Benedict Arnold

We’ll give you a shiny new uniform

I’ll add £2 to the deal

£7 and yes we’re married @ask-benedict-arnold can confirm

We did get married in the mountains.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

André, blinking in faint confusion, reached to cup Arnold’s face in his hands. “I know you feel the same, Commander.”

Following Arnold’s gaze and seeing Henry, André froze. He began to say something, then closed his mouth. His hands still lingered, unthinking, on Arnold’s cheeks.

“Oh. Not ideal,” André offered after a moment, looking at the hallway where Henry had just been. “Well. Okay.”

Arnold frowned, looking to the side. “He was tired.” Though even he didn’t look convinced that it was enough to prevent Henry from telling anyone else.

André stepped closer and set a hand on Arnold’s arm. “He…he won’t understand, I’m sure. He’ll forget about it.”

Arnold shut his eyes, trying to ground himself. “I still shouldn’t have…” his voice trailed off.

“There is no world in which this is your fault, Arnold,” André hushed, glancing cautiously at the hallway before pulling him into an embrace. “But we should be more…careful.”

Arnold buried his face in André’s shoulder momentarily. “Yeah…” he spared a glance at the hallway once more before forcing himself to relax.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

André, blinking in faint confusion, reached to cup Arnold’s face in his hands. “I know you feel the same, Commander.”

Following Arnold’s gaze and seeing Henry, André froze. He began to say something, then closed his mouth. His hands still lingered, unthinking, on Arnold’s cheeks.

“Oh. Not ideal,” André offered after a moment, looking at the hallway where Henry had just been. “Well. Okay.”

Arnold frowned, looking to the side. “He was tired.” Though even he didn’t look convinced that it was enough to prevent Henry from telling anyone else.

André stepped closer and set a hand on Arnold’s arm. “He…he won’t understand, I’m sure. He’ll forget about it.”

Arnold shut his eyes, trying to ground himself. “I still shouldn’t have…” his voice trailed off.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

André, blinking in faint confusion, reached to cup Arnold’s face in his hands. “I know you feel the same, Commander.”

Following Arnold’s gaze and seeing Henry, André froze. He began to say something, then closed his mouth. His hands still lingered, unthinking, on Arnold’s cheeks.

“Oh. Not ideal,” André offered after a moment, looking at the hallway where Henry had just been. “Well. Okay.”

Arnold frowned, looking to the side. “He was tired.” Though even he didn’t look convinced that it was enough to prevent Henry from telling anyone else.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

André, blinking in faint confusion, reached to cup Arnold’s face in his hands. “I know you feel the same, Commander.”

Following Arnold’s gaze and seeing Henry, André froze. He began to say something, then closed his mouth. His hands still lingered, unthinking, on Arnold’s cheeks.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

André, blinking in faint confusion, reached to cup Arnold’s face in his hands. “I know you feel the same, Commander.”

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“I’d live under no rock, not even the Moon,” André hummed, pressing a kiss to Arnold’s jaw.

Arnold let a chuckle slip, looking at André with amusement. “I can tell.” Though he quickly got distracted by movement in the hallway. He froze up for a second before pushing André away and folding his arms casually.

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“I’ll introduce you to the civilized world one of these days,” André teased, walking up behind Arnold and simply setting both hands on his shoulders.

Arnold smirked and turned his head slightly to look at André. “What if I like my uncultured life? It’s quite cozy living under a rock.”

“Uncultured,” André said between a yawn, before he saw the box Arnold had procured, and his expression turned to one of delight.

Arnold set it on the cabinet and turned his attention to his coffee machine. “I’m not English.”

“Lovely to see you,” André beamed and held out his hand. “How are you today?”

Arnold took it awkwardly. “Alright, thank you. How are you, Mr. André?” He tried to ignore anyone else who may see them.

André seemed vaguely surprised at the lingering hold, but brushed off the misunderstood handshake, using it to pull Arnold closer. “Better now that you’re here.”

Arnold was trying not to fidget as much as possible to little avail. “That’s…good?” He managed to force out.

“Splendid,” André smiled softly, resting his other hand on his shoulder. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

Arnold looked back at the Washington Post building uneasily. “Anywhere away from here is fine. I’m not picky.”

“As you wish, sir,” André mock bowed and opened the door of his car for Arnold. “I’ll surprise you.”

Arnold carefully got in and gave André a half-smile. “Thank you, Mr. André.”

André drove him to a restaurant—painfully upscale, painfully busy, and swarming with eyes. He hummed, oblivious, to some faint music he’d played on the radio, and once again opened the door for Arnold.

Arnold stepped out—forcing himself to relax and try to ignore the nagging fear that he could be recognized with André.

“I realize it was awfully uncouth of me,” André said once they’d been seated, “To not take you out to dinner first. I will make it up to you tonight.”

Arnold smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. André.”

“And you’re very sweet, Mr. Arnold,” he reached for his hand over the table. “Perhaps it is in your power to convince me that journalists are not all devices of the devil.”

Arnold perked up a bit. “Well, I find it important to maintain the ethics of professional journalism established by the Society of Professional Journalists. It’s an actual job you know.”

André raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is ethical how you would describe our previous meeting, Mr. Arnold?”

Arnold grimaced at the memory. “Well, I try most of the time.”

“Hm. Well, it’s ethical if no journalism or investigation occurs during such liaisons, no?” André pulled the notepad, filled with Arnold’s scrawled handwriting, out of his coat pocket.

Arnold held his breath as he watched André take out his notepad. “…It would be more ethical for me.” He relented.

André glanced over the notes. “Indeed. And, I would perhaps like to know you as something other than a connection or a source.”

Arnold took one of André’s hands into his own to distract him from the notepad. “I’m sure it could happen…”

André grinned and slid the notepad over the table. “In that case, shall we retreat to somewhere more private after dinner?”

Arnold quickly pocketed the notepad in his jacket while keeping that smile on his lips. “Well, I wouldn’t mind that, Mr. André.”

“Lovely to see you,” André beamed and held out his hand. “How are you today?”

Arnold took it awkwardly. “Alright, thank you. How are you, Mr. André?” He tried to ignore anyone else who may see them.

André seemed vaguely surprised at the lingering hold, but brushed off the misunderstood handshake, using it to pull Arnold closer. “Better now that you’re here.”

Arnold was trying not to fidget as much as possible to little avail. “That’s…good?” He managed to force out.

“Splendid,” André smiled softly, resting his other hand on his shoulder. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

Arnold looked back at the Washington Post building uneasily. “Anywhere away from here is fine. I’m not picky.”

“As you wish, sir,” André mock bowed and opened the door of his car for Arnold. “I’ll surprise you.”

Arnold carefully got in and gave André a half-smile. “Thank you, Mr. André.”

André drove him to a restaurant—painfully upscale, painfully busy, and swarming with eyes. He hummed, oblivious, to some faint music he’d played on the radio, and once again opened the door for Arnold.

Arnold stepped out—forcing himself to relax and try to ignore the nagging fear that he could be recognized with André.

“I realize it was awfully uncouth of me,” André said once they’d been seated, “To not take you out to dinner first. I will make it up to you tonight.”

Arnold smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. André.”

“And you’re very sweet, Mr. Arnold,” he reached for his hand over the table. “Perhaps it is in your power to convince me that journalists are not all devices of the devil.”

Arnold perked up a bit. “Well, I find it important to maintain the ethics of professional journalism established by the Society of Professional Journalists. It’s an actual job you know.”

André raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is ethical how you would describe our previous meeting, Mr. Arnold?”

Arnold grimaced at the memory. “Well, I try most of the time.”

“Hm. Well, it’s ethical if no journalism or investigation occurs during such liaisons, no?” André pulled the notepad, filled with Arnold’s scrawled handwriting, out of his coat pocket.

Arnold held his breath as he watched André take out his notepad. “…It would be more ethical for me.” He relented.

André glanced over the notes. “Indeed. And, I would perhaps like to know you as something other than a connection or a source.”

Arnold took one of André’s hands into his own to distract him from the notepad. “I’m sure it could happen…”

“Lovely to see you,” André beamed and held out his hand. “How are you today?”

Arnold took it awkwardly. “Alright, thank you. How are you, Mr. André?” He tried to ignore anyone else who may see them.

André seemed vaguely surprised at the lingering hold, but brushed off the misunderstood handshake, using it to pull Arnold closer. “Better now that you’re here.”

Arnold was trying not to fidget as much as possible to little avail. “That’s…good?” He managed to force out.

“Splendid,” André smiled softly, resting his other hand on his shoulder. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

Arnold looked back at the Washington Post building uneasily. “Anywhere away from here is fine. I’m not picky.”

“As you wish, sir,” André mock bowed and opened the door of his car for Arnold. “I’ll surprise you.”

Arnold carefully got in and gave André a half-smile. “Thank you, Mr. André.”

André drove him to a restaurant—painfully upscale, painfully busy, and swarming with eyes. He hummed, oblivious, to some faint music he’d played on the radio, and once again opened the door for Arnold.

Arnold stepped out—forcing himself to relax and try to ignore the nagging fear that he could be recognized with André.

“I realize it was awfully uncouth of me,” André said once they’d been seated, “To not take you out to dinner first. I will make it up to you tonight.”

Arnold smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. André.”

“And you’re very sweet, Mr. Arnold,” he reached for his hand over the table. “Perhaps it is in your power to convince me that journalists are not all devices of the devil.”

Arnold perked up a bit. “Well, I find it important to maintain the ethics of professional journalism established by the Society of Professional Journalists. It’s an actual job you know.”

André raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is ethical how you would describe our previous meeting, Mr. Arnold?”

Arnold grimaced at the memory. “Well, I try most of the time.”

“Hm. Well, it’s ethical if no journalism or investigation occurs during such liaisons, no?” André pulled the notepad, filled with Arnold’s scrawled handwriting, out of his coat pocket.

Arnold held his breath as he watched André take out his notepad. “…It would be more ethical for me.” He relented.

“Lovely to see you,” André beamed and held out his hand. “How are you today?”

Arnold took it awkwardly. “Alright, thank you. How are you, Mr. André?” He tried to ignore anyone else who may see them.

André seemed vaguely surprised at the lingering hold, but brushed off the misunderstood handshake, using it to pull Arnold closer. “Better now that you’re here.”

Arnold was trying not to fidget as much as possible to little avail. “That’s…good?” He managed to force out.

“Splendid,” André smiled softly, resting his other hand on his shoulder. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

Arnold looked back at the Washington Post building uneasily. “Anywhere away from here is fine. I’m not picky.”

“As you wish, sir,” André mock bowed and opened the door of his car for Arnold. “I’ll surprise you.”

Arnold carefully got in and gave André a half-smile. “Thank you, Mr. André.”

André drove him to a restaurant—painfully upscale, painfully busy, and swarming with eyes. He hummed, oblivious, to some faint music he’d played on the radio, and once again opened the door for Arnold.

Arnold stepped out—forcing himself to relax and try to ignore the nagging fear that he could be recognized with André.

“I realize it was awfully uncouth of me,” André said once they’d been seated, “To not take you out to dinner first. I will make it up to you tonight.”

Arnold smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. André.”

“And you’re very sweet, Mr. Arnold,” he reached for his hand over the table. “Perhaps it is in your power to convince me that journalists are not all devices of the devil.”

Arnold perked up a bit. “Well, I find it important to maintain the ethics of professional journalism established by the Society of Professional Journalists. It’s an actual job you know.”

André raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is ethical how you would describe our previous meeting, Mr. Arnold?”

Arnold grimaced at the memory. “Well, I try most of the time.”