By three they'd moved onto the wine. Arthur drank slowly, not wanting to let the alcohol relax him into maudlin behavior. It was lovely to see Portia happy, but having her here as part of a couple put Arthur's lonely state into sharp relief.
At three-thirty the door intercom buzzed. That happened so rarely Arthur was surprised into staring at the door with raised eyebrows until the intercom buzzed again. "Pardon me," he said, arising. "Strange; I'm not expecting anyone."
He said hello into the intercom and nearly jumped out of his socks when he heard Alfred's voice in reply.
"Hi, it's Al. Looks like you're home. Can I come up for a few minutes?"
"Uh," Arthur said in lame reply. He glanced back at Portia and Yong and they looked quickly at each other so as not to be caught staring. Portia began to whisper something, presumably explanation. Arthur pressed the reply button. "You didn't call--"
"Because I figured the only way to get you was to corner you in your den, ha ha."
Still Arthur stalled. He was in his socks, he had company, his heart was racing fit to make him faint and ... he had no idea what to do. "How did you find out where I live?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the intercom. "Old-fashioned sleuthing. You're in the phone book, Arthur. Listen, if you don't want to--"
Arthur shook his head to clear it. "No, no, of course. Come on up."
"Hoookay."
Arthur looked back at Portia and Yong, who were quite studiously not looking at him. "Ah, sorry, but this shouldn't be long--"
Portia blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. "Stoopid, this is your home. And you definitely need to talk to him."
"Should we leave?" Yong asked.
"No, I need reinforcements, haha," Arthur said. Moments later there was a knock at the door, and Arthur took a deep breath and opened it.
And Alfred was there, wearing jeans and a brown bomber-style ski jacket with a number fifty on the breast over a stars-and-stripes tee-shirt and under a hesitant smile and he looked -- wonderful. "Hi. Oh, God, you have company. No wonder you were -- want me to go away?"
At the sight of him, Arthur felt as if a switch had flipped on somewhere in his brain, lighting up his body, loosening his tied tongue and brain. "No, don't be foolish. I already said to come up, did I not? You've met Portia Galati, and this is Yong-Soo Choo, Portia's gentleman friend. This is Alfred Jones, a -- well, I confess I'm not sure how to describe you, Alfred."
"As long as it's nice. Hi again. Good to meet you." He came inside the door and waved at Arthur's company, then stood looking around for a moment. He spotted something on the wall to the left, Arthur's wall of knickknacks, and took a few quick steps for a closer look. "Ooh, are these your souvenirs, Arthur? What awesome stuff! Are these your clay lemurs from Madagascar that you were talking bout?"
Even Portia, who saw those weekly, wouldn't have remembered them. Arthur had mentioned them very briefly to Alfred that night at the bar. Arthur's knees almost gave out as he fell more irrevocably in love than ever.
"Yes. Yes, they are," Arthur said.
Something in his voice or demeanor spurred Portia to stand. She dragged Yong up with her.
"We are definitely leaving you two to be private," she said.
Arthur and Alfred both protested, but she held out her palm in a talk-to-the-hand gesture. "No. Come on, honey." As they passed on their way to the coat closet, Portia made kissy-face at Arthur and then looked at Alfred. "If you manage to hang around that long, maybe we can all do dinner. It'll have to be your restaurant, since we don't have reservations anywhere. Your treat?"
"Absolutely," Alfred said with a grin.
"Goodbye," Yong said after they'd grabbed their coats, and then they were gone.
"So," Alfred said. He had his hands in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, another of his teenagerish postures.
"So," Arthur echoed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred beat him to it.
"I tried to look for you after the hearing, but you were gone," he said.
"I felt awkward, because you needed to talk to your wife. And I was hurt," Arthur admitted. Clarity had given him the gift of communication at last.
Something had given it to Alfred as well. "Yeah? Me too," he said. "Because you never called. But I came over anyway, because I thought you were worth pursuing. You're kind of a jerk sometimes, though, Arthur."
Arthur was more warmed all over by that worth pursuing than he was offended by that jerk. "And you are a twit," he replied. "I was trying to give you space to deal with ... whatever feelings you had. I got the idea that my being around was not helping you emotionally. It certainly wasn't helping me."
Alfred sighed long and slow, visibly sagging with the release of air and whatever tension had been trapped in it. "You're right."
Arthur only looked at him: to verify that would be overkill, and he didn't want to speak and possibly jeopardize their truce in communication.
Alfred pulled off his coat and raised an eyebrow at the chair sitting in front of Arthur's Louis Quinze. Reminded of their second-to-last meeting, Arthur nodded. Alfred hung his coat over the chair. He plopped himself onto the sofa.
"Wine? Tea?" Arthur stirred himself to ask.
"Not right now, thanks." Alfred crossed his legs, showing socks to match his tee-shirt. "I've warned you that I'm not good at this. And it seems it's always a bad time to really talk for us, anyway. But I'm sorry about that night at the bar. I always had a thing for you, Arthur, though I was trying not to push it. But, well, when I learned I wasn't the father of Mariel's baby I just sorta ... went a little stupid."
But, but but. Arthur knew the feeling. He sat next to Alfred. "I appreciate you saying that."
"Oh. That's good. I'm glad." Alfred did not look at Arthur but watched his own fingers, twiddling in his lap.
Arthur continued. "I had a thing for you, too. And I should have kept a better distance, not only because of our legal relationship, but considering the loss of your marriage and ... everything else as well."
Alfred waved and sniffed. "Unfortunately, our marriage was over months ago. I mean, I worked days and she worked nights. We hardly saw each other, this past year. I guess I just didn't realize we were growing apart so much? Obviously, she found someone else. I thought they were just friends, and she thought I didn't care.
"But it was me, too. Like that night we got together. You and me. I was -- I was feeling guilty and stuff. Being with you and liking that, when, like, she wouldn't even talk to me and it was all my fault that I didn't -- I didn't love her enough to keep her happy."
"Oh, love," Arthur said at the catch in Alfred's voice. He pulled Alfred's head down to his shoulder and patted it. He'd was learning more about Alfred's marriage in these few minutes than he had the entire two months of their acquaintance. It was overwhelming and freeing at the same time. How had he ever thought Alfred full of TMI? And he himself thought his heart was on his sleeve, but he had probably been as transparent as a brick. "I was so jealous and put-upon, too. Pardon."
"Ooh, I like it when you talk to me like that, Arthur," Alfred said, and Arthur pinched his ear. "Ow. But seriously. We talked a lot on Wednesday. When she filed for divorce she wouldn't discuss it because she knew she was pregnant and totally panicked. She sort of knew it was Felix's all along but she couldn't prove it. Her lawyer didn't even know and she just let him call the shots. I'm still ticked about that. And I'm definitely pissed at Felix but I guess I have to move on."
"What else can you do?" Arthur soothed, rubbing the hair behind Alfred's ears. There had been nothing sinister in their divorce all along, only human emotions, human failings making them all behave foolishly.
Alfred twisted his head to look Arthur in the eye. "I'm kind of in love with you, Arthur. Can we try again, maybe? Now that we're on the same page, at least, even if it's not a clean one? I can't promise to talk about my emotions this well all the time, but can you be nicer to me, you think?"
Yes, yes, yes. Arthur laughed sincerely, the light inside him turned up to level fifteen. For all their hearts were cracked, perhaps both of them might prove to be worth the pursuit. "I will promise no such thing, you ass. But yes, we can try again. Because I'm sort of kind of mad about you."
"I hope that's a British 'mad'," Alfred said. He pulled out of Arthur's clasp and sat up. He leaned in close. "Can we try again, and do it with sex? You make me really hot."
Yes, yes, yes, Arthur thought again. "How about we take it a little more slowly," Arthur actually said. "You are much too used to getting what you want."
"Already you're not being nice to me," Alfred pouted. But he leaned in for a kiss, and Arthur indulged him in that. And again it was better than Arthur had imagined in the moments before it. There it was, that spark, this time with open, admitted feelings ignited behind it. Would there ever come a time when it wouldn't feel so to kiss Alfred? Arthur hoped not.
They adjusted themselves on the sofa so they could snog more comfortably. And Arthur told himself that simply making out was taking it slowly, no matter if his nether regions felt otherwise. Alfred's did as well, but both of them managed to ignore those facts in favor of snuggling close and saying meaningless things in soft voices.
"Did you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" Alfred did point out during a brief respite.
Arthur consulted his head-calendar. "So it is. But it's too early to wish you happy birthday, so I shan't."
"So mean!"
"So needy!" Maybe Arthur wasn't exactly being nice, but he wasn't being not-nice, either. He was being himself, and vowed that from this point on, any pages written in their relationship would contain nothing short of that. He owed it to both of them. He didn't want to have The Preciseness In Speech talk with himself.
Arthur's resolve to take things slowly, however, only lasted until about halfway through dinner: Alfred was just so ... attractive and charming, speaking Japanese with Yong and making Portia snort her wine by telling her how Arthur's scones were so hard he'd at first mistaken them for souvenir rocks from Antarctica or something.
Arthur managed to keep his hands off Alfred until they exited the restaurant, at least, where the doorman told them "PDA, boys," and their cabbie, an Asian woman of indeterminate age, simply shook her head at them in the rearview mirror. She didn't seem overly scandalized at their teenagerish behavior in the back of her taxi.
But Arthur was giddy, so happy he could have Alfred, guilt-free. His body wanted to throw a party. A sex party.
Back at his home Arthur did manage to make love to Alfred slowly, at first, anyway. Wrapped in his sheets, wrapped around each other so tightly Arthur could barely move, he barely moved, opening Alfred until he was convex, arched against Arthur's pillows. He looked well there.
"I do love you, even if you are very silly," Arthur whispered as he fucked him even sillier, and Alfred made wanton and reciprocal-sounding noises. And afterwards they skipped the cigarette and kept the afterglow confined to Arthur's bed.
At one point Alfred confessed, "If you hadn't let me in today, I was going to stand in front of your building holding a boom-box like John Cusack."
"I'd've never heard you," Arthur said, nuzzling Alfred's ear.
"I know. Good thing you let me come up."
"Hmm," Arthur said, drifting off. Just before sleep, he had a thought. "What song would you have played?"
"Probably Affair of the Heart."
Arthur considered that. "It would have been a good choice," he mumbled.
He didn't care what Lars said: he was having fun, and planned to do so for as long as he could.
Arthur wondered how it was that, during their long winter, he'd ever wished for warmer weather. It was only the beginning of July and already they'd had weeks of oppressive heat, the days unrelentingly humid and in the nineties. That was much too close to boiling, Arthur's British-born brain kept trying to tell him.
He stood under the covered porch in H.F. Bonnefoy's backyard, sipped the last of a formerly icy margarita with a "Happy Fourth of July!" sign stuck in it, and tried not to sweat. He also tried to avoid staring too long at anyone in particular, because most of the party guests were naked.
It had been billed as a "clothing optional and discouraged" party. Being a party pooper from way back, however, Arthur was keeping his shorts firmly on.
Of course Alfred had gotten into the spirit. He was unclothed and chattering away at Bonnefoy's (also naked) wife, unselfconscious as the day he'd been born. Arthur kept a tight grip on Alfred's fingers at his side and tried to re-follow the conversation, which had lingered too long on the plight of the Chicago Cubs.
"Their farm system is deep. Give them a few years," Chelle Bonnefoy was saying in her French-African-Hawaiian-accented voice. Like her Gallic husband she gestured with sweeping movements as she spoke, sending her various body parts bouncing about. "To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
"How can anyone be patient when they keep trading their best players away?" Alfred protested.
Arthur was almost glad for the interruption when Bonnefoy (also naked) sauntered by, followed by a (naked) girl carrying a tray of drinks. Bonnefoy leered at them all, showing only a small frown at Arthur's shorts.
He gestured at the girl next to him. "Anyone need their refreshments refreshed? So warm today! The ice melts almost before it hits the bottom of the glass, yes? Oh, if you are afraid of a sunburn, Arthur, we have plenty of sunscreen."
"I am quite comfortable, thank you," Arthur told him. He did toss back the dregs of his margarita and traded the glass for a fuller, colder one. That one had a plastic Uncle Sam stuck into it.
"Ooh, can I have a sip?" Alfred asked.
"You may have one of your own, my dear," Bonnefoy told him with another leer. Arthur had to resist the urge to stand in front of Alfred.
"Not until after I have a swim. I'm a crappy swimmer when I'm drunk."
"You do many things very badly when you are drunk," Arthur pointed out, but he handed over his drink. He'd never used to like sharing beverages, but when you'd swapped as many body fluids as they had, it sort of ceased to be a problem.
He watched Alfred sample the margarita and make a face at the alcoholic kick. It wasn't a bad face -- it was very cute, in fact -- and when he returned Arthur's drink he had salt stuck to the corner of his lip. Arthur wanted to lean forward and lick it off, but not being the exhibitionist everyone else clearly was, contented himself with brushing it away with his thumb. Alfred grinned at him and squeezed his fingers.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat; still he was unused to the idea of being so comfortable with someone he desperately cared for, someone who wanted to be with him in return. It was rather breathtaking.
Alfred was far from perfect, but then so was he. And he'd discovered that even after only a few months, intimate relationships of the sort they were conducting came with their own, unexpected issues: annoyances and changed expectations, things that required discussion or at least honesty, things that were still not easy for either of them.
And little things. Like, Alfred hated his alarm clock. Once he'd sneak-reprogrammed it to wake Arthur with dialogue from Star Wars. Arthur had given him the Controlling Your Impulses With Other People's Things Talk, and Alfred had countered with a You Blow Things Out Of Proportion lecture. Arthur had spent an hour sulking and trying to re-record his voice exactly as he'd had it. Perhaps he had blown it out of proportion, but still. And there was worse to come: horror of horrors, Alfred did not care for Indian food.
But then, the things Arthur might have expected to be problematic had turned out to be not so much. For one, their relations with Alfred's ex-wife and her new husband were polite and, thankfully, infrequent. And he didn't let Alfred's ridiculous fortune, even as depleted as it was by his divorce, bother him: he had his own home and successful career to worry about. He understood being an overachiever and never resented extra time Alfred spent at work; it would be hypocritical, given that he'd had to clear case files from his sofa so they could sit together and eat Thai takeout in front of the TV.
Portia was learning these things as well. She'd managed to stay the course with Yong, for nearly as long as Arthur had known her to keep any man.
She was supposed to be coming to the party, in fact, though he could not see that she'd arrived. As if on cue his phone buzzed and Arthur pulled it from his pocket. That was a benefit to wearing clothing among the naked: he had somewhere to put his things.
It was a text from Portia. can you tell htem we're running late sorry? And are you wearing clothes?
Yes and YES, Arthur texted back.
"There's one good thing about being naked-- you can enjoy a party without being a slave to technology," Alfred teased.
"It was Portia. They're running late. And you're just jealous because you wish you had somewhere to keep your own phone, addict," Arthur told him.
"Never fear, Alfred; I could help you stow your phone if you really wished," Bonnefoy said, to an accompanying salacious giggle from Chelle.
Arthur narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a fierce glare. "You're just begging for a furtive shove into the pool when you least expect it, Bonnefoy," he said.
"Your empty threats don't frighten me, Englishman," Bonnefoy told him with a raised eyebrow.
"You guys are too cute," Alfred said. "Like lawyers in love. I just know if it wasn't for Chelle, I'd be out a boyfriend right now 'cause you'd have, like, run off together long ago."
"Then I am doubly glad I have her," Bonnefoy said, raising his glass in a salute. "To love!"
"Cheers," Arthur said, as everyone said it. He drank, and held his glass for Alfred to take a sip, and then he did kiss him, quickly, unable to resist lime and salt and Alfred.
To love, to affairs of the heart: he'd never given second chances, but he'd given Alfred second and third and been given them in return, and most of the moments so far had been worth it.
And thus, like a romance novel, it ends when the characters get together (plus a bonus dorky epilogue). Thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting!
I know it’s not perfect but hey, it was my first try at writing a “UKUS romance novel.” If there are any plot points I didn’t tie up but were important enough that I should have, please feel free to tell me! If there are any gaping plot holes, please feel free to note those also. There’s a lot I couldn’t cover because of my decision to write the whole thing in Arthur’s POV, and I tried to get Alfred’s personality across but I might have totally failed.
As for the name changes in these last chapters, let me plead that these are original characters who are Americans of international descent, not the nations, so I ask that you pardon me this. I used “Yong-Soo Choo” because Shin-Soo Choo is my favorite Korean baseball player and he rocks, so I used that name. And I have worked with a Judge Hardesty who was awesomesauce, thus using that last name for Elizaveta.
I might deanon this at some point, if it isn’t already obvious who wrote it. It is mostly unbeta-read, and so it needs a good, hard edit (unf) before I do anything of the sort.
“don't try to tell me you think it's all physical” ah ha, so that's why Affair of the Heart is appropriate! So much Rick Springfield, it's like I'm a teenager again..
Mariel was Philippines, wasn't she? You added an 'L' to her usual human name. This the second epic fic that has them as an off-screen pre-fic ship that fails. I'd suspect you of being the author of the other one, but you already said you don't do long fics often.
It's odd, Poland seems more manly, but still a himbo. His mental image feels like Kato Kaelin.
"To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
*cough*
*cough*
Pretty sure there are nudists who would wear no clothes BUT HAVE ARMSTRAPS for their phones.
'Lawyers in Love' is a song! (How hard did you have to resist making Alfred a lawyer too, so you could name this fic after that song?)
Thank you so much for writing! The only critique I can think of is that you do mental angst extremely well, but seem to let up on the pressure and start to drift when things are happy.
Someone used that as a pairing? Where was that, do you know? Gosh, no, this is the longest thing I've ever done.
And if there was anything in the "happy" bits you think could be elaborated on and feel like saying, please do. I'll admit at the end I was feeling a little "gotta wrap this up!"
As for music, I almost had Arthur be into glitter/David Bowie (and as a teenager, eyeliner) a la "Velvet Goldmine" but then I'dve had to set this fic in the 1990s. ;) So Rick Springfield it is.
Thank you again so much; having commentary makes my day!
The Russia/America fic For It Was I Who Chose To Start has America/Philippines as a failed ship in flashbacks.
Hmm, I don't know about specifics? It felt like Arthur's Happy Dream after the previous part's very punchy end. Perhaps too much telling, not showing? (Also, what was up with his ex, Christian?) There might have been some disapproving backlash for the FrUK dropin, it seemed like a left turn away from the focus.
While I'm commenting again, let me say how much I loved Portia/Portugal. She was so cute.
I've really enjoyed keeping up with this fill! I think it's a perfect level of (believable) drama and I could really feel the attraction between Alfred and Arthur. Also I really liked your character Portia, she was fun! Thanks for a great read :)
This is a pretty good ending I think. It looks like you tied most if not all the loose ends and they got together. I do wish you would have written some of the part when Arthur and Alfred are together for the first time as a couple. Shameless I know. Anyway, I'm sad this is over.
I've been dying to read this last bit, but haven't been able to because of life. It was certainly worth the wait. I love the way everything was resolved, and I think it was done quite well.
I am so completely excited about the baseball references in this fic, even though they were just a few. I love you so much for that. OMG! I don't even. I could totally hug you right now. Have all my cookies. Something! Shin-Soo Choo is a fantastic player. He did too well against my favorite team--though they aren't doing well, and I don't want to talk about that or I'll start babbling.
I'm not sure I'm feeling that extra little bit with Christian, even though it was brief mention. It just seemed, I don't know. *shrugs*
I like the Arthur and Alfred still have problems and Arthur mentions that quite a bit, but as come to accept it. To accept Alfred and someone else being in his life. They compliment each other quite well.
Some random thing I'm wondering...is Alfred going to be able to build is fortune back up. I'm thinking that he would, because he seems to be a genius at real estate.
Anyway, let it be known when you de-anon? Maybe? Please?
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All Right, Tonight (Part 58/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:38 pm (UTC)(link)At three-thirty the door intercom buzzed. That happened so rarely Arthur was surprised into staring at the door with raised eyebrows until the intercom buzzed again. "Pardon me," he said, arising. "Strange; I'm not expecting anyone."
He said hello into the intercom and nearly jumped out of his socks when he heard Alfred's voice in reply.
"Hi, it's Al. Looks like you're home. Can I come up for a few minutes?"
"Uh," Arthur said in lame reply. He glanced back at Portia and Yong and they looked quickly at each other so as not to be caught staring. Portia began to whisper something, presumably explanation. Arthur pressed the reply button. "You didn't call--"
"Because I figured the only way to get you was to corner you in your den, ha ha."
Still Arthur stalled. He was in his socks, he had company, his heart was racing fit to make him faint and ... he had no idea what to do. "How did you find out where I live?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the intercom. "Old-fashioned sleuthing. You're in the phone book, Arthur. Listen, if you don't want to--"
Arthur shook his head to clear it. "No, no, of course. Come on up."
"Hoookay."
Arthur looked back at Portia and Yong, who were quite studiously not looking at him. "Ah, sorry, but this shouldn't be long--"
Portia blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. "Stoopid, this is your home. And you definitely need to talk to him."
"Should we leave?" Yong asked.
"No, I need reinforcements, haha," Arthur said. Moments later there was a knock at the door, and Arthur took a deep breath and opened it.
And Alfred was there, wearing jeans and a brown bomber-style ski jacket with a number fifty on the breast over a stars-and-stripes tee-shirt and under a hesitant smile and he looked -- wonderful. "Hi. Oh, God, you have company. No wonder you were -- want me to go away?"
At the sight of him, Arthur felt as if a switch had flipped on somewhere in his brain, lighting up his body, loosening his tied tongue and brain. "No, don't be foolish. I already said to come up, did I not? You've met Portia Galati, and this is Yong-Soo Choo, Portia's gentleman friend. This is Alfred Jones, a -- well, I confess I'm not sure how to describe you, Alfred."
"As long as it's nice. Hi again. Good to meet you." He came inside the door and waved at Arthur's company, then stood looking around for a moment. He spotted something on the wall to the left, Arthur's wall of knickknacks, and took a few quick steps for a closer look. "Ooh, are these your souvenirs, Arthur? What awesome stuff! Are these your clay lemurs from Madagascar that you were talking bout?"
Even Portia, who saw those weekly, wouldn't have remembered them. Arthur had mentioned them very briefly to Alfred that night at the bar. Arthur's knees almost gave out as he fell more irrevocably in love than ever.
"Yes. Yes, they are," Arthur said.
Something in his voice or demeanor spurred Portia to stand. She dragged Yong up with her.
"We are definitely leaving you two to be private," she said.
Arthur and Alfred both protested, but she held out her palm in a talk-to-the-hand gesture. "No. Come on, honey." As they passed on their way to the coat closet, Portia made kissy-face at Arthur and then looked at Alfred. "If you manage to hang around that long, maybe we can all do dinner. It'll have to be your restaurant, since we don't have reservations anywhere. Your treat?"
"Absolutely," Alfred said with a grin.
"Goodbye," Yong said after they'd grabbed their coats, and then they were gone.
"So," Alfred said. He had his hands in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, another of his teenagerish postures.
"So," Arthur echoed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred beat him to it.
"I tried to look for you after the hearing, but you were gone," he said.
All Right, Tonight (Part 59/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:39 pm (UTC)(link)Something had given it to Alfred as well. "Yeah? Me too," he said. "Because you never called. But I came over anyway, because I thought you were worth pursuing. You're kind of a jerk sometimes, though, Arthur."
Arthur was more warmed all over by that worth pursuing than he was offended by that jerk. "And you are a twit," he replied. "I was trying to give you space to deal with ... whatever feelings you had. I got the idea that my being around was not helping you emotionally. It certainly wasn't helping me."
Alfred sighed long and slow, visibly sagging with the release of air and whatever tension had been trapped in it. "You're right."
Arthur only looked at him: to verify that would be overkill, and he didn't want to speak and possibly jeopardize their truce in communication.
Alfred pulled off his coat and raised an eyebrow at the chair sitting in front of Arthur's Louis Quinze. Reminded of their second-to-last meeting, Arthur nodded. Alfred hung his coat over the chair. He plopped himself onto the sofa.
"Wine? Tea?" Arthur stirred himself to ask.
"Not right now, thanks." Alfred crossed his legs, showing socks to match his tee-shirt. "I've warned you that I'm not good at this. And it seems it's always a bad time to really talk for us, anyway. But I'm sorry about that night at the bar. I always had a thing for you, Arthur, though I was trying not to push it. But, well, when I learned I wasn't the father of Mariel's baby I just sorta ... went a little stupid."
But, but but. Arthur knew the feeling. He sat next to Alfred. "I appreciate you saying that."
"Oh. That's good. I'm glad." Alfred did not look at Arthur but watched his own fingers, twiddling in his lap.
Arthur continued. "I had a thing for you, too. And I should have kept a better distance, not only because of our legal relationship, but considering the loss of your marriage and ... everything else as well."
Alfred waved and sniffed. "Unfortunately, our marriage was over months ago. I mean, I worked days and she worked nights. We hardly saw each other, this past year. I guess I just didn't realize we were growing apart so much? Obviously, she found someone else. I thought they were just friends, and she thought I didn't care.
"But it was me, too. Like that night we got together. You and me. I was -- I was feeling guilty and stuff. Being with you and liking that, when, like, she wouldn't even talk to me and it was all my fault that I didn't -- I didn't love her enough to keep her happy."
"Oh, love," Arthur said at the catch in Alfred's voice. He pulled Alfred's head down to his shoulder and patted it. He'd was learning more about Alfred's marriage in these few minutes than he had the entire two months of their acquaintance. It was overwhelming and freeing at the same time. How had he ever thought Alfred full of TMI? And he himself thought his heart was on his sleeve, but he had probably been as transparent as a brick. "I was so jealous and put-upon, too. Pardon."
"Ooh, I like it when you talk to me like that, Arthur," Alfred said, and Arthur pinched his ear. "Ow. But seriously. We talked a lot on Wednesday. When she filed for divorce she wouldn't discuss it because she knew she was pregnant and totally panicked. She sort of knew it was Felix's all along but she couldn't prove it. Her lawyer didn't even know and she just let him call the shots. I'm still ticked about that. And I'm definitely pissed at Felix but I guess I have to move on."
"What else can you do?" Arthur soothed, rubbing the hair behind Alfred's ears. There had been nothing sinister in their divorce all along, only human emotions, human failings making them all behave foolishly.
Alfred twisted his head to look Arthur in the eye. "I'm kind of in love with you, Arthur. Can we try again, maybe? Now that we're on the same page, at least, even if it's not a clean one? I can't promise to talk about my emotions this well all the time, but can you be nicer to me, you think?"
All Right, Tonight (Part 60/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:40 pm (UTC)(link)"I hope that's a British 'mad'," Alfred said. He pulled out of Arthur's clasp and sat up. He leaned in close. "Can we try again, and do it with sex? You make me really hot."
Yes, yes, yes, Arthur thought again. "How about we take it a little more slowly," Arthur actually said. "You are much too used to getting what you want."
"Already you're not being nice to me," Alfred pouted. But he leaned in for a kiss, and Arthur indulged him in that. And again it was better than Arthur had imagined in the moments before it. There it was, that spark, this time with open, admitted feelings ignited behind it. Would there ever come a time when it wouldn't feel so to kiss Alfred? Arthur hoped not.
They adjusted themselves on the sofa so they could snog more comfortably. And Arthur told himself that simply making out was taking it slowly, no matter if his nether regions felt otherwise. Alfred's did as well, but both of them managed to ignore those facts in favor of snuggling close and saying meaningless things in soft voices.
"Did you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" Alfred did point out during a brief respite.
Arthur consulted his head-calendar. "So it is. But it's too early to wish you happy birthday, so I shan't."
"So mean!"
"So needy!" Maybe Arthur wasn't exactly being nice, but he wasn't being not-nice, either. He was being himself, and vowed that from this point on, any pages written in their relationship would contain nothing short of that. He owed it to both of them. He didn't want to have The Preciseness In Speech talk with himself.
Arthur's resolve to take things slowly, however, only lasted until about halfway through dinner: Alfred was just so ... attractive and charming, speaking Japanese with Yong and making Portia snort her wine by telling her how Arthur's scones were so hard he'd at first mistaken them for souvenir rocks from Antarctica or something.
Arthur managed to keep his hands off Alfred until they exited the restaurant, at least, where the doorman told them "PDA, boys," and their cabbie, an Asian woman of indeterminate age, simply shook her head at them in the rearview mirror. She didn't seem overly scandalized at their teenagerish behavior in the back of her taxi.
But Arthur was giddy, so happy he could have Alfred, guilt-free. His body wanted to throw a party. A sex party.
Back at his home Arthur did manage to make love to Alfred slowly, at first, anyway. Wrapped in his sheets, wrapped around each other so tightly Arthur could barely move, he barely moved, opening Alfred until he was convex, arched against Arthur's pillows. He looked well there.
"I do love you, even if you are very silly," Arthur whispered as he fucked him even sillier, and Alfred made wanton and reciprocal-sounding noises. And afterwards they skipped the cigarette and kept the afterglow confined to Arthur's bed.
At one point Alfred confessed, "If you hadn't let me in today, I was going to stand in front of your building holding a boom-box like John Cusack."
"I'd've never heard you," Arthur said, nuzzling Alfred's ear.
"I know. Good thing you let me come up."
"Hmm," Arthur said, drifting off. Just before sleep, he had a thought. "What song would you have played?"
"Probably Affair of the Heart."
Arthur considered that. "It would have been a good choice," he mumbled.
He didn't care what Lars said: he was having fun, and planned to do so for as long as he could.
***
All Right, Tonight (Part 61/62) (Epilogue)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)Arthur wondered how it was that, during their long winter, he'd ever wished for warmer weather. It was only the beginning of July and already they'd had weeks of oppressive heat, the days unrelentingly humid and in the nineties. That was much too close to boiling, Arthur's British-born brain kept trying to tell him.
He stood under the covered porch in H.F. Bonnefoy's backyard, sipped the last of a formerly icy margarita with a "Happy Fourth of July!" sign stuck in it, and tried not to sweat. He also tried to avoid staring too long at anyone in particular, because most of the party guests were naked.
It had been billed as a "clothing optional and discouraged" party. Being a party pooper from way back, however, Arthur was keeping his shorts firmly on.
Of course Alfred had gotten into the spirit. He was unclothed and chattering away at Bonnefoy's (also naked) wife, unselfconscious as the day he'd been born. Arthur kept a tight grip on Alfred's fingers at his side and tried to re-follow the conversation, which had lingered too long on the plight of the Chicago Cubs.
"Their farm system is deep. Give them a few years," Chelle Bonnefoy was saying in her French-African-Hawaiian-accented voice. Like her Gallic husband she gestured with sweeping movements as she spoke, sending her various body parts bouncing about. "To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
"How can anyone be patient when they keep trading their best players away?" Alfred protested.
Arthur was almost glad for the interruption when Bonnefoy (also naked) sauntered by, followed by a (naked) girl carrying a tray of drinks. Bonnefoy leered at them all, showing only a small frown at Arthur's shorts.
He gestured at the girl next to him. "Anyone need their refreshments refreshed? So warm today! The ice melts almost before it hits the bottom of the glass, yes? Oh, if you are afraid of a sunburn, Arthur, we have plenty of sunscreen."
"I am quite comfortable, thank you," Arthur told him. He did toss back the dregs of his margarita and traded the glass for a fuller, colder one. That one had a plastic Uncle Sam stuck into it.
"Ooh, can I have a sip?" Alfred asked.
"You may have one of your own, my dear," Bonnefoy told him with another leer. Arthur had to resist the urge to stand in front of Alfred.
"Not until after I have a swim. I'm a crappy swimmer when I'm drunk."
"You do many things very badly when you are drunk," Arthur pointed out, but he handed over his drink. He'd never used to like sharing beverages, but when you'd swapped as many body fluids as they had, it sort of ceased to be a problem.
He watched Alfred sample the margarita and make a face at the alcoholic kick. It wasn't a bad face -- it was very cute, in fact -- and when he returned Arthur's drink he had salt stuck to the corner of his lip. Arthur wanted to lean forward and lick it off, but not being the exhibitionist everyone else clearly was, contented himself with brushing it away with his thumb. Alfred grinned at him and squeezed his fingers.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat; still he was unused to the idea of being so comfortable with someone he desperately cared for, someone who wanted to be with him in return. It was rather breathtaking.
Alfred was far from perfect, but then so was he. And he'd discovered that even after only a few months, intimate relationships of the sort they were conducting came with their own, unexpected issues: annoyances and changed expectations, things that required discussion or at least honesty, things that were still not easy for either of them.
And little things. Like, Alfred hated his alarm clock. Once he'd sneak-reprogrammed it to wake Arthur with dialogue from Star Wars. Arthur had given him the Controlling Your Impulses With Other People's Things Talk, and Alfred had countered with a You Blow Things Out Of Proportion lecture. Arthur had spent an hour sulking and trying to re-record his voice exactly as he'd had it. Perhaps he had blown it out of proportion, but still. And there was worse to come: horror of horrors, Alfred did not care for Indian food.
All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 01:42 pm (UTC)(link)Portia was learning these things as well. She'd managed to stay the course with Yong, for nearly as long as Arthur had known her to keep any man.
She was supposed to be coming to the party, in fact, though he could not see that she'd arrived. As if on cue his phone buzzed and Arthur pulled it from his pocket. That was a benefit to wearing clothing among the naked: he had somewhere to put his things.
It was a text from Portia. can you tell htem we're running late sorry? And are you wearing clothes?
Yes and YES, Arthur texted back.
"There's one good thing about being naked-- you can enjoy a party without being a slave to technology," Alfred teased.
"It was Portia. They're running late. And you're just jealous because you wish you had somewhere to keep your own phone, addict," Arthur told him.
"Never fear, Alfred; I could help you stow your phone if you really wished," Bonnefoy said, to an accompanying salacious giggle from Chelle.
Arthur narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a fierce glare. "You're just begging for a furtive shove into the pool when you least expect it, Bonnefoy," he said.
"Your empty threats don't frighten me, Englishman," Bonnefoy told him with a raised eyebrow.
"You guys are too cute," Alfred said. "Like lawyers in love. I just know if it wasn't for Chelle, I'd be out a boyfriend right now 'cause you'd have, like, run off together long ago."
"Then I am doubly glad I have her," Bonnefoy said, raising his glass in a salute. "To love!"
"Cheers," Arthur said, as everyone said it. He drank, and held his glass for Alfred to take a sip, and then he did kiss him, quickly, unable to resist lime and salt and Alfred.
To love, to affairs of the heart: he'd never given second chances, but he'd given Alfred second and third and been given them in return, and most of the moments so far had been worth it.
END
Thank you for reading!
________________________________________
Shortish Author’s Notes!
And thus, like a romance novel, it ends when the characters get together (plus a bonus dorky epilogue). Thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting!
I know it’s not perfect but hey, it was my first try at writing a “UKUS romance novel.” If there are any plot points I didn’t tie up but were important enough that I should have, please feel free to tell me! If there are any gaping plot holes, please feel free to note those also. There’s a lot I couldn’t cover because of my decision to write the whole thing in Arthur’s POV, and I tried to get Alfred’s personality across but I might have totally failed.
As for the name changes in these last chapters, let me plead that these are original characters who are Americans of international descent, not the nations, so I ask that you pardon me this. I used “Yong-Soo Choo” because Shin-Soo Choo is my favorite Korean baseball player and he rocks, so I used that name. And I have worked with a Judge Hardesty who was awesomesauce, thus using that last name for Elizaveta.
I might deanon this at some point, if it isn’t already obvious who wrote it. It is mostly unbeta-read, and so it needs a good, hard edit (unf) before I do anything of the sort.
Thank you again!!
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)Mariel was Philippines, wasn't she? You added an 'L' to her usual human name. This the second epic fic that has them as an off-screen pre-fic ship that fails. I'd suspect you of being the author of the other one, but you already said you don't do long fics often.
It's odd, Poland seems more manly, but still a himbo. His mental image feels like Kato Kaelin.
"To be a true Cubs fan, you have to be patient."
*cough*
*cough*
Pretty sure there are nudists who would wear no clothes BUT HAVE ARMSTRAPS for their phones.
'Lawyers in Love' is a song! (How hard did you have to resist making Alfred a lawyer too, so you could name this fic after that song?)
Thank you so much for writing! The only critique I can think of is that you do mental angst extremely well, but seem to let up on the pressure and start to drift when things are happy.
a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-09 08:21 pm (UTC)(link)Someone used that as a pairing? Where was that, do you know? Gosh, no, this is the longest thing I've ever done.
And if there was anything in the "happy" bits you think could be elaborated on and feel like saying, please do. I'll admit at the end I was feeling a little "gotta wrap this up!"
As for music, I almost had Arthur be into glitter/David Bowie (and as a teenager, eyeliner) a la "Velvet Goldmine" but then I'dve had to set this fic in the 1990s. ;) So Rick Springfield it is.
Thank you again so much; having commentary makes my day!
/ wondering if everyone hates the ending
Re: a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-09 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)Hmm, I don't know about specifics? It felt like Arthur's Happy Dream after the previous part's very punchy end. Perhaps too much telling, not showing? (Also, what was up with his ex, Christian?) There might have been some disapproving backlash for the FrUK dropin, it seemed like a left turn away from the focus.
While I'm commenting again, let me say how much I loved Portia/Portugal. She was so cute.
Re: a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-10 02:05 am (UTC)(link)Yes, my rare attempt at fluff was very tell-y, so I think you are correct.
Christian, I think, was just a sort-of ex-but-not-really and was only made interested again by Arthur being with someone else.
♥♥
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-09 09:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-10 02:40 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-19 01:30 am (UTC)(link)I am so completely excited about the baseball references in this fic, even though they were just a few. I love you so much for that. OMG! I don't even. I could totally hug you right now. Have all my cookies. Something! Shin-Soo Choo is a fantastic player. He did too well against my favorite team--though they aren't doing well, and I don't want to talk about that or I'll start babbling.
I'm not sure I'm feeling that extra little bit with Christian, even though it was brief mention. It just seemed, I don't know. *shrugs*
I like the Arthur and Alfred still have problems and Arthur mentions that quite a bit, but as come to accept it. To accept Alfred and someone else being in his life. They compliment each other quite well.
Some random thing I'm wondering...is Alfred going to be able to build is fortune back up. I'm thinking that he would, because he seems to be a genius at real estate.
Anyway, let it be known when you de-anon? Maybe? Please?
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-21 03:38 pm (UTC)(link)I suspect that his fortune, even at 60 percent, is still large enough for any one person to have, but yeah, he'll get more. :)