hand a squeeze.
“Yeah... I like that idea.”
A little later, Alfred slipped into bed beside Arthur and pulled him close, wrapping his limbs around him, hearing the quiet, pleased sound that the other man made. Arthur nuzzled against his collarbone, then tucked himself against Alfred’s chest and immediately fell asleep, leaving the American to trace his finger over his lover’s back, spelling out words and shapes until eventually, he too gave in to sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-05 03:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-05 04:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-05 07:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-05 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 08:29 am (UTC)hug me, foo. ;-;