#I'll come back and fix things later I'm leaving somewhere to gather my senses

[gallifreyanlibertea]

No Homo

a/n: Hey! I’m doing well, anon, how are you? I suppose I am taking requests... apparently lol, and this was fun to write so here! 

Also @ no homo anon :) Feel like I forced the title on but whatever. @egggplannt knows I had different ideas for a fic titled No Homo but I’d also probably never get it done. 

Also, I researched but I’m lazy so if there are inaccuracies be nice to me.

“Is this all really necessary?”

Alfred checked the time on the face of his watch, readjusting his glasses as he peered in through a window, turning to glance over his shoulder to toss a beaming smile back in Arthur’s direction. “They’re almost done, Your Royal Highness.”

“I thought I told you to just call me Arthur,” Arthur grumbled in response.

To which Alfred smiled yet again, “Yeah, babe, but I just like saying it.”

Arthur hummed with a light smile on his lips, watching as Alfred took his hand to bring it up to those lips, kissing the ring on his middle finger. “My prince.”

They were beautiful. Those big blue eyes with that bigger smile and those beautiful dimples, simply stunning. Arthur just wasn’t worthy. 

It was a moment. Like in those movies where the lead met their love interest’s gaze and they shared a smile. And you could see the sparks in the air. This was it, this was what they had that very moment. 

Then the back door of the McDonald’s burst open and Alfred threw Arthur’s hand back down like it was poison, infected, something sent to kill him- Arthur held his assaulted body part to his chest as Alfred wiped his hands down on his trousers.

“All cleared for your date, Sir.” The man in black said sternly.

“It’s not a date,” Alfred replied almost immediately, eyes wide, lips parting for a nervous laugh. “We’re- no, this… my dad made me do it, okay?”

And Arthur sighed, following along behind as they were led into a greasy American fast food restaurant, escorted by men in suits, as discreet as they were bold.

It was strange.

He’d never thought he’d be out with any significant American figure, much less the bloody President’s son, he rarely ever left home. And who would? A land so perfectly gloomy, perfectly rainy, perfectly to his liking, a place that wasn’t foreign. Somewhere he felt at peace.

That was something he couldn’t say for the U.S.A. Special relationship, they’d said. No one else had been available at the time President Jones had called for a friendly banquet, so Arthur and his brothers would go to America on England’s behalf, just a few familiar faces because it was rude to turn someone down, yes.

And he had hated it. It was so very hot. It was so very sunny. It was so very, very foreign.

Alfred grinned at him from across the table, “Whaddya wanna eat?”

Arthur blinked, squinting up at the giant menu posted above the register, which, from their seat, was a bit blurry actually. “I suppose I’ll just have a tea.”

“Iced or sweet?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Oh, and not to mention saying things like “iced or sweet tea” was common here.

But it hadn’t been too bad. The banquet at the beginning of last month had been his first visit, and they’d treated him like, well, royalty.

He was a prince after all. That was the bare minimum, yet it hadn’t been excessive. A light, airy meeting with the Head of State, some other men he assumed were important, and he’d been left on his own to roam the banquet hall, sampling the food and nodding politely at anyone who nodded at him first.

With an experience as bland and frankly boring as that, why would you say was he here again, when he could’ve been anywhere else?

To put it simply, Alfred Jones.

“I think I’ll get a Big Mac, hm… maybe some large fries, a McFlurry? Yes, oreo, and my friend here will have a sweet tea.”

“I most certainly will not,” Arthur said with a fold of his arms and Alfred rolled his eyes, stage-whispering in the cashier’s direction.

“Yes, he will.”

Alfred liked to put on a show. That was one of the many things Arthur had found out about him the day he’d first met him, catching his intent, blue-eyed gaze across the banquet to find him suddenly looking away.

He’d continued watching as Mr. President had nudged Alfred in Arthur’s direction, mouthing what seemed to be “go, go!”.

Needless to say, Arthur, a bit red-faced, had pretended not to see it.

“You know, I can’t believe this, Artie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Alfred sighed almost dreamily, leaning on his propped-up palm as he, to Arthur’s disgust, stirred his milkshake with a fry. “Me, here, with you.”

“Why is that such a good thing?” Was Arthur’s response, and Alfred sat up straight, those eyes sparkling behind the rims of his glasses.

“Don’t’cha know? You’re my hero!”

Yes, Alfred had said it before. The same first words he’d said to Arthur after finally being convinced to walk across the hall, greeting Arthur with a sunny smile and an extended hand.

“Gosh, Prince Arthur, you’re my hero.”

Arthur had been miffed. It’s hadn’t been a thing he’d expected to hear from anyone, much less someone like Alfred, but Alfred had continued on- “The way you carry yourself, the things you speak out for, all your charity work, it’s an honor meeting you.”

If Arthur hadn’t already been blushing to the roots of his hair, he had been by then.

And he said the same thing to Alfred now that he’d said back then, “Good God.”

“I mean it!” Alfred said with a loud laugh, one that attracted people’s attention despite the attention already burnt onto them because they were, well, the President’s son and a prince of England eating at a local McDonald’s. “I admire you.”

Arthur smirked knowingly and Alfred’s expression melted into one of embarrassment. “You’ve made that clear.”

“Can we not talk about that?”

It was obviously something too sensitive to be speaking about in public so Arthur made the motion of zipping his lips, finding that the wider his smile broke, the deeper Alfred’s frown.

“Arthur, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Was Arthur’s nonchalant response.

After all, it didn’t need to be said. They both remembered the event in mind pretty clearly, along with the many other things Alfred had done that were worthy enough to bring up, that would leave him turning a rather deep shade of red.

The way he had abashedly asked for Arthur’s number that day at the banquet, to call him, of course, because Alfred didn’t have many influential friends his age. Arthur had complied hesitantly, only to be bombarded with texts the minute he’d stepped out of the White House, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was what he’d been texting.

Have a safe journey, Arthur had smiled before boarding his plane. How was your day today? And Arthur had told him just how boring it had been. What did you have for lunch? The boy was just so interested in anything he did, and Arthur was anything if more than happy to talk about himself. Alfred too, it seemed, because when Arthur would ask questions back, he’d get paragraph-long responses.

Then there were what are you wearing?’s and Arthur would sit right up in bed, eyes wide and blinking as he squinted at the three moving ellipses at the bottom of the screen. Haha, I’m just joking!

Right.

It had only escalated from there.

What are you up to? I’m bored, Arthur would reply, to which Alfred would say, I wish I was there to fix that. What would you do, Arthur would say, and Alfred would send some infernal winking emoji, What would you want me to do?

Arthur would humor the lad, but it had never gotten graphic. It seemed obvious then how Alfred had felt about him, and with some of Arthur’s responses, Good night, love, he’d assumed Alfred had understood as well.

Which is why he’d even flown back to the U.S that morning when Alfred had invited him to spend the day, something his father had agreed to because it was always good when the son made buddy-buddy with a prince.

“Welcome back to the states, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, call me Arthur when we’re alone like this.” It would make it less awkward. They’d met at the White House with not one soul present, and Arthur had felt a bit betrayed to have Alfred being so formal with him.

Alfred had smiled, “Okay.”

Silence. Arthur had smiled back, and Alfred smiled wider, and Arthur smiled wider, and Alfred had grinned, and Arthur had assumed it to be some sort of silent banter introducing a conversation but Alfred had looked around, confirming the room to be empty, before pulling Arthur into a bruising kiss.

Needless to say, Arthur had not expected that.

He had not expected to be tilted backward by the sheer force of that kiss, he did not expect those arms to be wrapped around him, holding him upright, he did not expect Alfred to pull away with a pop, with a dreamy look on his face.

Perhaps the fact that it had taken him by surprise had shown on Arthur’s features. Jaw dropped incredulously, eyes wide, face lacking the adoration Alfred seemed to have laced into the blue of his eyes.

“What the hell?”

“Oh gosh, I-” Those very eyes widened and he had stepped away, hands held out cautiously as if Arthur was some sort of animal. “I-”

Arthur had blinked, watching as Alfred’s cheeks flushed red. “No homo!”

What.

“I swear, I’m not gay!”

Arthur unwittingly touched his lips as Alfred made a scene of wiping his, rather ferociously with the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t know why I did that, please don’t tell anyone, I-”

Alfred had practically been babbling, and Arthur could say he understood it.

He understood why the son of the president of the United States would deny being gay so vehemently, would be torn down to a vulnerable stump at the thought of someone as important as Arthur being able to out him. It was a dangerous world, and the progress made still wasn’t enough. It was the same reason Arthur had practically lived in the closet since he was twelve, and he understood.

He had glanced around the empty room before dragging Alfred behind what seemed like a curtain, taking that face in his hands to place a soft kiss on those lips, pulling away to place a finger on them as if to shush him, his own lips tilting up in a smile.

So there they were, on a date that wasn’t a date, because they couldn’t afford one. Arthur’s hand brushed Alfred’s… accidentally, as he reached for the fries. Alfred kicked his foot playfully from under the table. ���It was embarrassing.”

“It was charming.” Arthur mused with a light smile.

Alfred’s hand grazed Arthur’s knee under the table, invitingly, and Arthur set his hand down to meet it, biting back a grin as Alfred squeezed his palm with a wink that was gone as fast as it came.

“What do you say about me coming to England one day?”

“I suppose I could show you around.” Arthur sipped from his tea, momentarily forgetting its atrocious identity. “No homo, of course.”

Alfred kicked him from under the table.