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Another day. Another rainy day. Another rainy day for Arthur to clutch onto his to-go cup of tea like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. He won't tell anybody, especially not at Brown-Nosers and Back Stabbers Inc. A nine-to-five job sitting in front of a screen and trudging through lines and lines of texts, customer complaints, reviews, essays, attempts at journalism, so on and so forth kills the optimism he never knew he had.
Yes, this day is just like the others, another day of an ass in his face.
Literally.
In the next desk over, sits Alfred, always tapping his pen against his keyboard, shaking his legs, wriggling in his seat to some unknown tune, smiling so sweetly at his neighbor.
Anything to bother Arthur, really.
With the pen going like that all the time, it constantly flings out of Alfred's hand. Then, out comes the chair, away from the desk, a playful roll of pretty blue eyes, sometimes even a chuckle, and the best part—he'll lift his buttocks in the air as he pats around the ugly carpet. It's always a good moment gander at the material of his trousers hugging an unnecessarily scrumptious and manly rear from the corner of eyes.
Alfred hits his head on the bottom of his desk. Like usual. His behind performs a little wiggle. Like usual. A cute scolding, "Shoot! Come here, you..." Liiiiiiike usual.
Arthur presses a fingertip to his temple. Some of the others glimpse behind them, but quickly turn away when they realize Alfred is down on the floor again with his neighbor going mad with each second of it.
'One of these days,' Arthur always plots to himself, 'I'm just going to reach over, and give him a huge slap on the arse. That'll show him.'
Arthur isn't exactly sure what it would show, but by God, he really wanted to do it. Just to see what happens. Probably some jiggling. A yelp. A slap to the face. He isn't feeling particularly brave that day.
Eventually, Alfred manages to get his pen from the carpet of coffee stains and, "Oh, hey! A nickel!" He flops into his chair and sends a smile Arthur's way, cheeks all pink from the exertion of being a fool and looking damn good while doing it.
~.~
"I hear we might not even get a bonus this time around!"
Arthur rolls his eyes and tosses a last gulp of water back. "They're always saying that. Every quarter."
His coworker pulls a frown. "Well, sales have been down as of late..."
"It's after the holidays."
An awkward silence. The guy sucks air between his teeth and gives his cup a swirl. "Yeah. Good talk."
Arthur props an elbow on the water fountain as an obnoxious person would and unleashes a sigh. Five hours until he could get out of there. That means he will have to get through an hour, five times.
The other guy is replaced by a much bouncier body and chipper attitude. "Hey, Artie!"
Arthur quickly adverts his eyes. He manages a grunt.
"How's your day going?"
"It's work."
"Oh, yeah! I know that feeling!" Alfred laughs like he dropped the hottest joke of the year. He really drops several coffee lids. "Oh, shoot!"
Arthur draws a deep breath. Here it comes. He squishes a smile from anticipation. The fool swoops to the floor. He actually bends his knees this time, buttocks tucked out of view.
Curse the clouds. Curse the rainy day and curse those coffee lids.
"Got it!" Alfred bounces to his feet again, smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. "Guess I should throw out the others, huh? The floor's kind of gross."
"Yeah," Arthur agrees, keeping his eyes to his own now-empty cup. "Gross."
As Alfred wanders to the bins, Arthur immediately fetches more water to throw down the hatch. Alfred wanders around the tables in the breakroom, calling greetings to everyone there, even those with headphones on or their noses in books and would rather not be bothered. That rump works its jig around the room, not even bothering with the coffee that it sacrificed airtime for, before its beat ends at the water cooler.
Arthur lifts his eyebrows. "Have fun?"
An eager nod. "It's good!"
Arthur's eyes run down a lovely light blue button-up despite his best precautions. They snap back to where they should be—Alfred's face. His head performs a little tip and a typical smile. Arthur clears his throat, shaking off the farce that he wasn't totally caught ogling, "There's something I've been wanting to tell you."
"Really? What is it?"
Always eager. Good. Arthur tries not to grin. He slowly tips his cup back. A cursory glance around the breakroom. The few of the coworkers are too busy being sucked into the Weather Channel or talking dirty on clients. He lolls his head to the side, puts in a shrug, and points down below, "You should be careful how you take care of yourself."
"Hm?"
"We're sitting down all day, so if you get up and bend over like that so suddenly, it could hurt your knees."
Alfred scrunches his nose. "My...knees?"
"Yeah. Why do you think they pop like that when they do?"
Skepticism. With good reason.
Arthur takes another, quicker swig from his cup to squash a gremlin's grin. "Sitting like that...you don't really have a chance to work out your back."
"I try to, but sometimes, I just don't get to it."
Oh, Arthur knows. The fool will flap his arms, groan and squeak in his chair every time it's stretching time. And it seems to always, always be stretching time.
"You should work out your back," Arthur concludes. "Much easier bending at your hips than your knees, isn't it?"
Something bright glimpses across Alfred's face. It must be the truths of the universe unfolding before him right at this moment. "I think you may be right, Arthur! I've never thought of it like that before!"
Arthur lets out a snort. "I know." He is always right.
Yet he is so, so wrong.
~.~
Thus spars the delicious fruits of Arthur's labor.
Alfred drops a lot of crap.
Meanwhile, Arthur makes sure he has front row seats to the show.
One hinge at the waist, Alfred will lower himself to the floor. His fingers slip, and the pen, Styrofoam cup, whatever, will roll from his clutch. Maybe his glasses need a stronger prescription. Maybe the poor sod was dropped on his head when he was a baby. Maybe it's simply poor hand-eye-coordination.
Either way, Arthur's eyes always find that blessed butt. Some of the guys will catch him basking in its glory and give him weird looks. Arthur pretends they don't exist. Some of the ladies will catch him doing the same thing and jab and poke one another before not-so-sneakily pointing and snickering. Again, not a care in the world.
As long as the beautiful loon remains blissfully ignorant, surely there is no harm in appreciating a well-formed behind, is there? Arthur gets his own way with everything he wants. As he should.
Well, almost everything. The next step will be to somehow get that said behind all over his lap and the smiles and giggles that come with it.
~.~
Copies need to be made. No worries: Arthur is not entirely sure what they were of, as his eyes have glazed over walls of text a long time ago. Just copy. No reading. Eventually, he will get paid for doing so.
The copier is more special than the workers in the regard of getting its very own secluded and quiet room. Well, it's usually quiet when there isn't gossip-mongrels pecking out their own suffers-in-arms and nesting in there. A certain cackle shot over any noise in the office. Alfred must be in there with them, too.
"All right, all right, we got to go."
Arthur pins himself to the wall to let a handful of ladies through. He puts on a tight-lipped smile out of mannerism, but they hardly notice him. Either way, they snicker as soon after they pass him, and he cannot help but scowl at their backsides. He makes sure to quietly acquaint the door with its hinges as his mood shoots up again from the figure hunching over the copying machine. Alfred glimpses over his shoulder. A double-take, and a brilliant grin sprouts into existence. Arthur's feet come to a standstill from the squeezy-sensation grabbing a hold of his chest.
Curtly, pretending his heart isn't hammering, "Good morning."
"Hi, Arthur."
"Yeah, hi." Cool guy.
Alfred goes back to poking around the buttons, making the machine beep in protest. Whatever he is doing, it doesn't like it. Arthur figures this will be a while, and minus well enjoy the show. A grunt, and the copier unleashes a long monotone from being breeched. Alfred grumbles and slaps the lid back down.
"Trouble?"
"No, no, this thing always gives me issues."
Just like Arthur asked. He gives his eyes a toss to the ceiling and lets Alfred jam on the buttons a little longer. Still, kind of impatient, as he has things to do, too, he asks, "It gives everyone issues. What are you trying to do?"
"We have that job fair coming up, and the higher ups decided I was the guy put in charge in making all those copies and putting them up all over the town. That's great and all, but this darn!" Jab. "Machine!" Smack. "Won't work!"
Arthur sighs and dismissively waves a hand. No biggie. He draws close, perhaps a bit too close, but the warmth radiating from Alfred's back persuaded him to stay. "This old thing? You need to give it some time and patience before you start to mash buttons all silly."
Alfred tosses over a lovely pout. "I did."
Somehow, it is difficult to believe him.
Arthur clears everything, puts it all in place again, before pressing the right buttons. Copies, before long, start filling the tray. He lifts his chin, barely holding himself from grinning the place down from ogling blue eyes, "You just have to work a little magic into it."
Alfred recovers with a timid giggle. The copier whirls approvingly as they stare at each other. Arthur turns his head away first, clearing his throat, "Well, hurry it along now. I also have things to do."
"Yeah, I better head out." Alfred fishes his papers out with a victorious wiggle, but his smile doesn't crinkle his eyes as it usually does. "Got lots of stapling to do, huh?"
Arthur gives his head a little shake, his brain spewing words before he could stop it, "You're going to be out all day?"
"Looks like it." That little pout puckers into something else. Almost a smile, the bastard, but his voice sounds too stretched to be truly chipper, "Guess it saves me a trip to the gym, huh?"
"Ah." Arthur scrunches his eyebrows against the urge to be kind. "Must be a rush order."
"Oh, it is!" He eases the thought of something rattling in Alfred's headspace when he nods like that. "All of these, this entire stack has to be up by tomorrow. The fair's in two weeks..."
"And they want time for people to plan, and schedule, and..."
"Yeah..."
Arthur bobs his head, too, pretending to not be attentive, but still acting like he is listening, but is actually well into the conversation and chewing it over as he sets his own copies-to-be-made in place. "It's a big town. They expect too much out of you."
"I can handle a little bit of walking, Arthur." A jest quickly flips to a sigh, "But you're right. I'll probably be out all night. Heck, I'm thinking about calling off tomorrow already!"
Arthur flinches as his resolve trembles, threatening to crumble at his feet. He can't have that. He keeps his chin level, casual, "That's odd. The rest of us don't have that much to do, being the time of year and all."
Again, "Yeah..."
Arthur lolls his head to the side, then to the other, tapping his foot as the machine whirls for him. "You know...I-I could drive you around. It'll have to be after work, though." He reminds, "I have things to do, too."
Immediately, spring erupts in the little office space. "Really? You mean, like, working off the clock?" Alfred's grin stumps any cheap warnings, "They don't like it when we do that."
Arthur crosses his arms and shrugs to the opposite wall. "It's just hanging up posters. It's not a big deal."
The room is surprisingly quiet. Probably because Alfred is too occupied grinning down his own stack of papers. "Okay! Sounds great. Yeah." Whatever force he's keeping back behind that smile is trying its damn best to pour out, "Uh-huh! Sounds like you're asking me on a date!"
Arthur covers up whatever noise came out of his own face with a scoff and rolls his eyes. He takes his copies out of the machine, and smacks Alfred on the back of the head.
~.~
Hallelujah, the heavens have personally hand-delivered a piece of themselves right into Arthur's arms.
"Is right here good?"
"Little lower!" Arthur calls from his car, "Not everyone is tall like you."
Alfred adjusts a sheet of paper against a telephone pole before punching it with his stapler a few times. The sheets tucked under his arm make their escape. "Oh shoot!"
Here they go.
Alfred puts the stapler on the sidewalk in a quick swoop before scooping up the main gist of things before the papers would get too far. Up. Down. Up. Down. Then some stragglers. His rear gives a bop every time.
Arthur grins from his car like a maniac.
The papers are in place. One flies away, swooping into the air and over someone's fence, but he does not say anything as Alfred spins around and works his way back to the vehicle, smiling down at himself the whole time.
"Good job," Arthur says as soon as his passenger is situated. A seemingly permanent blush resides against Alfred's cheeks. "How many was that?"
"Eight."
"And how many do we have left?"
"Thirty-two!"
"...bollocks." Maybe there's a thing such as having too much of a good time.
Or something.
~.~
It is well into dusk by the time all of the flyers are pawned off to various stores and telephone poles. One even found its way underneath an unsuspecting windshield wiper. Then to loop back to Alfred's apartment.
The things Arthur does for that man.
"This right?"
"Yep! That's it!" Alfred unbuckles his seatbelt and tosses it aside. Arthur cringes as the buckle scrapes the inside of his car. Time's up. "So, um, thanks! I'd probably—nah, I'd definitely be still out there without you."
Arthur forces his eyes to be level with Alfred's. "Next time, don't bite off more than you can chew."
A smile blooms across his face against the streetlights. Alfred is not fast, but Arthur stills as he pulls forward and presses their mouths together. It's too quick of a moment when, "You, too, Artie."
The passenger door shuts.
He knows.
Arthur blinks. Leans back against his seat. He swipes a hand over his lips as those buttocks make their way around the car, absolutely enraptured as Alfred goes up, up, up the stairs, fish a hand in his trousers, and yep, there went his keys.
Butt to air. A subtle way. Alfred gets his keys back.
Arthur sighs, releasing tension from his shoulders and gives an approving nod.
A sly glance back. Alfred pulls a wicked smile. He knew all along.
Arthur smiles and waves.
A happy wave in return, before the door closes.
"God save me."
~.~
A weekend. A weekend away from the office. A too short, uneventful, (lonely) ass-less weekend. Oh, look, Monday comes again, too soon as always.
Arthur finds himself looking forward to it.
Not the work. God, no. Anything but the eye-glazing work. He is there to bust rumps and smack on cute Americans on company time.
"Good morning."
"Arthur! Hey!"
"Do you want coffee?"
"Oh, my gosh! Yes!"
Too easy.
Arthur flaps a hand as he relinquishes his 'second' to-go cup, "I wasn't sure how you like it, so I left it black."
"That's okay!" Alfred tips the cup back like some kind of savage. His face puckers. "Oh, yep, that's going to need some sugar when we get to the office!"
Arthur lets out a short but satisfied hum.
They reach the main door entering the pit of desks and computers and world-weary keyboard clackers, exchanging cheeky smiles before splitting up and heading for their own stations.
~.~
A pen. Empty cup. Sometimes cups with drinks still in them. Someone else's cup. A computer mouse, somehow meet its fall from Alfred's hands. Extra coated butterfingers did not begin to hint at it.
Every time, his backside goes up.
Arthur is truly a blessed man.
~.~
Arthur might have a knack for this kind of thing, a certain charm, to get The Office Gods to smile upon him and gift him such a gift. He seriously considers asking Alfred to sit on his lap during lunch. He'll probably refuse. There are how many other people in the breakroom, after all, always on the lookout for gossip like some kind of sleep-deprived, coffee-addicted vultures they are.
His car, however, would be a different story. Little more private.
Arthur could not mess this up. Eggshells threaten to crack under his feet every time he found himself in a tizzy with some unfortunate lady or gentleman and sometimes ungentlemen. Non-gentlemen. Whatever.
It always seems things go bottom-up (ha-ha) after they find out Arthur is a world-class pervert. Odd, that.
Arthur hustles toward the lunchroom, stomach growling in anticipation, but it just had to wait this time. A foam cup rolls by the doorway before he could even enter. Alfred must be nearby. He smiles and edges closer to peek around.
An older woman tsks at Alfred's rump going sunny side up as he scrambles to pick up his catch. "Do be careful, there!"
"I know, I know. Things just like jumping out of my hands for some reason! It's nuts!"
Arthur stops before the doorway as the woman says, "No, bending like that, dear!" He freezes. "I know you're young, and I'm just another old fogey trying to tell you what to do, but you keep doing that, and you'll be pulling a muscle real quick!"
Alfred asks, "What're you talking about?"
"Bend with your knees! Don't be lazy! Or else you pick up something heavy one day, and boom! You got hemorrhoids! Got to say, it happened to me too many times when I was your age, thinking I was all high and mighty."
"Yeah, you didn't have to say that."
"Hmph! Or keep at it. Unlike some people," the lady narrows her eyes and sneers at Arthur nonchalantly posing by the doorway, "I actually don't enjoy when people suffer."
Arthur immediately shrinks back, out of view. Quickly, as the conversations dies and Alfred is left to wander aloud of this new information, he glances over the vending machines outside the breakroom, pretending to be interested in what they have to offer.
Boom, a second later, Alfred plants himself in the doorway. It's almost comical, eyes wide and haunted behind his glasses as the bright lights of the lunchroom beam behind his head. Still, Arthur feels his heart drop into his stomach, and he knew it was a moment too long that shock shows on his own maw.
"Arthur," Alfred starts.
"Hello, love."
Alfred scrunches his face. He withdrawals from the doorway and takes a step, another step, and another before squishing a hand to one of the vending machines. "You know, you're supposed to bend with your knees, not your back, right?"
"Ah." Arthur studies the snacks on the other side of the glass, checking to make sure his visage is smooth. "Really now? Who says?"
Alfred leans a shoulder against the machine, as if he doesn't have full attention, arms crossed, "A quick Google check."
Arthur blinks. He almost lets out a bewildered laugh. Almost. "All right then."
"So, why'd you tell me otherwise?"
"Uh..."
"Did you want me to pull a muscle or something?" Absolute betrayal scrunches Alfred's face. He's lovely, "I thought we were like, bros or something!"
Arthur grunts from the sudden awkwardness chewing on his hopes and dreams, "I figured we were a bit more than, err, 'bros.'"
"Still! I could've pulled a muscle!" Alfred sputters, cheeks flaring up, "If you wanted to look at my butt so bad, you could've just asked!"
"...what?"
"You heard me!"
Alfred storms away, leaving Arthur breathless in more ways than one. He gapes at the snack machine for a moment. It is true, the entire time, no matter how much he denies, denies, denies; Arthur was the office fool, tried and true. Everybody already knows that though, and that vital piece of information to this entire saga is not the most important one.
"Wait!" Arthur chases after Alfred, shouting down the hall, "Hold on now...!"