#usuksecretsanta2015

GIFT for @danshee by fauxreblogsthingz

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GIFT for @hetalians-reunite by aphmagicks

GIFT for @laufeymoar by snowyfoxpaws

GIFT for @puffychan by mayugesplace

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For @urbanmermaid666 for the usuk secret santa! I’m your pinch hitter for the secret santa exchange! I loved all three of your prompts, and I’ve been planning fics with similar themes so it was a pleasure writing this. I don’t think I put in enough mermen in, (and I kinda threw in some selkie mythology) but I still hope you like it! And sorry for procrastinating right until the deadline!

Despite having been raised near the sea, Arthur had never learnt how to swim. Every summer, his family would spend a week at some sunny beach and he would watch his brothers frolic in the water and turn his nose up at the sand in their hair, their shoes, and on their clothes. His preferred choice of activity was simply to sit under a palm tree at the very outskirt of the beach, reading. His brothers tried to get him to at least learn how to swim, but he’d never seen any reason to do so.

That was, until now. He found himself sorely regretting his decision of not learning how not to drown as he thrashed helplessly in the icy, murky seawater, gulping down yet another mouthful of salty water as he tried (and subsequently failed) to draw in much-needed air into his burning lungs. What had been meant to be a pleasant river cruise turned out to be a burial in a watery grave. The more he floundered and struggled, the deeper he sank. His life jacket, by some stroke of incredibly bad luck, had floated off before he fastened it securely and Arthur was convinced that the universe was conspiring against him, because almost immediately after his life jacket had disappeared, a sudden surging wave had smothered and submerged him, sweeping him away until he’d lost sight of everyone else on the ship. The night had been moonless, and the waters so dark he could not find anyone else.

Cursing his poor life choices in his youth, he struggled even harder despite his swimming vision and the pounding in his head due to the lack of oxygen. In his disoriented state, he imagined himself seeing a very handsome, very concerned face hovering in front of him. He couldn’t make out the exact features clearly, but it was clearly a man’s face. The head was attached to a long lean body that tapered off to what appeared to be a fish’s tail. Arthur supposed hallucinations were part of the standard process of drowning, and the last thing he saw was a pair of hands reaching out toward him.

Arthur was woken by the the murmur of voices around him. The warm red glow behind his lids burning his eyes reminded him that he was not dead. Blinking hard, he found himself laid carefully on the seashore. His body seemed mostly unhurt and pain-free, except that his throat felt raw and scratchy and his limbs were slightly sore. The sun was beating hotly down on him, and his clothes (or what remained of them, at least) were dried stiff. A crowd was gathered around him, tittering, and there was someone patting his shoulder, saying something, but a strange sensation upon his exposed skin beneath his tattered clothing distracted him from them. Upon his body there was a strange piece of fabric. It was a colour between grey and blue, light and sheer as chiffon and as smooth as silk. It shimmered and glittered brilliantly in the sunlight, and upon closer inspection, it was made up of thousands of tiny shiny scales, each reflecting light of all colours of the rainbow. It was cool to the touch and strangely soothing, like a child’s safety blanket.

He dimly realised that he was being hauled onto a stretcher and he’d instinctively fisted his hands into the fabric, a bit disoriented by the change in surroundings. He didn’t let go, not while he was being carted off to the nearest hospital, not even when doctors examined him and proclaimed him perfectly healthy but in mild shock. He was asked his name and address, his family notified of his current situation, and in a matter of days, was promptly sent home, where he was welcomed by his tearful family. He kept the strange piece of fabric that had materialized out of nowhere as a souvenir of his close scrape with death.

That being said, he had no intention of ever repeating the ordeal, if he could avoid it. He made up his mind to learn how to swim. Unfortunately, he was more traumatised by the incident than he’d consciously realised, because he was seized with terror whenever he was more than half-immersed in water, unable to move a muscle. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t so much as breathe, as he stood frozen near the pool side with the water lapping at his legs like an idiot. The water seemed to be sucking the warmth out of his body, and the very notion of allowing it to close up around his head and chest had his heart beating furiously in fear. Even though his brothers tried to teach him at least how to tread water, he couldn’t really manage it in the shallow end of the pool. Within a week he’d given up trying to swim. It also happened that the lifeguards at the local pool thought he was utterly mad and gave him weird looks whenever he went there and stood immobilised in the middle of the pool.

Several years and a couple of promotion in his firm later, his superior thrust a paid-for ticket and several forms into his hands and told him to get a break from work. He hadn’t taken leave from work for a few years, not even when he was sick. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time anyway. Apparently this was alarming the HR department, so they just decided to make him go on a compulsory holiday.

He was shipped off to a small coastal village, where fine-sanded golden beaches stretched endlessly along the entire coastline with crystal clear waters frothing at the shore. They’d arranged for him to stay for two weeks. Arthur didn’t really think sitting on the beach getting sunburn was relaxing or enjoyable, but there was literally nothing else to do there. There was no internet, and the mobile signal was spotty at best.

He was sitting under his umbrella (though he’d already slathered on a disgusting amount of sunscreen), reading peacefully, when a young blond man who was all tanned skin and sculpted muscles approached him. He introduced himself as Alfred, and was genuinely interested in the book Arthur was reading. Alfred worked as a lifeguard for the beach, and when he was not on duty, he often came to listen to Arthur reading aloud. It happened that Alfred couldn’t really read, and only had a rudimentary grasp of the letters that made up words, but he was extremely intrigued by how the little black rows of marching ants could carry sounds and tone and meaning. He knew only the simple words and recognised a scant few others, but he had no opportunity to learn more. Arthur taught him slowly and patiently, pointing the words out on the paper and making Alfred jot down some of them.

No one had really shared his passion for reading, or paid such devoted attention to him before. Arthur found himself not just reading to Alfred, but talking to him and pouring his neglected heart out. It was a very sad fact, but a fact nonetheless, that Alfred was the first friend Arthur had. Arthur loved spending time with him and was even dreading his eventual return to work. He’d reassured himself that this village was only a couple of hours from his home, and he could come visit Alfred on the weekends.

On one such weekend, Alfred had forgone all pretense of learning and was just lying in Arthur’s lap, listening to the quiet crinkle of turning pages and letting Arthur play with his hair. They were talking about the sea, because Alfred had been whining for Arthur to play in the water with him for ages.

“You don’t know how to swim?” asked Alfred disbelievingly, as if he expected that everyone popped out of the womb with the ability to swim proficiently.

“No. My brothers tried to teach me, but I refused.” Arthur replied, slightly offended at the pitying look Alfred was giving him, like he was missing out on life.

“I could teach you,” Alfred offered, his pearly white teeth glinting in the sunlight. “I’ve been able to swim since I was a kid and I know these waters really well, so I swear nothing will happen to you.”

“No, I don’t that would work,” sighed Arthur. “You see, I have this...fear of water. I can’t go anywhere deeper than my waist.” Alfred frowned and leaned upwards until he’d wrapped his solid arms firmly around Arthur.

“I want to show you the beauty of water. I won’t let anything happen to you. And it would make me feel better about you teaching me how to read.” Alfred stared up at Arthur with wide, pleading eyes. Arthur felt like he was drowning in the bottomless depths of those pretty sea-blue eyes. He could already feel himself relenting, unable to refuse any request of Alfred’s that made him happy. There was this unspeakable urge within him to make Alfred happy, to make him laugh, to just sit there and admire the strong planes of his face. Many a night he had tossed and turned and agonised over his feelings for the handsome youth, before he’d dismissed the visions of the future he could have with Alfred as mere fantasies.

Thus, when Arthur laid his eyes upon the sight of Alfred clad only in the tightest pair of briefs, displaying his broad chest and ripped abs in their full glory, he didn’t know whether to die from sensory overload or to scream in excitement like a teenage girl because he was getting more material to fantasize over. Arthur himself wore a simple pair of swimming trunks, and he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy as he glanced at his own flat stomach.

“You don’t have to be nervous!” Alfred enthused, the picture of exuberance. Grabbing Arthur’s hand, he practically dragged Arthur down the beach right to the water’s edge.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, Arthur chanted in his head. I can do this.

But as they waded in deeper he felt the old fear rising again. His heart was racing, the frantic thudding like the panicked hoofbeats of a fleeing deer. When the water reached his knees, he retracted his hand from Alfred’s warm grip. Panic once again held his limbs in place, but this time, Alfred was there. He felt a sure hand guide him forward, but he couldn’t make his legs follow the commands his brain was issuing. Tears of humiliation and disappointment threatened at the corners of his eyes, and he turned away in defeat to make his way back to the beach, only to be interrupted by Alfred’s boisterous voice.

Alfred was a little distance away. With horrified realisation Arthur realised that he was clutching a very familiar book in his free hand, dry for the moment, brandishing it above his head. Arthur had no idea how and when Alfred had gotten his hands on his priceless first edition of the Hobbit, but all he could think of was the book slipping from Alfred’s precarious grasp and being drenched in the salty water.

“If you want it back, you have to come and get it, Artie!” Alfred hollered.He made a particularly exaggerated gesture with his hand and the book slipped from his grasp, falling directly towards the waiting water.

With a wail of disbelief Arthur surged forward, hands outstretched, but Alfred had already caught the book with ease and was laughing at the expression on Arthur’s face.

“I knew it! You like that book more than you like me!” chortled Alfred, dancing out of Arthur’s reach.

“Of course I like that book more than I like you, you imbecile! I don’t even like you at all! And give me that!” Desperation drove Arthur forward as Alfred squirmed backwards from his grabbing hands.

Alfred was laughing so hard it sounded like he was having an asthma attack. When Arthur finally reached him, he held the book up high so that Arthur, with his shorter stature, could not reach it.

“This is not funny!” fumed Arthur, trying to clamber onto Alfred and reach for the book.

“Ah, Artie, careful there, if you topple me there might be no one to save you from drowning -” Alfred broke off to giggle at Arthur’s now stricken face.

Only then did Arthur realised he was in water that was up to his chin, but he was completely free of fear. Instead he felt only light-headed giddiness.

“Oh, Lord,” he said slowly, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Bloody hell.”

Alfred was finally quiet, and Arthur carefully wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck and laid his head on his collarbone.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tears once again brimming. “You’re kind of my favourite person right now.”

“Aww, Artie, I’m honoured. Please don’t cry,” said Alfred, wiping Arthur’s tears tenderly with his thumb. “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time.”

Alfred paused.

“I really really like you.” Alfred said, searching Arthur’s eyes for reciprocation.

“I don’t, I - ah - I li...” Arthur went redder and redder as he tried to bring himself to say the words. He decided to make an incredibly stupid decision.

He went on tiptoe, leant forward and kissed Alfred. Alfred made a shocked sort of whimper, melted into the kiss, and dropped the book, where it fell into the water with a ‘plop’. Arthur honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Ah, sorry,” said Alfred, but his eyes were dazed and he looked nothing close to sorry. Alfred’s lips slanted over Arthur’s again and again and Arthur supposed that he’d gladly trade a priceless first edition for an equally priceless Alfred F. Jones.

Over the summer they made great progress (in both his swimming lessons and relationship-wise) and Arthur managed to master the front crawl and the breaststroke.

It was an ordinary afternoon, when Arthur caught sight of the curious creatures. The weather was fine, and the sky was so blue it almost could compare with Alfred’s eyes. Almost. At first glance the creatures seemed to be some sort of oversize fish, leaping out of the water occasionally and splashing around like children.

Alfred followed his gaze and peered at the faraway creatures.

“The dolphins are very energetic today,” commented Alfred. But Arthur looked closer and saw that it was not so.

“Um, Alfred, those are not dolphins…” Arthur trailed off as he watched one of those creatures - no, mermen - even at this distance he could see that they had the faces of men, and the tails of fish. Arthur cast a surreptitious glance around. No one else seemed to be making a fuss about those creatures.

“Huh?” Alfred scrunched up his brows. “What exactly do you see?”

“They appear to be men with fish’s tails. And before you ask, no, I am not crazy and Flying Mint Bunny is not a figment of my imagination.”

“Wait, you can see them?” said Alfred. “This is amazing! I’ll call them over!”

It was Arthur’s turn to be confused. Alfred whistled shrilly, and Arthur was positive it was not possible for the mermen to hear from that distance but they did, and they turned around, waved to Alfred, and began to swim over.

Alfred and Arthur went to the small dock to meet them.

“Don’t other people see them?” asked Arthur. “Why isn’t anyone screaming?”

“Normal people can’t see them. I mean, I always thought you were hallucinating but hey, it turns out you can see magical beings!”

“What do you mean, you thought I was hallucinating?” huffed Arthur indignantly.

They sat down carefully at the edge. Before long, two heads broke the water’s surface. One of the mermen looked almost exactly like Alfred, except his hair was slightly longer and he had violet eyes, while the other had vibrant blue eyes and wavy shoulder length hair that looked as if its owner had spent hours styling it.

The one that looked like Alfred introduced himself as Matthew, and the other called himself Francis. Matthew turned out to be Alfred’s twin brother. Arthur raised a brow at that.

“But if he’s your twin, why is Matthew a merman and you’re...human?” he asked.

“Um, it’s kind of hard to explain,” said Alfred. “I am a merman, it’s just that I’ve lost my skin.”

“Your skin?”

“Yes,” said Francis, suddenly leaping out of the water and perching on the dock next to Arthur. His long tail gleamed silver with glints of green, blue and purple in each individual scale, like the wings of an insect. Though his chest and face was covered with human hair, scales crawled up his back and his arms. “Watch closely.”

With a single fluid motion, he had shimmied out of the layer of scales on his skin, and suddenly Arthur realised the tail was gone, replaced with very human legs and other...manly bits. In his hands he held the layer of scales, like a sheer embroidered shawl, thin, light and shimmering in the sunlight. It looked exactly the same as the strange fabric he’d found on his body all those years ago. Arthur frowned. Did this mean...

“Francis! Put your skin back on! He gets the point!” scowled Alfred, cheeks red. “No one wants to see your junk!”

Francis sniffed and slid back into his skin with a fluidity that Arthur had to marvel at. He dropped back into the water.

“Yes, that’s actually the reason why we’re here,” said Matthew, unperturbed. “We sensed the magical aura of a merman’s skin in the city. Alfred needs his skin back to regain his merman form.”

“Every moment we long for the loving embrace of the boundless ocean,” interjected Francis. “Even that brief separation from the sea just now was extremely taxing. The sea is our mother, our lover, our home. Every step we take on land is like a dagger stabbing the soles of our feet, punishing us for turning our backs to the sea.”

“Is this true?” questioned Arthur, facing Alfred.

“Mostly, yeah. I love the ocean. The only reason I’m not exactly screaming in pain is because this beach is close enough to the sea that it’s endurable. And it hurts, but we would never have met if I hadn’t lost my skin.”

“Oh, Alfred,” Arthur muttered, “You should have told me when I forced you to go to the city centre with me to see that stupid movie. If only I knew…”

“Well, it was really complicated…” said Alfred, scratching the back of his head. “But it turned out okay!”

“But there’s a catch if we find the skin. Alfred will lose all his memories of the time he spent on land with you,” said Francis.

“So we understand if you don’t want to help us,” said Matthew.

“But it’s not really that likely that we’ll ever find it,” said Alfred, “so you don’t have to worry, Arthur!”

After talking a bit more about the life and customs of the merfolk, Francis and Matthew had disappeared back to the deep.

Arthur spent the night with Alfred, but he couldn’t sleep. Alfred’s warmth surrounded him, but the guilt was chilling from the inside. He saw, by the moonlight streaming from the window, Alfred seemed to be transfixed by something under the bed.

Rising, Arthur realised that Alfred was clutching the curious piece of fabric from that long-ago unfortunate cruise in his hands. Unraveling it, Alfred held it up against the light. Backlit by the silver moonlight, it seemed exceptionally ethereal, sparkling brightly in the darkness.

“Alfred?” he asked, somewhat unnerved by Alfred’s almost hungry gaze.

“Where did you get that?” Alfred breathed, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “Oh Arthur, I’m so sorry, but I must.” He moved as if in a trance, smoothing his fingers along the silky scales, his eyes screaming wonder.

With a flourish he’d draped it around himself like a cape. The scales shimmered and seemed to blend with his flesh, like a second skin. He flung the window open, hurtled through and became only a streak of silver headed toward the sea.

“Alfred!” cried Arthur in dismay from the open window, “Alfred!” he repeated, more forcefully, and he woke with a startled yelp, sitting straight up in bed, sweat beading across his forehead. Though it was only a dream, he felt sick down to his stomach. Alfred’s sleepy hands pulled him back down, and he allowed himself to be encircled by those gentle arms.

What could he do? What should he do? He didn’t want to lose Alfred, but he didn’t want to lie and hide this from him, now he knew how much Alfred needed the ocean and how this separation was hurting him. It was mean and selfish and all kinds of wrong, but Arthur could not bear to be away from Alfred just as much as Alfred could not bear to be away from the sea.

When morning came, he had made his decision. He called in sick to work, went home, and retrieved from a small box under his bed, the merman’s skin. He stared at it for a long moment. Then he went to seek Alfred.

He found Alfred with his toes in the water. Surprised to see him, Alfred threw an ear-splitting grin Arthur’s way.

“Why are you here?” asked Alfred.

Arthur couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know why he was here, either. He only reached into his bag and drew out the skin.

“Some years before, I almost drowned during a shipwreck. By some miracle, I ended up on dry land. When I came to, this was laid on my body. I didn’t know what it was. But I kept it for all those years.”

Alfred was silent. He didn’t take the skin.

Arthur spoke, finally, studying his feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world. “I wouldn’t be angry if you put this on and forget about me. I really do understand. I mean, I’m not special or nice or good-looking and I know it would be selfish of me to even hope that you would stay. All I want for you is to be happy, Alfred.”

Alfred: Aw, Artie. If you keep me company, there’s nothing to worry about! 

Arthur: ...Is that a threat-

Alfred: Of course not ☆

Hey, @puffychan! I’m your Santa for @usuksecretsanta2015! Well, kinda- I’m a pinch hitter, but I still got to work on your lovely prompts /)w(\

The deadline for uploading gifts is January 31st! 

Please have the gifts uploaded by then and no later! 

Sorry this is so late!! I loved all of your prompts & wish I’d had more time to expand. Took a few liberties but I hope you enjoy! Here’s part 2 (since part1 already posted earlier) and link to story in full on AO3

PART 2 “OhmygoodnessI’msososososorry,” Alfred blurted out, grabbing the nearest absorbent item (which happened to be a doily holding up an heirloom vase which narrowly missed breaking on the floor) and flinging it over Arthur’s lap, beginning to pat vigorously before turning an even deeper shade of red and taking a step back, horrified,“Er-“ One of the dowagers was blotting the stain on her dress, muttering, “He should be sacked. Or at least disciplined.” Now it was Arthur’s turn to blush, though he avoided eye contact with Alfred and muttered under his breath, standing and politely excusing himself. Emerson had rushed to his side, exclaiming, “I will fetch a towel, sir.” Arthur waved the head butler away, “No need, Emerson. I’ll need a full change of clothes. Let Alfred attend to me- this was his doing. Let him remedy his mistake.” Alfred followed Arthur out of the drawing room with Emerson and the dowagers staring daggers at him the whole way. When they were out in the darkened and empty hall, Arthur whipped around, brows furrowed (Alfred had forgotten just how formidable his eyebrows actually were) and Alfred braced himself for a reprimand. Instead, Arthur said, “Thank you.” Alfred blinked, mouth agape, “Wha-“ “I know what you were trying to do… There must have been other ways of saving me from that conversation than drenching me in chocolate soufflé, however… Bloody idiot.” Alfred followed him up to his rooms, unsure of how to interpret their last exchange. Arthur had always been more serious than he was. He realised as he opened the door for Arthur that he had no idea what to do next. He was not a head butler, not a personal butler… Obviously he dressed himself in the morning but that was a far cry from dressing someone else- especially when that someone was Master Arthur Kirkland. Alfred swallowed.

Before he’d closed the door behind them, Arthur was already unbuttoning his vest. “Er- um, shouldn’t I be doing that?” Alfred nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed. Arthur snapped, “I can undress myself, I’m not an imbecile.” “But why-“ “So we could talk,”Arthur cut him off. He was now fussing with the buttons on his shirt. If Alfred had not been worried about being sacked up to this point he certainly was now. “I’m sorry, Art- sir,” he stammered. “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.” Alfred was debating if he had ever seen as much of Arthur as he was about to see. He felt he should look away for reasons of propriety. There was a strange silence permeating the room. “I was not informed you’d be working here,” Arthur added almost perfunctorily, “I thought you were still in school.” “No, Ar- sir,” Alfred mentally berated himself for making that mistake twice in a row now. “I was offered a position here.” He almost added ‘for financial reasons’ but realized that would be considered impropriety. Money was not freely discussed here, it was one of his glaringly American tendencies. Arthur had stopped what he was doing, one of his generous eyebrows raised, “I suppose you could call me Arthur when we’re in private. We’ve known each other all your life, after all.” “Best not,” Alfred stammered, “I should get used to calling you ‘sir’. Else I might slip up in front of the other servants.” Arthur nodded his approval, “True. Very well.” “I’m training to be a proper butler. I suppose I’m technically a footman. I’m surprised they offered me that, considering I’ve had no training whatsoever,” Alfred’s face flushed and he nervously adjusted his glasses, “I guess I’ve screwed even that up now-“ “Damn-” Arthur was struggling with his cufflinks. Alfred, always the hero, went to the rescue and tried not to stare at Arthur’s leanly muscled chest and abs as he freed his wrists. “Thank you,” Arthur mumbled, “I’ll take it from here.” Alfred backed off again, “I am sorry about the pudding.” “Trifle, actually,” Arthur muttered. “It felt like a big deal- everyone looked pretty upset,” Alfred fretted. Arthur was giving him a disarming smile which he obviously was trying to suppress to no avail, “Trifle is the type of dessert, Alfred. I suppose your equivalent is pudding.” “Oh… But you have pudding, too. Made from blood or something, right? I saw one Cook had the other day,” Alfred was wrinkling his nose in disgust. Arthur gave an outright laugh before wiping the expression off his face. He was smoothing his thin fingers across the lapels of his fresh dinner jacket, “We’d best go back now. I must pretend to be cross with you.” Alfred wanted desperately to segue into asking about the conversation he had interrupted- who Arthur was to marry- but there seemed no good way to bring it up. “Yes, sir,” he said to a nod of cool approval from Arthur and they both headed back downstairs.

Alfred waited in the kitchens, spooning half-heartedly at some manner of bland stew, cringing every time he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance- Emerson could appear at any time and Alfred feared the impending reprimand (though he figured his job at least was safe-Emerson wouldn’t dare sack him if Master Arthur didn’t want it). Still. He berated himself for his impetuous nature- he just wanted to save Arthur from embarrassment. All he intended to do was offer the man dessert and a polite interruption. He hadn’t meant to drench him in pudding (trifle, he corrected himself). What could he do to make it up to him? He wasn’t terribly good at baking but he knew Arthur loved scones. LOVED them. Alfred had abiding memories of sitting in the garden as a child, waiting for tea time, and the servants setting up a fancy table with tea and milk and sugar in little frosted cubes (lumps, they were called) and, of course, scones. Arthur always waited until the servants were gone then crammed scone after scone into his mouth with as little decorum as his upbringing would allow, slapping Alfred’s hand away if he reached for one. Then he would whine that “Alfred et all the scones, Nanny, and I didn’t get a single one”. Whereupon a fuss would be made, another plate brought (and set directly in front of Arthur) and Alfred would watch from elsewhere (usually nursing his boxed ears) in the garden as little Master Arthur meticulously spread jam on the scones before adding a dollop of clotted cream and popping them in his mouth. If Alfred was lucky and Arthur had his fill before the plate was empty, the younger boy was allowed to eat the leftover crumbs. Once, on a day when Alfred’s stomach had been particularly rumbly, he was not in the mood to play the game and when Arthur condescendingly told him he could ‘lick the saucer, you chubby git’ he had fashioned his own scones out of dirt (bits of rock substituting quite convincingly for black currants) and thrown them at Master Arthur’s smug face, shouting, “Here, eat these scones!” Nanny had made an untimely entrance and dragged Alfred off by the ear where he was forced to spend playtime in the corner without toys for the rest of the week, enduring Nanny’s comments of, “That’s what ye get, cheeky little lard.” So why had he returned to England? Alfred was shaken out of his reverie. With the exception of scone-related torments, his childhood hadn’t really been all that bad. Especially compared to what it could have been. And wasn’t that all the more reason to humble himself and make Arthur his favourite treat? He suspected it was. Footfalls crashed down the stairs and Alfred once again braced himself for the entrance of Emerson, but it was the flushed face of Cook which appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Oh, Alfred, I ‘erd what ‘appened upstairs,” she clicked her tongue at him. “It’s a blue wonder they ha’ent sacked you.” “Nor are they like to,” Emerson’s voice boomed behind her. The head butler’s footsteps must have been muted by Cook’s noisy entrance. His brow was predictably furrowed in disapproval, “It seems our Alfred here has found a soft spot in the young Master’s heart.” Alfred wasn’t sure why, but he felt another flutter in his stomach- that sensation which had been new just a day ago and was now occurring more and more often. “I’d like to do something to- to make it up to him,” Alfred stammered, “I was hoping you could help me, Cook.” “Not like I don’t ‘ave enough to do already!,” she exclaimed, though not unkindly. Alfred explained his idea.

The following day, at an ungodly early hour, Alfred paced the length of the kitchen, rubbing his flour-coated hands together and staring nervously at the oven. Nantucket, also covered in flour from where he’d nervously run his fingers through it while pouring over Cook’s recipe, spiked crazily out from his forehead. The first batch of scones came out of the oven a bit burnt. The second batch, however, were as toasty and golden-tinged as a perfect meringue and Alfred gave himself a silent pat on the back as he slid them off of the baking sheet and onto a plate. He furnished the tray with blackberry preserves and plenty of clotted cream, plus (of course) a small pot of Earl Grey. He had procured permission from Emerson to serve Master Arthur his private breakfast (the head butler no doubt approving of any attempt to compensate for the previous night’s embarrassment). Arthur was an early riser. No one knew what he did in his rooms in the wee hours of the morning, only that he sent for his breakfast tray no later than 6am. Alfred had an extra spring in his step as he headed toward Master Arthur’s rooms. He knocked briefly and, upon hearing shuffling inside, took the noise as admittance and promptly opened the door. There was an audible mutual gasp as Alfred, tea tray in hand, was met with a strange site. Master Arthur was in his dressing gown, pink clouds of bunny slippers visible beneath the hem, seated at a small loom… embroidering! His eyes widened to the size of tea saucers beneath his caterpillar-like brows and his face turned beet red with either fury or embarrassment or some combination of both. “Alfred, you git! What are you doing in my rooms without knocking!!” “I’m sorry- I,” and here he was in exactly the same predicament he was supposed to be making up for. “I thought you were up-“ “I am up, idiot!” Arthur barked, standing and trying to shield the loom from view. “What is that?” Alfred craned his neck curiously. “Never you mind!” Arthur’s voice kept going higher and higher like a string about to snap. “It’s ok, I won’t laugh-“ Alfred said in a tone he intended to be encouraging (though privately he did think it was kind of funny. Maybe even as funny as the bunny slippers). Upon having this thought he looked down at Arthur’s feet. Arthur, who had up til now only been concerned with hiding his embroidery, saw what Alfred was looking at and let out a strangled squeal, bending so his dressing gown covered his slippers but inadvertently exposing the loom in the process, “Out!” he managed. Instead of obeying the command, Arthur took a step forward, carefully averting his eyes and politely setting the tray down on the table, “I’m sorry, Arthur. I made you scones.” “SCONES?!?” Arthur yelped in a voice definitely not befitting the heir of a future Lord of the Manor. “Yeah,” Alfred beamed proudly, “Made ‘em myself! Why don’t you show me what you’re making, Arthur, er, sir. Are you making a dress?” He meant this as an honest question, trying to infuse his words with interest but for some reason it only seemed to make the other man more upset. Arthur’s face was now an unhealthy shade of purple and he was shaking so that the ears of his slippers waggled comically. “No I’m not making a dress, you imbecile!!!” he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides until the knuckles were white. “What is it then?” Alfred took an inquisitive step forward. “I won’t laugh. Promise.” “It’s the bloody Bayeux Tapestry, idiot, what do you think it is?!?!” Alfred, taller and and at a better vantage point, could clearly see the mostly finished picture on the loom, “It is not the whatever-you-said, it’s- a badger!” And indeed it was. The small woodland animal was depicted in a patch of flowers, wearing a bonnet and sniffing something that looked like a daisy. “Artie,” Alfred unconsciously reverted to his friend’s childhood name, “It’s cute!” Arthur was now beyond words and in danger of passing out. The English did have a very low threshold for humiliation, Alfred noted as he went to scoop Arthur up and carry him across the room where he deposited him gently upon the bed. To his surprise, Arthur did not fight him. “Here,” Alfred dragged the tea table over to the bedside, “Have a scone.” Arthur, shaking and crimson, glared at Alfred but didn’t hesitate to grab a scone, smother it in jam and cream, and stuff it into his face where he munched it angrily. Alfred adjusted his glasses nervously, “So?” When Arthur had swallowed the initial scone his eyebrows knit like wrestling caterpillars and he looked as if he were contemplating shoving the sugar spoon into one of Alfred’s expectant blue eyes, “It’s delicious… Idiot,” he muttered and reached for another.

The weather warmed and it was finally feeling like English summer. Alfred had been wary of doting too much on Arthur. ‘Best let him cool off a bit’ Cook advised after he related the scone debacle (leaving out the detail of the badger. Apparently it was no secret to the rest of the staff that young Master Kirkland enjoyed embroidery though no one let on that they knew). Alfred came into the kitchens humming, feeling encouraged by the turn in weather to something he felt more acclimated to. As soon as he looked at the chalk board where Cook kept the instructions for the day his smile faded. The roster showed, simply: Engagement Tea: petite fours, fresh fruit platter, asst savories. Champagne. There was that tremor in his stomach again, but instead of the tickling butterfly feeling to which he was recently accustomed this was an angry hummingbird sensation. He was not quite sure what to do. He stood there, frowning at the board until Cook came in with one of the lesser maids in tow. “Something t’matter?” she asked, piling the maid’s arms with various ingredients. “Nuh-nothing,” Alfred answered, his voice sounding small, “What’s this about an engagement party?” Cook was methodically hacking apart asparagus stems, “What do ye think? Young Master Kirkland’s got ‘imself a fine lady!” she exclaimed. “His parents got ‘im one, more like,” the maid muttered under her breath. “Speak up, lass,” Cook put down the knife and challenged the maid. “It’s only talk,” she started shyly, “But I heard ‘is parents are pressuring ‘im into it. That he doesn’t really want to marry a proper lady with titles ’n all that.” Cook picked up the knife again. It was obvious from the way the maid talked that she was sweet on Master Arthur. And Cook, always one for speaking her mind, snapped, “Of course ‘e’s going to marry a proper lady! What were ye thinking? That he’d lower ‘iself to dally with a scullery maid- someone so far beneath ‘is notice?! Perish the thought!” She hacked the head off an asparagus in one clean stroke. Alfred gulped. The maid looked flustered and scurried out of the room. Cook shook her head, “Of all the delusions of grandeur!” she clucked her tongue. “Am I needed in the kitchen today?” Alfred asked, suddenly wanting nothing more than some fresh air. “It’s only- that I noticed the, um, hedges could use some trimming and I thought-“ Cook assessed him and Alfred was certain she’d say no, but she wiped her hands on her apron instead and gave him a rare smile, “It’s only a small party. The Master, Mistress and young Arthur. And the lady ‘erself o’course. Nothing fancy til the Engagement Ball next week.” “I can go then? Outside?” “‘Course. And good of ye to take note of the ‘edges. You’re a good lad, Alfred. A lad who knows ‘is place.” And she gave him that strange winning smile and resumed massacre-ing the asparagus.

Snip, a cluster of leaves fell to the ground as Alfred muttered to himself. He didn’t know exactly why he should be in such dour spirits on such a fine day. It was so warm he’d begun sweating and, as everyone was inside celebrating the engagement in the opposite wing of the house, he had removed his shirt. Alfred wiped his brow, scooting his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with an index finger. Normally he was quite good at groundskeeping, but today he was just off. Every shrub he tried to trim seemed to turn out in the shape of a badger. He’d won awards for this kind of thing back home in the adolescent gardening club he’d been forced into summer after summer, and had quite the green thumb. Spirals, topiaries, carousel horses- he was magic with the clippers. Not today, however. He’d been at it most of the afternoon and the unruly hedge before him (which he’d tried to manicure into a unicorn bust) was decidedly badger-esque. He growled and sauntered to the opposite side of the lawn where the most unruly greenery bordered the house, dabbing at his face and feeling the sweat trickle down his back as the sun beat down on his shoulder blades. Alfred attacked the wild clump of bramble with renewed vigor and swore he heard a yelp from inside. Could there be an animal back here? A real badger maybe? Snip, another clump of foliage dropped and Alfred gasped as the space was filled- not with the expected view of brick- but a pair of lovely green eyes, more verdant and deep up close when framed by the leaves. “Well, hello there,” an amused voice rang out as Alfred stumbled back. It was Arthur, looking a bit sheepish, his tone more subdued than his usual gruff and proper manner. “H- hi,” Alfred stammered, “I didn’t realize anyone was in the garden or I-” What was the young Master doing spying on him instead of at his engagement tea?? The thought was suddenly overtaken with the painful self-awareness of realizing he’d taken his shirt off in the stifling heat, thinking he was alone. He could feel his face turning the hue of last nights pickled beets. “Er-“ Arthur took a step back as well, visible smile above his own undone collar. He put a finger in the gap and adjusted it, stating simply, “I needed some air.” Alfred saw the green eyes slide down to his own bare midriff and resisted the urge to flee into the honeysuckle and hide in sheer mortification. He looked around frantically for his cast off shirt- there it was, seeming miles away, hanging on the bannister of the pavilion. “Er— um.” “It’s cute, you know,” Arthur ducked under an arch in the hedgerow a couple of feet down and emerged, smiling in an uncharacteristically amused way. “What is?” Alfred assumed he was being made fun of. “The way you trimmed those shrubs into the shape of badgers.” Up close freckles were visible on his cheeks, “Before you destroyed them, that is.” Typical Arthur. “What about your tea? What about your engagement?” Alfred voiced his thoughts without thinking. The thing in his stomach had begun to uncoil and he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Wasn’t sure of anything except standing here feeling exposed and confused and Arthur with his collar undone and his eyes sparkling like emeralds on fire and- Without warning Arthur grabbed the hedge clippers from Alfred’s hand, flung them to the ground, and pulled the unsuspecting boy into the shadow of the overgrown arch where he covered his lips in a gentle and wholly unexpected kiss. It was over too quickly and Alfred reeled in surprise, his head swimming, everything around him a blur of green. He heard a voice close to his ear, so familiar yet speaking in a completely foreign way, “It’s ridiculous for me to marry someone I have no feelings for. My heart is-” and there he stopped, stepping back and clearing his throat. Arthur’s face had gone quite red and he smoothed his shirt nervously with one palm as he coughed again, “Well-” Alfred, feeling as if the butterflies in his stomach had abruptly turned to fireworks in his brain, gathered Arthur in a fierce bear-hug and kissed him back. “We’ll have to be careful about this,” Arthur warned, brows furrowed but his expression still amiable. “Of course!” Alfred nodded enthusiastically grabbing the clippers, both of them resuming their composure. “I’d best get back,” Arthur retreated toward the house but not before he threw an awkward but genuine smile over his shoulder. Alfred resumed clipping with renewed enthusiasm and by the time the sun set across the garden, a menagerie of badgers littered the lawn.

The next morning Alfred clambered down the stairs, Nantucket standing up in an unruly fashion, refusing to be tamed. “Alfred,” Emerson looked up from his buttered toast, scowling at the young footman’s hair, “It seems young Master Kirkland has put in a special request for your scones. You’d better hop to it if they’re to be ready by six.” “Of course!” Alfred got straight to work and by the time the bell rang Alfred had a platter so full he had to lower it to see as he walked. And for the first time in his life, Arthur found he had more scones than he could possibly eat.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5740147

hello yes i am katie, your usuk secret santa pinch hitter and i’m v sorry for this hecka late gift- ;;;;

this is for @teddiehtet! the prompt i chose was idols/movie stars! it doesn’t really convey that ohm i’m sorry- orz bUT like most of my usuk drawings made from prompts, i have a little au/story to go with it!

Alfred F. Jones is a super popular actor who was made for acting and the glam life in Hollywood. Arthur Kirkland is an up and coming British actor that isn’t quite used to the limelight yet. When they’re both casted as the two main protagonists and love interest of a new movie, their fates were sealed. Behind the scenes romance, anyone? ;3c After the filming is finished, the movie is a huge success and Alfred gladly escorts Arthur on the red carpet, happily telling reporters that the rumors are in fact true: Alfred and Arthur are a couple. 

.... oooor something like that~ u w y

BONUS! prompt #2: blinded

Hello @hetalians-reunite!!! I’m your pinch hitter for @usuksecretsanta2015!!