#clocks writes

“My word!”

Alfred looked up from his book, eyes drawn towards the door where his father’s muffled voice had carried over the sound of the rain. It had been dreary all day and though Alfred had quite the mind that morning to get up and go and call on Miss Vogel, his mother had refused to let him leave out of fear from the rain. Alfred didn’t like the rain, but he wasn’t afraid of a little bit of it, but now glancing out into the growing storm he couldn’t help being quite glad his mother hadn’t allowed him to go.

The windows rattled with the force of the wind, prompting Alfred up out of his chair to shut the curtain in the hopes it would keep out some of the draft. However, glancing out of the window, he paused. Far below, through the blurry film of water upon the windowpane, Alfred caught sight of a shadowy figure approaching their doorstep.

Alfred frowned. They could have no visitor at this hour, and certainly not in such weather, but the sound of his father’s voice carrying up the stairs once again drew his attention back. Whoever it was was certainly unexpected, perhaps it was simply a messenger.

He shut the curtains, stopping briefly to retrieve his book before he wandered out onto the landing, curious to see if he could catch sight of the messenger before they left and pester his father for the contents of the message.

But as he crept down the stairs, he found no messenger standing in the doorway, but a very sodden looking Mr Arthur Kirkland trying to ward off the towels passed to him.

“Mr Jones this is very kind of you but I was only stopping-”

“Nonsense Mr Kirkland, it’s storming out there and I cannot have you heading further out into it. You will undoubtedly catch a chill and my wife will never forgive me for the loss of such a fine young man.”

“I do appreciate your concern but I am expected at my mother’s house-”

“Then I will send a message as soon as the rain clears ahead of you to apologise for holding you back. I would rather be reprimanded for making you late than be responsible for your illness, sir.”

Mr Kirkland once again opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat as Alfred took another step down and the wood creaked conspicuously beneath his foot. Both alphas turned in his direction, and Mr Kirkland’s expression flickered oddly, his mouth snapping shut against whatever protest he had previously been about to make.

“Sorry sir, should I have stayed upstairs?” Alfred turned slightly as if to retreat, though he had no interest in returning to his room when Mr Kirkland was stood dripping rainwater on their floor.

“Not at all Alfred,” His father smiled, though the expression was wry. “you would in fact be doing me much a service if you could convince Mr Kirkland not to run out into the rain again.”

Alfred turned his gaze to the alpha in question, though the moment their eyes met Mr Kirkland looked sharply away. Alfred was undeterred -- he’d grown used to the odd, stiff mannerisms of Mr Kirkland from the meetings they had so far enjoyed. At least, Alfred had enjoyed. He found Mr Kirkland more than a little intriguing.

Not to mention he could not help but find the way the rainwater dripped down his tensed jaw rather unbearably dashing.

“Well we cannot have that. You should allow us the pleasure of your company at dinner, Mr Kirkland, at least to excuse the puddle you are forming on our hallway floor.”

Mr Kirkland looked down self-consciously and had his cheeks and nose not already been flushed rosy with cold, Alfred was sure the alpha’s expression would have coloured with embarrassment.

“I, excuse me, I do apologise.”

Whatever easy eloquence with which he had been addressing Alfred’s father before seemed to have vanished; that caught and affected tone that so irritated and amused Alfred at once returning to his voice.

“There is nothing to apologise for, Mr Kirkland.” Mr Jones began again, grinning as a servant handed him another towel. “Though you should heed my son’s words and allow us the pleasure of your company.”

Mr Kirkland’s gaze lifted to Mr Jones, and for just a moment flickered to Alfred. He hesitated, once again some other comment on his lips that seemed to die as he turned from Alfred.

“It would be a pleasure to join you for dinner. But I do apologise for being such a terrible burden on your household.”

“Not at all, not at all Mr Kirkland.” Alfred watched as his father slung the towel around Mr Kirkland’s shoulders, pushing him gently towards the stairs which Alfred was quick to descend. “I’m sure my elder son’s clothes will be a fit for you, we must have you out of these sodden things at once or you will catch cold. Mary! Mary, show Mr Kirkland to our guest rooms…”

Alfred watched his father guide the servant about, looking up just in time to catch Mr Kirkland’s shy gaze upon him. Mr Kirkland was a strange alpha: though he exuded a kind of quiet confidence and pride among his peers, he became cold when made to socialise with any he didn’t already seem familiar with, and while he seemed to close in and shy away from all but a few of Alfred’s own looks, this was the third time Alfred had caught his gaze upon him. Another omega might well have been flattered, but the strange perceptive aura of Mr Kirkland’s handsome green eyes rather made Alfred feel that he was being picked apart for his flaws and not admired. Yet the man had asked him thrice to dance at the only two balls he had attended and blushed each time he’d had to take Alfred’s hand.

He was an odd enigma of an alpha, and Alfred took great pleasure in seeing the red upon his cheeks when he smiled at him as he passed up the stairs.

--

As it happened, Matthew’s clothes were the best fit in the house for Mr Kirkland. But Matthew was a slight taller than the other alpha, and broader too, which made the alpha appear slightly smaller than he really was. Alfred couldn’t help finding it just a little endearing, though he made sure to keep any sign of his thoughts out of his expression when Mr Kirkland joined them in the front room.

His hair was towel-dry, which only made the flyway strands sit lower than usual and his fringe fall into his eyes. He kept pushing it back in the most inconspicuous manner he could manage, though watching the hair fall into his eyes Alfred couldn’t quite ignore the desire to reach over and brush it aside for him. He didn’t of course, such an action was far too familiar and utterly improper -- but the thought of Mr Kirkland’s possible reaction did entertain Alfred.

Mr Kirkland was easily startled, oddly enough. Though Alfred had seen him unphased greeting an alpha who had clearly snuck up on him, he had once near jumped out of his skin when Alfred’s shoulder had accidentally brushed his in stepping too close.

He could only imagine that Mr Kirkland’s cheeks would colour delightfully if he were to brush his fringe from his eyes.

“You said you were heading to your father’s house, Mr Kirkland?”

Dinner had been served shortly after Mr Kirkland had dried and changed, which had been followed by an odd series of events wherein Matthew had made as subtle movement as he could to walk into the dining room immediately after Alfred. He couldn’t explain why, but they had ended up with an arrangement that left Mr Kirkland sitting opposite himself. If he were less rational he might have imagined that his family had engineered their seating for it.

Arthur didn’t know the first thing about science, despite eagerly listening to Alfred’s passionate ramblings about the solar system, but he did know that he was immensely proud of the man he was lucky enough to call his partner. Not only was he so visibly intelligent, but he was passionate, and funny, and considerate, and such an unbearable sweetheart that Arthur found himself thinking he might burst at times from overflowing with love for the man. But even with all his wonderful assets, Alfred was still a remarkable idiot.

It had sort of startled him at first, when the man in the cafe who told him all about the planetary system he was studying had turned up to their first official date complaining of the discomfort of his dress shoes, only for Arthur to point out that they were on the wrong feet. He constantly managed to surprise and entertain Arthur with the depth of his stupidity. Including the wonderful occasion he had, in checking if the milk was in date, upended the entire contents on himself for forgetting to replace the lid.

He was an awful scatterbrain, misplacing and forgetting things that had Arthur realising how truly, madly, deeply in love with Alfred he was, for if he’d had to drive to anyone else’s work with the pair of glasses they’d accidentally placed in the laundry for the third time he would surely have washed his hands of them. But Alfred did always greet him with the most adoring, sheepishly thankful smile whenever he replaced Alfred’s jar of pickles with the mug of coffee he had meant to drink and he would feel his knees weaken like some besotted teenager. Which, poetic sap that he was, he had to think was a true enough description of himself even as he broached thirty.

Though little of that passing stupidity would ever compare to that afternoon.

“What?” Arthur stared, blank and dumbfounded back at Alfred’s completely unassuming face.

“I said would you prefer it if I planned some fancy elaborate proposal or would you like a spur of the moment kinda thing? I wanna get it right.”

Arthur continued to stare, reeling from the implication, or rather brazenly straightforward meaning of those words. He was frozen, mug of tea stopped halfway to his mouth as Alfred stared right back at him, ever patient, evidently completely unaware of what he had just done.

Arthur attempted to swallow, willing some moisture back into his suddenly very dry throat.

“Sp-- Spontaneously, I suppose.” He eventually replied, voice hoarse and tongue heavy, feeling clumsy in his mouth as he found the reply.

And Alfred beamed at him. Unabashed and cheek-splittingly wide with such enthusiasm and warmth that had Arthur been the ice cube he so felt himself to be he should surely have melted on the spot.

“Great! I’ll remember that.” Alfred stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead as he grabbed his keys. “Text me if you remember anything we need.”

Arthur nodded dumbly, barely able to mumble his goodbye as Alfred left in pursuit of their weekly groceries. He stared after him even as the door closed, all but frozen to the spot as his mind whirred with his new reality. He reached out for the back of a kitchen chair, finding suddenly that he needed the support to sit before his legs gave out from under him. His mug was still gripped in one hand, reminding him with a start that he had in fact been doing something before Alfred had so nonchalantly and with not the slightest self-awareness bulldozed him once again with the extent of his stupidity.

The alpha addressed looked up sharply, the same dusting of colour that had decorated his cheeks when he’d met Alfred’s eye before once again returning to his features. Just as swiftly as Mr Kirkland had met his eye, his gaze was averted again, hidden in an excuse when the movement of their dance forced them apart momentarily.

Mr Kirkland was certainly odd. When he’d returned for Alfred’s hand for their first dance, he had been so stiff and short with his expressions in taking the omega’s arm that Alfred might’ve thought he couldn’t stand his company if they’d spent long enough together for such a dislike to form. He might otherwise have postured that Mr Kirkland disliked his scent so terribly that being near him simply repulsed him. But he’d held Alfred’s hand with such a gentle assurity that Alfred could only assume he either couldn’t bare to let go or could not wait to be free. Another omega might’ve taken offence, but Alfred was only all the more intrigued.

Especially as Mr Kirkland had only taken one more dance with another omega -- Mr. Fairway’s son -- which had clearly been only on account of the fact he’d been cornered and could see no way out of the situation but to offer his hand. Alfred didn’t know the alpha very well, hardly at all in fact for all the forty minutes they had been acquainted, but despite the most gentlemanly manner he presented to Master Fairway, it was not difficult to discern his discomfort. And for the more flattering fact of the matter, Mr Kirkland had once again appeared near Alfred a short time after, joining a very one-sided conversation between Alfred, his brother, and Miss Vogel. Though it was pleasant to have Mr Kirkland in the conversation, for though he had spoken a grand total of two sentences both were intelligent and charming enough to urge laughter from Alfred, it was far more pleasant to have him ask once again for a dance.

It had certainly stirred conversation between the omegas and more talkative alphas in the room. Alfred could already imagine what rumours would spread by the morning about the mysterious Mr. Kirkland and how he paid attention only to Mr. Jones’ son the entire evening. Either, Mr. Kirkland would come out as mysterious and ever the more an exciting bachelor to the families with single omegas. Or, he may be painted as rude, his polite dance with Master Fairway interpreted as a slight, and condemned by half of the town already. Alfred found himself hoping it would not be the latter; for all Mr. Kirkland’s stiffness so far, he had been the height of manners.

“It is a dance, Master Jones, I don’t believe that speaking is the point.”

Mr Kirkland finally gave his reply when they were joined again, Alfred’s hand returned to that so curiously tentative grip.

“But it is a social occasion!” Alfred laughed lightly, brushing past his partner in a turn. “Would you have me believe that no one spoke in all your previous attendance at balls?”

Mr. Kirkland had shied away, his manner still delightfully unclear. Though he held his posture perfectly and retained a calm expression, his gaze was cast down just so that one could only assume he was uncomfortable. That, or he was a particularly shy alpha, but he walked around the room with precisely the confidence expected of an alpha of his standing. Discomfort, at least in Alfred’s presence, didn’t make a sensible explanation either, as Mr. Kirkland had so expertly avoided every omega attempting to dance with him, yet deliberately sought Alfred out. He was delightfully intriguing.

“No, but I would have you believe that I do not often dance.”

Alfred blinked at him, a smile on his lips that he had been told countless times by his mother was unbecoming of a distinguished omega. Far too wide or brazen or something of the like. But Mr. Kirkland caught his gaze and that endearing blush coloured his cheeks once again and Alfred could think of no reason to cease smiling.

“You dance exceptionally well for an alpha with little practise.”

Mr. Kirkland’s complexion darkened further with fluster, the colour of his cheeks highlighting freckles which had gone unnoticed by Alfred until that moment. It was odd to see; so often a splash of freckles across an alpha’s nose would have been associated with one of happy disposition, a boyish charm and outgoing nature. Mr. Kirkland had revealed himself to be none of those things, yet Alfred had to think that such an endearing feature to juxtapose Mr. Kirkland’s impeccable (if stiff) manner was decidedly in character.

Mr Kirkland cleared his throat, lifting his hand for Alfred to turn under.

“I thank you, Master Jones, that should be quite the compliment given how often you’ve taken the floor.”

Were Alfred the bashful, reserved omega his mother had always wished he was, it likely would have been his turn to blush. He had, after all, danced with a fair few of the alphas around the room, but fair more than half of them had been married fathers of his close friends or otherwise family acquaintances. However, he was not so inclined to embarrassment as his mother wished him to be, and instead smiled wider at the still pink-cheeked Mr. Kirkland.

“Are you to tell me you’ve been watching me all evening, Mr. Kirkland?”

Perhaps it was cruel to tease the man, so particularly as it seemed ever the more evident to Alfred that Mr. Kirkland was a man of easily embarrassed disposition. And proven more so when the alpha’s eyes widened almost comically and Alfred was forced to bite his lip to keep back an impolite chuckle. He was kind enough to avert his gaze as Mr. Kirkland floundered for an answer, love as he would have done to watch the progression of thought cross his features.

“N-No, merely that I have observed as much throughout the evening.”

The stammer was a wonderful surprise, utterly undermining the otherwise carefully even tone of the alpha’s voice. Every passing moment seemed only to provide Alfred with something new about Mr. Kirkland’s manner to puzzle over. He was quickly proving to be the most interesting alpha of his acquaintance, and glancing up again to meet those striking green eyes made all the greener against the redness of his cheeks, Alfred began to allow himself to think that Mr. Kirkland might just have been quite handsome as well.

“Of course.” He inclined his head. “I shouldn’t flatter myself to think I’d garner so much of your attention.”

Alfred was glad for the way the dance forced them briefly apart once more, or else he may have not been able to contain his laughter at Mr. Kirkland’s sudden spluttering. By the time they reunited, the alpha’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes averted from Alfred’s own twinkling gaze. Matthew would be sure to berate him for his behaviour when he related the dance to him at home.

Mr. Kirkland opened his mouth, clearly wrestling with the possibilities of a reply undoubtedly to delight Alfred in either its awkwardness, or just perhaps to flatter him with a compliment. But, to his disappointment and Mr. Kirkland’s saviour, the dance ended, leaving them to step apart and clap politely for the musicians.

It was Mr. Kirkland who spoke up first, surprising Alfred with the once again controlled pallor of his face. He was rather disappointed to see the flush gone from the alpha’s cheeks, but he did suppose that he’d been a little relentless in his teasing and Mr. Kirkland and the alpha was well deserving of respite.

“I thank you for the dance, Master Jones.”

Alfred smiled, remembering for once his mother’s voice reminding him to at least pretend to be demure and restraining a little of the expression. He swallowed, returning Mr. Kirkland’s slight bow with an echoing curtsey.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr Kirkland. It should be a delight to see you dance more often.”

“Perhaps if there was the right partner.”

“America!” He turned his head sharply, gasping for breath and making his best effort to move his hips away from America’s leg, regardless of the cut of the desk’s hard edge into his bottom. “We’re in the middle of my office, we can’t do this here!”

He couldn’t begin to explain America’s sudden behaviour. Impulsive as the brute was, he hardly ever tried it on in so public a setting. Not unless the both of them were particularly desperate that was, but as America had arrived in London now more than a week ago, their usual frustrations from being apart had already been dealt with. Sexual frustration from months of seperation was no explanation for why he’d been so demandingly kissed the instant America had walked into his office.

“Do what?” America asked, turning his attentions to England’s neck now his kisses weren’t being accepted.

“You know bloody well what.” England grumbled, trying to ignore the sensations of America’s lips at his throat that so usually made him inclined to tilting his head back and moaning. “Would you-” America’s hands had found his tie, steadily loosening it and he quickly reached up to slap them away.  “Stop it! What on earth’s gotten into you?”

America pulled back, his hands planted firmly on the desk either side of England. On any other occasion the action combined with the heavy look he was receiving from America would had made him shudder -- and admittedly he did feel as much then -- but it was hardly the time. He folded his arms across his chest, setting to hardening his expression against America in his best attempt to retain some composure and pretend the other nation’s leg wasn’t still firmly planted between his thighs.

America looked him over slowly, dragging his eyes down his legs, over his torso, his dishevelled tie, the jacket slung over his chair, his rolled up sleeves. It had been rather hot for a number of days. Usually England would have kept himself entirely dressed as was befitting office wear, but he had been far too overheated not to do something about it.

“You.” America answered, voice low with that touch of bourbon warmth that made England’s knees weak.

Regardless of his blush, England continued to scowl.

“That is not a sufficient explanation.”

America groaned, losing that mature, seductive edge in a moment of frustration. His shoulders sagged, the cut of his suit that outlined an impressive figure wrinkling with him.

“You.” He repeated, hands lifting from the desk to cup England’s waist and draw him closer. “Fuck, I just wanted to come pick you up for lunch and you’re standing there with your shirt all...” He squeezed England’s waist, biting his lip for a moment as he looked down at him. “You just look so good when you wear it like this.”

Regardless of his own misgivings about his appearance, it had been a long time since England had grown accustomed to America’s praises. Yet even so, he found his cheeks warming at the idea of so little prompting having America wanting him.

“What, rolling my sleeves up?” He glanced down at himself, nothing at all about his clothes remotely interesting aside from the casual bunching of his sleeves at the elbow.

“Yeah.” America answered, lowering his head again to kiss his neck, though each kiss was soft and slow this time. “Don’t ask me why, you just look good. Really good.”

He trailed his kisses up, nipping at the shell of his ear, which England had to think was remarkably unfair given he knew how it made him shudder. And of course he did, pressing forward into America’s chest despite himself. He could feel America’s grin by his ear, and otherwise might have felt the urge to roll his eyes and reprimand him for being so smug, but still flustered by the compliment he could only manage a subtle frown. It wasn’t at all helped by America’s gentle affections, which he had to think were rather an unfair tactic, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

“How good?” He murmured instead, uncrossing his arms to slide his hands up America’s chest.

“So good I don’t know how your staff haven’t tried to steal you away from me already.” America pressed a kiss just below England’s ear, nibbling the skin there as he pushed his leg into his crotch again and forced a gasp from his throat.

England made an attempt to chuckle, but he cut it off with a soft groan and pressing his hips up to America’s. He slipped a hand into America’s hair, pulling him back just far enough to meet his gaze again.

“No one could, my darling.” He leaned up, kissing the grin that had appeared on America’s lips with as much enthusiasm as and far more gentleness than had been bestowed on him the instant America appeared in his office. “Go lock the door then.”

Arthur had himself been a little too eager to get his hands on a glass when he saw so many bottles of the stuff, being so lowly paid at a publishing company didn’t offer him such luxuries often. But he at least had the good grace not to act mad at the sight of it. Nor snobby enough to roll his eyes at those that did grow excited.

He couldn’t, however, deny that he found it all a little overwhelming. He’d detached himself from Francis and that little group of people a little while after getting introduced. Close friends as they were, he could only deal with a ‘night out’ Francis for so long. But with his general discomfort in social situations and an ongoing blur of names from the dozens of people he’d met that evening, he was growing eager for some space.

It was by chance he spotted the balcony -- of course, of course a penthouse of this extravagance, with two floors at least and its own private security, of course it would have a balcony -- and without thinking twice he slipped immediately out of the door. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have been so crass as to assume he could go anywhere in someone’s house, but given that ruder guests had snuck off to inspect all the other rooms that hadn’t been locked, he couldn’t find himself feeling too guilty about it.

The night air was colder than he expected, neglecting to remember how the wind would cut him when he was so high up and he shivered as his body adjusted to the temperature. The wall behind was entirely glass, undoubtedly giving the homeowner a spectacular view from the living room, but for this evening a thin blind had been pulled across, throwing one dimensional silhouettes of partygoers up in contrast to the endless night.

Arthur looked away from them, his eyes gliding instead across the balcony. It certainly fit with the rest of the penthouse -- a subtle but modern look, with a large dining table and various interesting-looking plants. And a man leaning over the railing, looking intently at the city below.

Someone else undoubtedly looking for a breath of fresh air, Arthur assumed. He was almost afraid to disturb him, half tempted to turn around and head back inside before he could accidentally interrupt this man’s reverie. He seemed so focused yet lost in thought at the same time, the sort of expression Arthur couldn’t help imagining fit better on the pages of a Fitzgerald novel than it did on the features of so young a man. But before he could make a decision on leaving, the stranger’s head turned in his direction and a polite, friendly smile appeared to shoo away his contemplative frown.

“Too busy for you?”

The man’s voice was low, deeper than Arthur realised he’d been expecting it to be. It startled him. From his profile the man looked young, younger than Arthur, but turning to face him that expression suddenly matured as if the realisation that he had company had a new mask set on his face. Arthur was hardly one to judge such a thing.

“More ‘too many people I don’t know’.” Arthur replied, slightly entertained by his own response. What urged such honesty from him, he couldn’t say, but it was an innocent and amusing enough response to a man who seemed to be in the same position.

The stranger smiled in response, straightening up to put his hands on the railing where he leaned.

“I don’t blame you. I get tired of these parties every year, but it beats ringing in the New Year alone, huh?”

“I suppose.” Arthur shrugged, wandering further out onto the balcony to make their conversation a little less like shouting across a room. “But isn’t it equally sad to begin a new year doing something you dislike?”

The man gave him a look, merely a brief glimmer in his eye, but Arthur caught it. Assessing, no, analysing -- none of that was quite right. But there was something in the look that had Arthur feeling all of a sudden that he was being appraised in some manner for his worth. It was gone before he could comment and the man instead smiled and shook his head as he turned back to the view.

“I guess you’re right.” He spared another glance Arthur’s way, only long enough to look him in the eye as he introduced himself. “I’m Alfred, by the way.”

“Arthur.”

Alfred nodded, a quiet and polite acknowledgement before his attention turned again to the city. Silence fell -- or as relatively silent as it could be with the chatter of the party behind a thin sheet of glass and the sounds of the city rising up from below. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, only the natural blanket of quiet that fell when there was little left to say.

Arthur filled it with walking over to the railing, a comfortable distance from Alfred should they speak again. It was breathtaking. The New York skyline stretched out before them, lights and movement making every second different. Arthur couldn’t say he particularly preferred cities over the quiet of the countryside, but with a view like this he was certain to be content to stay.

“Have you been before?” Alfred spoke and with some surprise Arthur turned to find himself being stared at. “To the party, I mean. I don’t recognise you.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head, his turn to look away and stare at the city. “This is the first time. My friend Francis knows someone here and he apparently can’t bare for me to be ‘lonely and sad’ on New Years.” He snorted, a small smile appearing as he heard an echoing chuckle from Alfred. “Nice as it is, I’m not sure I want to come back if there’s another. Do you come every year?”

He looked to Alfred again.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Another strange expression crossed Alfred’s features, some hint of a laugh in his voice as he replied leaving Arthur mildly confused to the meaning, but again he moved on too quickly for him to ask. “Why don’t you think you’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, mirroring Alfred’s earlier pose of leaning his forearms on the railing. “The luxury is nice and all, I think at least half the people here have never seen the likes of it, but it’s rather...impersonal. Which I suppose is ironic coming from me,” he glanced at Alfred, “if you knew me. But beautifully done and elegant as it is, I’d much rather be drinking cheap prosecco on my sofa watching something I actually like than stay here surrounded by strangers who only want to talk about the newest thing on Netflix.” He paused, realising to some shame that such an outburst, reservedly spoken as it was, still sounded painfully like a soapbox moment. He turned to Alfred, a little sheepishness in his expression. “That was a little preachy. But,”

“No, no. I get you.” Alfred interrupted, smiling. It was a warm smile, easy and perfectly placed on his handsome features, as if he’d been born specifically to make the expression. It made Arthur’s stomach flip in a way that warned him of growing attraction. Given the circumstance, though, he couldn’t say he minded it. “I guess I never thought about it that way, though.”

“Well, a new year is a good time for new opinions.” Arthur joked lightly, again feeling himself go warm as Alfred chuckled quietly in response.

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by the sound of someone inside loudly announcing ‘one minute!’. They both looked back towards the apartment at the sound of it, watching a sudden flurry of movement as those shadows rushed about to gather around the large television or perhaps find their romantic partner for that all important kiss.

Arthur sighed and turned away, content to watch the city below and its lack of response to the sudden countdown. Alfred didn’t turn back, instead leaning back against the railing as he continued to stare at the shadows.

“I don’t know why they’re bothering.” Arthur sighed. “This is no different than any other midnight anyone’s been awake to see.”

Alfred looked towards him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“What happened to all that preachy stuff before?”

“That’s different.” He fixed Alfred with a look, leaning away from the railing to turn fully to face Alfred. “I was only pointing out how much better it is to simply be happy when it turns midnight, I didn’t say it was all that important.”

Alfred pulled a face in thought, amusement dancing in his eyes. With his face turned to the light of the window, Arthur could see how blue those eyes really were. Despite the endless lights, the night around them had kept their colour from him, but looking at the other now he could see what a beautiful shade they were. He half thought to say as much, but such a compliment was entirely out of place with their speculative conversation.

“It’s still nice to kiss someone at midnight.” Alfred mused.

“I suppose so. But neither of us exactly has anyone to share that tradition with.”

Alfred turned to look at him, the expression in his eyes holding enough suggestion that Arthur needed no words to realise what he’d pointed out in his own snarky response. His cheeks warmed at the realisation, though he wasn’t sure if it was quite about that or the way Alfred had looked at him.

“Besides the obvious, I suppose.” He ended up murmuring, eyes cast away in bashfulness.

It took the sudden chorus of ‘Ten! Nine! Eigh-’ to bring Arthur the confidence to look up at Alfred again. Alfred’s gaze didn’t seem to have moved from his face, which ordinarily Arthur was sure to find himself flustered by, but his expression held such gentle interest that he couldn’t help instead finding himself leaning toward it.

Alfred’s hand came up to cup his cheek, pulling him closer in perfect timing for their lips to meet as cries of ‘One!’ reverberated onto the balcony.

It should have been a simple kiss, a brief brush of lips between strangers as Arthur anticipated. But the moment Alfred’s lips touched his own he felt electricity surge through his system and before he knew it he and Alfred were chest to chest. The cheers from inside the penthouse and reaching up from the streets below were lost to him, only the warmth of Alfred’s mouth and the strong hand on the small of his back mattered for those few seconds. His own hand drifted up to grip at the back of Alfred’s immaculate shirt, needing something to ground himself while that soft and slow kiss left every muscle in his body weak, his lungs giving out to a shaky breath when Alfred finally pulled away.

Those blue eyes were hooded, undoubtedly reflecting the expression of Arthur’s own, heavy breaths filling the quiet they’d created in ignoring everyone else. Arthur licked his lips, his hand flexing on Alfred’s back.

“Well. Happy New Year.”

Alfred grinned, wider than the warm smile he’d shown before and something about it made Arthur’s stomach do another one of those little flips. He leaned back to laugh, but his hand remained on Arthur’s waist and Arthur wasn’t sure if he should have been as flattered as he was to realise that.

“Happy New Year.” Alfred replied, biting his lip for a moment as he looked at Arthur. He turned his head, seeming to realise with subtle disappointment that there was in fact an entire party still going on mere steps from where they were. “I should probably make sure my guests aren’t messing up the whole apartment.”

He sighed, and Arthur nodded vaguely in agreement even as he wished Alfred wouldn’t leave. Only to start suddenly and turn to stare, wide-eyed as he processed the entire sentence.

“Your guests?” He asked incredulously, the answer to his question immediately obvious and yet bearing repeating for his own sanity.

“Uh, yeah.” Alfred chuckled, having the decency to look at least a little embarrassed. “This is my apartment, my party.”

Their previous conversation hit Arthur then like a stack of bricks. The implicit insult of calling the party impersonal, his dismissiveness. He lifted his hand to his mouth, a new sort of embarrassment catching up to him then.

“I- Oh Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it was a bad party I just,”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alfred laughed. “You’re right. Honestly...I let my friends invite whoever they want because this all feels...a little lonely. I know, I know, cliche rich guy feels lonely with all his money, woe is me.” He rolled his eyes. “But...it’s true. I guess I just never noticed how shallow it all is because they looked like they were having fun.”

His gaze drifted again to the window and the faceless shadows before them. It all at once seemed to have some cliche poetic irony. Despite his home being open and filled with people, not one of them knew who he was or attempted to find out, Arthur included. In fact all interest was shown only in Alfred’s money. Arthur stared at his face, at his young profile with that Fitzgerald expression.

“I believe you’re much more interesting than your parties.” He murmured, drawing Alfred’s attention back to him. “I don’t mean that to make you feel better, or because you’re a good kisser,” they both smiled, “but I doubt you could be in this position without being interesting beyond what you have here.”

Alfred’s expression twisted oddly, some flashes of emotion in those blue eyes before he settled on a smile again.

“Thank you, Arthur. You didn’t have to say that.”

Arthur shrugged, patting down Alfred’s collar.

“Yeah, well. I was just trying to get you to kiss me again.”

Alfred laughed. So loudly in fact that Arthur found himself startled into smiling. Not often did people find his monotonous, deadpan humour so amusing. Perhaps it was simply the juxtaposition with his sincerity, or the lightness that came with a confession like the one Alfred had made. Whatever it was, his head was thrown back in loud, shameless laughter. And Arthur smiled.

He stopped after a long moment, his eyes shining with mirth and that recklessly wide grin fixed upon his features, even as his voice dropped lower.

“Mhm.” Alfred’s reply was unintelligent, far more concerned with biting Arthur’s lower lip and pulling his hips down as they kissed again. The angle of the sofa prevented them from meeting in any satisfying friction, but Alfred could enjoy the feeling of Arthur’s belt about his hips and the soft skin he teased with each light brush of fingers under the hem of his shirt. “You still came to me, sweetcheeks.”

Arthur snorted at the nickname and by the grin on Alfred’s features he could tell the joke was deliberate. He made no more of it, barely acknowledging Alfred’s grin with an unamused raise of his eyebrow before rather harshly tugging on the American’s hair to tilt his head back.

“Because,” He replied, pressing a kiss to Alfred’s throat. “I decided I wanted sex more than I wanted to finish editing.”

Alfred made a sound low in his throat, his hands sliding down to give Arthur’s ass a firm squeeze.

“Well if that’s what you want I’ll gladly take you to pound town.”

Arthur froze, his lips hovering over Alfred’s pulse point.

“What.” His tone was flat, more a statement of shock than any real demand for an answer.

Alfred’s hands flexed on his ass, utterly unfazed by what he’d done to the mood.

“Pound town.” He repeated, the easiest thing in the world.

Arthur lifted his head, meeting Alfred’s shit-eating grin with the most unimpressed look he could muster. He could hardly hold Alfred’s gaze for a full second before bursting into the most unattractive snort of laughter, unaided by his boyfriend’s waggling eyebrows.

“You’re insufferable.” Arthur huffed through laughter, though that apparent disappointment didn’t stop him from nibbling Alfred’s ear. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me.” Alfred replied with laughter, his hands moving to Arthur’s waist for a more affectionate squeeze. Arthur sat up again to fix him with a wry smile.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

They shared a look, a split second of affectionate acknowledgement, but it was gone again as Alfred hooked a finger into Arthur’s collar to pull him down for another kiss. Arthur sank into it, a sigh breathed against Alfred’s lips as he let himself be reminded what he’d been craving in the first place. Alfred didn’t pull back to speak, knowing well and good his husky voice breathed against Arthur’s lips did terrible things to him.

“So, pound town?”

Arthur groaned, certain that if he hadn’t been in the middle of kissing Alfred he would have smothered him to death with the couch cushions already.

“I’ll never let you touch me again if you keep making that joke.”