#cecilfred

Alfred could be so bothersome. Cecil could feel his face pressed against the nape of their neck, his eyelashes tickling their skin and raising goosebumps, his nose-not unpleasantly-resting on the point where neck and shoulder met. Alfred’s breath is soft, yet warm on the shell of their ear. The man always insisted on cuddling as often as possible, Cecil had learned as they grew closer, his arms wrapped tightly around their middle as if to stop them from escaping, legs tangled, not a millimeter of space between their bodies. Not like there was much room on the battered old bed they were on, anyway, but finding intact enough places to rest in Yharnam was becoming difficult enough. There were solid walls, a roof, and a bed-and a fellow hunter who was more than happy to keep them warm. 

What was supposed to just be some no strings attached fun with their favorite toy had quickly spiraled into uncomfortable and vulnerable affection. At first, Cecil had been happy to poke and prod at Alfred for blushes, stammered responses or anger, even blows when they really wanted some fun. When they had enticed him into the bedroom-they remembered his awkward admission of his virginity, and their own sardonic response of “I know.”-they had damned themselves, for halfway through, Alfred had gazed at them with such dreamy, lovestruck eyes, smiling up at them blissfully, sending an arrow into their heart. 

The man had made himself into the perfect tool, a sword begging to be unsheathed, a dog desperate for anyone to hold his leash. Unfortunately, that tool, that sword, that dog, was also disarmingly loyal, sweetly affectionate, endearingly naive, and quite pretty, especially when flushed pink, slick with sweat, deep in ecstasy.

As well as their cunt.

It did not matter that the poor, lonely, love starved fool would have probably fallen deeply in love with anyone who would have given him the time of day, let alone their body for a brief moment, but that look had been for Cecil and Cecil alone.

They were not sure if they could call it love, but they certainly cared. Which made everything more difficult, but they would indulge Alfred’s desires for kisses and embraces, to sweep them off their feet when playful and to prattle on about nothing for hours, his insistence for a post coital cuddle.

Worst of all, they enjoyed it. What was supposed to be their hound on a leash was dragging them along instead.

Cecil felt Alfred press a tender kiss to the back of their neck, then give a content sigh as he adjusted himself, sliding his hands just underneath their breasts.

Is this really all it took to make him happy? A cozy bosie? It must be nice to be such a simple mutt, they think uncharitably. Alfred would be happy laying at the foot of the bed, joyfully living off of whatever few scraps of praise and affection Cecil would deign to give him. What a low price he sells himself at, the poor fool.

“How was this not beaten out of you?” They whispered.

“What?” Alfred's voice is soft, sleepy. Cecil wondered if he heard what they said. They feel his hand move downwards, resting on their hip.

“You’re a church boy, same as me. How are you still so damn…” Cecil could not find the words. The tickle of Alfred's breath on their nape was suddenly too distracting, so intimate.

“I’m not following, Cecil.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Thank you.” Alfred murmured, sounding like he was ready to fall asleep once more. Cecil felt him press his face against their back.

“You’re vulnerable.”

“Oh, here I thought you were being nice to me. My mistake.” He replied, muffled by Cecil's cotton nightshirt.

“You would have never made it. Not in the choir.” Cecil muttered. “Always exposing your throat-” Cecil gasped as Alfred suddenly straddled them, moving faster than expected for someone seemingly so spent.

“My dear Cecil.” Alfred laid down, putting his entire weight on top of them-not an unpleasant feeling, once Cecil is able to get air back into their lungs. 

“When was the last time we slept?” His voice was low, almost sultry. “More importantly, when was the last time you slept?” A calloused finger traced the bags under their eyes.  

“I don’t need sleep.” 

“You do not have a choice.” Alfred replied cheerily. He mercifully shifts himself so he is half on top of Cecil, half on the bed, but he snakes an arm around Cecil’s waist to be sure that they are not going anywhere.