AKA Actual Nerd Ravenclaw Alfred
USUK, Harry Potter AU. Arthur, a Slytherin, finds himself the unwitting recipient of a very enthusiastic Ravenclaw’s attention. He keeps a record in a magical diary that also writes back to him, and as he writes his attitude toward Alfred slowly changes over time.
There were no suddenly appearing birds or stars falling from the sky when he first laid eyes on him, but Alfred knew that he had just seen the person he was meant to be with just the same. The first time had been a bit of an accident. He’d been running late to get to class and thus had been sprinting through the crowds of people on the sidewalk, and then he’d seen him—a man in a fancy, obviously expensive suit with an equally expensive briefcase yelling at someone on an expensive phone in a thick British accent, with large but fitting eyebrows. He was perfect. By the time Alfred’s thoughts had caught up to him, the man was long gone. He wound up late to class, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate anyway.
The second time had been when he was on the bus. It had stopped at a light, right next to one of those indie coffee and tea places that he usually didn’t pay any attention to. But that day sitting near one of the windows and delicately nursing a teacup was the man. Alfred gaped and tried to get off, but the driver refused. It wasn’t a designated stop, he said. By the time he’d gotten off and ran back to the shop, the man was gone. Alfred made it a point to stop by everyday around the same time if he could help it.
The third and fourth times were at the local record store. The first occurrence Alfred happened to see him inside the store, but was once again too late getting inside before the man had left the store and disappeared into the crowd. The second occurrence was a breakthrough.
He’d been in the store looking for an old vinyl for a project, and then he looked up and there was the man across from him. His breath hitched and though he wanted to speak, he’d lost all ability to do so. The man looked up, right at him, and Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. The man’s eyes were green—like a forest or something equally poetic. Alfred was blatantly staring and the man gave him an annoyed look before he left with the vinyl he’d picked out. Alfred was left gaping like a fish.
The clock tower at noon. He’d confirmed it multiple times. Even as a torrent of rain began to fall, he’d made sure to be at the designated spot. He watched as others scrambled to find shelter or huddled under their brollies as they walked through the rain.
Arthur was convinced that today would be the day. He had a dozen roses in hand and enough conviction to overcome his anxiety. He would ask Alfred to be more than just the friend he spoke with on a near daily basis in his favorite coffee shop. Arthur hated coffee, and he put up with the same weak cup of tea day after day because Alfred liked going there. He never failed to voice his distaste, but he didn’t insist that they go somewhere else, either.
Alfred Jones. The student he’d met by chance on his first day in the States. Alfred had made offensive remarks about his eyebrows and his accent, and Arthur had called him an insufferable bastard. That should have been the end. Instead, Arthur had run across him again when he’d admitted to himself that he needed additional help with physics. Alfred became his tutor. Despite their initial clash of personalities, they fell into a comfortable pattern and became good friends.
Arthur, meanwhile, also fell in love. After over a year of meeting with Alfred nearly every single day, he was fairly certain that his feelings were reciprocated. It had taken him awhile to work up the nerve, but he was finally ready to confess his feelings.
But it was long past noon, and the chill of the fall air was cutting through his sopping wet coat. Alfred was never very good about being punctual, and so Arthur was confident that soon he’d come running across the plaza with his hair sticking to his forehead and a silly excuse at the ready. He clutched at the roses and glared at anyone who dared to give him a funny look.
Just when he was ready to call Alfred to give him a few choice words, his mobile chimed, informing him that he had received a new text message. He ripped the phone out of his pocket to see that it was from Alfred. When he opened the message, his heart clenched.
“Sorry, bro. My new gf wanted to stay in today. Coffee tomorrow, right?”
Arthur stared in blank disbelief at the text, reading it over and over. Gf. Girlfriend. Alfred had a girlfriend.
He slowly lowered the phone back into his pocket and stared at the roses in his hand instead. The raindrops on the petals only added to their beauty, but they would never reach their intended recipient. Arthur’s face twisted into a frown—his chest felt so tight that it was painful.
When he felt his lower lip quiver, he lifted his head, taking a deep breath and rapidly blinking. The rain was picking up, and he closed his eyes and let the drops pound against his face. No tears. At last, he started to walk back through the rain, leaving the roses on a bench for someone else to find. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his chin held high.
But for all his defiance, he didn’t know how he’d be able to face Alfred again.
Do you think you'll ever continue Always Comes Too Late? It was amazing!!!
@AnonymousI struck a deal with a friend of mine, so yes! It’ll be about 3-4 parts in total. :)
“Some party, huh?”
England turned to look at him, and America smiled as he settled against the wall next to England with his glass of wine. England shook his head and turned to look at the congregation again with a furrowed brow. America followed his gaze to where many of the others were drinking, dancing and generally having a good time. It came as no surprise to America that England was scowling in a dark corner instead.
“Quite.” England went quiet and America turned to look at him again. England swirled his glass, leaving America to wonder what number drink he was on, and then shifted away from the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, America, I need some fresh air.”
“Ah—wait, I’ll come with you!”
England gave him a funny look but didn’t comment, instead stepping away from the excitement to stand on the balcony instead. America followed and took a deep breath, the cool night air a relief. He turned to look at England, but immediately had to look away. The light of the moon was very flattering on England, emphasized by the fact that he was wearing a nice suit and had attempted to tame his wild hair.
“Shouldn’t you be back inside, America? I noticed you…dancing with Ukraine earlier. Poor girl looked terrified.”
America chuckled nervously, though he continued to stare intently at his wine. “What about you? Didn’t Prussia try to get you to leave to do something else instead? With more booze or something?”
England huffed. “There are very few things that would be less appealing to me than spending an evening with that idiot. But then, standing out here with you is hardly my idea of a perfect evening, either.”
America turned to look at England again, even knowing he shouldn’t, and he immediately regretted it. England had a small smile on his face, not malicious, and America stood staring, transfixed. England, in his nice suit with his attempt at tamed hair and the light of the moon shining on him just so and that smile—
He could say something sarcastic and snappy at England—that there was no better way to spend one’s evening than with a hero like him, for one thing—or he could say something cool and suave to make England melt. He’d practiced many times before, after all. He’d been practicing for just that kind of moment where they were alone together and England wasn’t angry at him so he could say just the right words that would communicate his feelings to England. Every time he thought about acting on his feelings, something would come up or he’d justify to himself why it wasn’t a good idea. England was much older than him, so he’d probably heard thousands of confessions and didn’t think anything of them anymore. England may have teased him and gotten flustered because of him, but that didn’t mean he was also in love.
But England looked perfect and he was perfect and America had to catch himself before his mind turned to mush and he started thinking about how England was wearing different cologne and it was only adding to the image he was projecting.
America opened his mouth, prepared to change the subject, but then England’s smile widened just a bit and America’s mind went into overdrive.
“I love you!!”
America froze and England froze, as well—at least at first. Then his eyes widened and his mouth fell open and the glass in his hand slipped out and shattered against the ground. The sound of breaking glass made them both snap to attention.
“America, what—”
Rather than wait for England’s response, rejection or otherwise, America also dropped his glass before he turned and fled. It was the most uncool, not heroic thing he could possibly do, but he didn’t want to face the repercussions of ruining a perfectly good moment by saying something completely idiotic like that.
America leaned forward, careful not to bump into anything lest he jar the seat next to him. From his carryon he retrieved his camera, which he flipped on and aimed at himself, holding it at arm’s length as he grinned.
“So I’ve made the greatest discovery ever just now. England’ll totally kick my ass later but it’ll be so worth it.”
America turned the camera so it faced his traveling companion—namely England—who was fast asleep. America held the camera with one hand and pointed at England with the other.
“Here we have rare footage of the ritual of the Grumpeus Maximus as he endures the long transatlantic flight to the USA. Note the adorable teddy bear travel pillow cradling his head, custom made for just such an occasion. See how he folds his arms over the jacket he stole, er…borrowed from his mate to keep warm. You can’t hear it, but I have it on good authority that he’s listening to Disney songs through those headphones. Such great lengths this creature goes to so he can stay comfortable!”
America leaned over, still holding the camera aloft, and peered at England.
“And yet look at how deep that scowl is!” America broke his character as he examined England’s sleeping face. “Goddamn, I never realized how pissy he looks even when he’s asleep. Do you miss me, England? The jacket’s not enough and you want me to hold you? Awwww!”
England stirred all of a sudden, and America yelped and almost dropped his camera. He was quick to stuff it back into his bag and lean back in his chair to feign sleep. He heard England groaning next to him, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“America, you awake?” England’s words were slurred slightly, so America knew it wouldn’t take much effort for him to fall back asleep.
Sure enough, America soon heard the rustle of fabric and the loud exhale that preceded England falling asleep. America opened his eyes to find England back in the same position he’d been in before. America reached for his camera again, grinning.
“Look! No one has ever captured this magnificent creature drooling on camera before!
America is a sadist, England decides. It’s the only possible explanation for why America would invite him for a visit in the middle of summer to sweltering heat and oppressive humidity and then insist on spending the time outside instead of inside in front of the air conditioner. He could retreat back inside, but then he knows that America would just pursue him and drag him—carry him even, if necessary—back outside.
Although he hasn’t bothered to silence his many complaints about the heat and his general dissatisfaction with it, he has also dutifully remained outside—albeit on a chair underneath a large umbrella instead of pulling weeds in the garden as America is doing. England has heard enough comments about his pale, scrawny legs and he has a feeling he’d faint if he tried to do anything strenuous in that heat anyway.
“How’s the lemonade?”
England lowers his glass to regard America, who wipes at his forehead with the back of his arm. England huffs and holds up his glass for America to see.
“My ice has already melted.”
“Eh? That so? It is getting pretty hot, isn’t it?”
England scoffs. “That is an understatement.”
America doesn’t respond, instead wiping at his forehead again and staring up at the sky. England nearly comments on how America is wasting time, but then America pulls his t-shirt, slightly covered in dirt and damp with sweat, up over his head and tosses it to the ground, revealing America’s chest and abdomen. England pauses then lowers his lemonade glass to the adjacent table.
America lets out a deep breath, but England watches instead as beads of sweat trail from America’s neck down his chest and across his abs—all of which are finely tuned—to vanish under the waistband of his jeans. England licks his lips, though he dismisses the action as merely removing the traces of lemonade there. America bends down to pull weeds once more and England watches the muscles in America’s back flex with each movement he makes, his skin glistening with sweat. Perhaps the heat is not such a terrible thing, after all.
England grabs his lemonade glass again, his hand shaking slightly, and he gulps down a large amount of it to soothe his suddenly dry throat. While the view is lovely, England would rather that he enjoy the same view inside America’s house, both sweating for an entirely different reason.
America stands upright again and grabs his discarded shirt, removing his glasses before he wipes at his face.
“Ahhh, it’s really getting hot. What do you say we go inside for awhile?”
England lets his gaze rove over America’s body—more beads of sweat making the same trek from America’s neck down to his jeans—before he lowers his glass, smiling.
Rather than let this blog be empty because I don’t have the time or energy to write, I figured I’d slowly upload some old ficlets. So if you think you’ve read this before, you probably have. :)
—
The man of the hour was arriving, someone said, and Alfred lowered his champagne flute to turn to look. He couldn’t help but smile as he spotted the person everyone was looking at, and he set his flute aside and straightened his tie.
“He’s the one. Arthur Kirkland. He’s the guy that’ll get you places,” Alfred’s friend said, and Alfred turned to smile at him.
“No problem, I got this.” He flashed a thumbs-up before he set off into the crowd.
It was the first time he’d ever attended a party for that company, but it was hardly his first time meeting the CEO. He was already very well acquainted with Arthur Kirkland—very well acquainted.
—
He was trembling violently, believing that he’d completely blown the interview and was going to be laughed out of the office. He was just a stupid intern, thinking that he could work for the famous Kirkland family. But Arthur was smiling pleasantly—perhaps too pleasantly.
“Intern, hmm? Yes, you’ll make a fine aide, won’t you?”
What happened to the NSFW challenge?
@AnonymousIt’s very unlikely I’ll have time to do it, to be honest. There are some porny things from that I still want to do (especially since I’ve been writing relatively sfw stuff lately), but yeah. I don’t have time anymore for the whole challenge. :(
“Heeeyyy, England!”
England flinched, sitting up and resting his teacup on his desk. He’d just managed to find a moment to relax and now America was somehow in his house. He didn’t want to think about whether or not his front door had been ripped off its hinges again and he sighed. He scowled as America burst into his study and slammed a large stack of papers on his desk.
“What’s this? You don’t expect me to do your paperwork for you, do you?” England grabbed his teacup again and sat back, hoping that America would pick up on his silent dismissal. He took a sip, but America just grinned at him.
“Nope! I wrote you a 200 page dissertation on why we should have sex!”
England promptly spit out his tea and started coughing. As he sat there choking, America just bounced back and forth from his heels to his toes with a far too smarmy smile on his face. England finally got himself under control and gaped at America. “You did what?”
“Yep! And since I know you’ll probably check, all of my sources are completely legit.”
Despite America’s assurance, England flipped through the pages, expecting to see “we should bang” repeated over and over for 200 pages. Instead he found page after page of carefully explained reasons complete with diagrams and expert studies.
It was an unfortunate time to remember that he had a raging boner for America showing his intelligence.
America chuckled. “By the way, it’s not mentioned in there, but I don’t care whose dick is stuck in which ass, or maybe you just want us to rub against each other like horny teenagers or I’d totally be down for sucking each other off. Just as long as we get each other off.”
England cleared his throat and somewhat weakly pushed the papers away from him, turning to frown at America.
“And who says I even want to agree to this? Hmm?”
“Cause we’ve been dating for years, and you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t wanted in my pants since at least ’45.”
England was quick to look away, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to hide his growing blush. He reached for the papers again to try to look like he was carefully considering America’s proposal. The more he looked at the papers, the more his head spun. America laughed, and England looked up at him.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be at my hotel, but I’ll be looking forward to you giving me a call. Let’s mess up that neat bedroom of yours.”
America winked, but England was still too bewildered to do anything but gape at the stack of papers in front of him.
