Archive of Our Own

Winter is also known as Alfred’s most hated season for a multitude of reasons. While he normally doesn’t want to sound dramatic or melancholic, the idea of pretending to be happy and jolly during Christmas just begins to sound a little less appealing as the years go on. For this year especially, he’s been a healthy amount of salty and stressed since last November—he finds himself more in common with a piece of jerky than an actual federal official. It’s obviously not his first presidential term where it feels like he’s working overtime to fill in the gaps his more-than-incompetent president and his even more inept cabinet cannot fill. He wishes he could plead naivety, but ever since President Reagan, presidential terms like these have become commonplace nowadays.

At the very least, Reagan had policies that Alfred somewhat agreed with, personally.

Kiku can see all this frustration on his face and can hear it in his voice if he were paying attention hard enough. Things back home in Japan haven’t been any better, but for the most part, you can’t call Japan a Roman carnival of blatant corruption and incompetence… merely because the U.S. takes the spot with a political scene wilder than a rodeo where all the bulls and cowboys are drugged with cocaine.

But, regardless, Kiku understands all his laments very well. He landed in D.C. on Wednesday, much to Alfred’s delight, to spend time with him. He usually arrives a week before Christmas, just so he won’t miss much in case there’s an error, but thankfully not this year. Alfred promised they’d go to New York City for Christmas to see the lights, go ice skating, shopping, and all the works. He had to call off early on Wednesday to pick him up, which means he had to work the full time on Thursday. Kiku spent the rest of Wednesday and Thursday recovering from jet lag and observing Alfred fumble daily for his sanity on Capitol Hill.

Even on TV, you can see the exhaustion lingering on his avatar, dealing with senators and representatives he has to half-heartedly believe aren’t being paid by lobbyists to further an agenda with only the highest bidders in mind. That’s why Kiku doesn’t watch the news. As much as he loves Alfred, he can’t bear to see him being humiliated on live television by a certain political wing for social points with their supporters.

Kiku hated feeling helpless in all this. On Wednesday and Thursday, Alfred came home about 4 p.m. disheveled and tired with barely enough energy to take a shower, eat something quick, then fall asleep. A rinse and repeat, Kiku just doesn’t know how Alfred, of all people, can handle without a single complaint.

So, he decides to change it.

4:00 a.m.

That’s the alarm Kiku set Thursday night before heading to sleep. It’s not too early from when he usually wakes, and he had Wednesday and all of Thursday to recover from jet lag, so he can get back into the routine. But it’s the biggest roadblock. The bed is warm, Alfred is particularly cuddly, and the room is still dim. His back is against Alfred’s chest, strong arms squeezing his waist like an oversized plush toy, and he can hear his husband’s deep, rhythmic breathing right beside his ear. It’s the best white noise.

But Kiku has planned this entire day from start to finish, and he must complete… and the alarm is annoying, so he has to turn it off.

Goodbye, delicious warmth. Hopefully, Kiku will receive plenty of it this weekend.

Attempting to shift out of Alfred’s surprisingly strong sleepy hold, Kiku immediately heard his husband whine under his breath.

“I have to get up,” Kiku keeps his voice low. While he has to wake up, Alfred doesn’t wake until 6:30 since he has to clock in by at least 7:45 before his advisor starts calling. He needs Alfred to savor this prized quietness and slumber.

“… You don’t have work.”

“You’re my work.”

With this reasoning, Alfred eventually lets his arms fall, and Kiku can slide out. The curtains are drawn, and there’s no light for Kiku to navigate the bedroom except for his phone’s light. But, at this point, he’s become so used to the layout of Alfred’s townhouse that he can walk through it blindfolded. Kiku quietly pads to the en-suite bathroom to ready himself for the day.

In there, he brushes his teeth languidly before moving on to skincare, a practice that, for centuries, has remained remarkably simple. It’s not an ancient technique he can market to insecure teenagers or nostalgia-yearning middle-aged women, because the truth is, he finds effectiveness in simplicity. A basic cleanser and moisturizer always work for him, and there’s little need for him to implement anything more. Maybe he’s just lucky that acne and blemishes aren’t a prevalent issue for him.

However, Alfred falls victim to marketing tactics every single time, it seems. There have to be at least four products in his skincare routine. He has admitted that he doesn’t read too heavily into their ingredients, but rather, he heard on TikTok or whatever social media he scrolls through that it’s good for certain issues like stubborn scars. Kiku has to be the voice of reason, saying that half of his scars aren’t caused by acne but by ordinary battle scars. Those are the ones that can’t be scrubbed away with any cleanser. On their sink vanity, there are a lot of bottles with words Kiku can barely pronounce (and he doubts Alfred can), like hyaluronic.

But Kiku can admit, he still looks flawless on TV, with a little assistance from makeup.

Kiku finishes in the bathroom, and Alfred is still fast asleep. Kiku checks his phone alarm to make sure it’s set since he often forgets to set it the night before, despite doing it for the past five years. Per usual, Hero, Alfred’s blond ragamuffin, the size of a truck, starts crying because he hasn’t been fed in eight hours, and for some reason, he’s a little more needy around Kiku… maybe because he knows Kiku will feed him a little extra if he acts cute enough.

The first thing he does is fetch Hero one of his wet food tins, open it, and scrape the contents into his garish little bowl. The tiny bell on Hero’s collar jingles every time he tries to jump on the kitchen counter, which alerts Kiku to instantly block his jump by standing in front of his landing spot. He swore Alfred got that bell so he could do the same. After scraping every morsel into his bowl, Kiku takes it to his feeding spot by the island counter to satiate the screaming feline that can’t wait a second longer. Kiku does love Hero, but he’s what people would normally call their cats, a greedy fatass.

Hero is satisfied for the morning, so Kiku can get to work. The first thing Kiku wanted to do for Alfred was make him breakfast. He usually does this every time he visits, but today is quite special. Kiku bought all the necessary ingredients yesterday, so he wouldn’t have to worry about not having certain items. He washed a good portion of rice before setting it to cook, and while it steamed, he began on the food items.

Alfred’s favorite item from Kiku is dashimaki tamago, or a rolled omelette with dashi. Although one of the harder rolled omelette recipes, Kiku has made it enough times that it’s nothing more than finicky at best. It didn’t matter, anyway, so long as Alfred wanted it. He beats three eggs without overmixing, mixes the soup stock, sugar, soy sauce, mirin, and salt in a separate bowl before combining with the eggs. Then, in a tamagoyaki pan that Alfred bought especially for Kiku, he pours the mixture into a thin crepe layer, popping air bubbles, and rolling it as such, continuing to add more of the mixture until it’s firm and large enough.

After rolling it so, he reaffirms the shape with a bamboo mat and cuts it into grabbable pieces before placing it in the bento box Kiku brought from home. With the egg out of the way now, Kiku starts making other dishes to complete his breakfast, which include mini pancakes with a Nutella spread (just the way he likes them), green tea ochazuke inside a thermos, sliced strawberries with whipped cream and a cute skewer so Alfred won’t have to dirty his hands, and the steamed rice topped with shredded seaweed and rice vinegar.

And that’s just for his breakfast bento. Kiku barely starts on his lunch.

Alfred also bought one of those triple bento boxes, because if there’s anything he knows about himself, his appetite is abnormally large. Kiku only has about two hours before Alfred has to head to Capitol Hill, but if it’s for his man, he’ll only need half of that.

Kiku prepares the first course—yakisoba, something he’s made at least a hundred times in his whole life, to the point where it’s muscle memory. For the sauce, he whisks Worcestershire sauce, oyster sauce, ketchup, soy sauce, and sugar before setting it aside so he can cut the frozen pork belly, onion, carrots, green cabbage, scallions, and shiitake mushrooms. Afterward, he loosens up the pre-steamed yakisoba noodles on a griddle, transferring them to a plate for now, so he can cook the meat and vegetables, then re-adding the noodles and the sauce, stirring as such.

He normally doesn’t rush cooking, since he believes good food takes time, but he only says that to not put stress on himself. His pretty little mind can handle a bit of stress, if it’s all for Alfred, that is. Cooking his lunch is practically the least stressful burden Alfred has put on him in their 150 years of yearning.

The second course is simple—roasted chicken and vegetables, Alfred’s favorite when he wants to feel healthy, and the easier dishes Kiku memorized. After pre-heating the oven, he chops two chicken breasts, bell peppers, onion, zucchini, broccoli, and tomatoes, throws all of it into a roasting dish, tops it with olive oil, salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and paprika, tosses it, then throws it in the oven. It’s a recipe so simple, you can fit it in one sentence. He lets it cook for 15 minutes before taking it out and combining it with rice, then placing a portion in Alfred’s bento.

The third and last course might just be Alfred’s all-time favorite—hamburger steak. That man and his obsession with protein, let alone hamburgers. Kiku sautéed a minced onion in a pan, then let it cool. Once cool, he added to the pork-beef ground meat along with salt, black pepper, panko crumbs, milk, and an egg, then mixed at first with a spatula, then by hand. With his hands, he grabbed a ball of the meat, tossed it back and forth between his hands to release the air so that it won’t crack when cooked, and flattened it into a patty so it could lie on a tray to rest in the fridge. He made about four of them.

After thirty minutes of waiting, by now, Alfred has woken up and is now getting ready. Kiku gets the patties out and cooks them in a pan over medium heat. He makes sure they’re browned on each side before adding red wine and reducing to low heat, so they can simmer for about five minutes. Once done, he takes two of the steaks out and places them in Alfred’s bento, and the other two are saved for himself. The wine reduction doesn’t take long, as it only takes unsalted butter, ketchup, tonkatsu sauce, red wine, and water. He lets the alcohol evaporate and the sauce thicken before adding it to Alfred’s steaks.

Alfred walks in from the hallway into the living room, noticing Kiku hard at work in the kitchen. Kiku notices him first. “Ohayo.” He regards his husband with a gentle smile.

“Ohayo to you, too,” Alfred replies with the most American accent to ever speak Japanese. He stretches his arms high in the air. He only wears his white shirt, a dull blue tie, and beige slacks. If Kiku doesn’t say so himself, Alfred always looks handsome all dressed up for work. “You almost done? I gotta leave here in about fifteen.”

“I am,” Kiku sets the rest of the wine reduction sauce aside. He fixes together the triple-layer bento, which is also insulated quite well, with all of Alfred’s lunch courses. “Will you be back the same time?”

Alfred sighs a big sigh, typical of his working demeanor. “Nah, I’ve got the veterans’ ceremony today. Y’know, the one I asked you to review the speech for?”

“Oh…” Kiku nods. “What time?”

“Three o’clock, maybe it’ll last longer. I’ve got some of my old vet friends over there that I haven’t seen in a while. If I had to guess, I’ll be home by five.”

Kiku put two and two together, his smile involuntarily growing wider. “Are you going to wear your military uniform?”

Alfred reciprocates the smile. “Yeah, I am, with all my medals too. Do you want pics?”

Kiku wants to let a blush dust his cheeks. “If you can, please.”

“My pleasure.”

Alfred went back to the bedroom to gather and rearrange his things. In the meantime, and while he was talking with Alfred, Kiku prepared his dessert, snacks, and coffee. For Alfred’s lunch dessert, there’s leftover Japanese cheesecake they ordered on Wednesday when none of them felt like cooking, so he places a slice in an airtight container.

Since Alfred is a snackish man, Kiku ensures there’s a variety of healthy and unhealthy snacks, depending on his mood. He puts in his lunchbox a bag of sunflower seeds, baby carrots, cashews, gummy sharks because they look cool, Nutter Butters, Takis (because apparently Alfred likes those, much to Kiku’s confusion), fruit roll-ups (Kiku likes these, though), and whatever Little Debbie cakes Kiku could find in the pantry. (Alfred is down horrendously bad for their honey buns, by the way.)

For his coffee, Kiku is surprised that if he’s not having a day off, he likes morning coffee quite bitter. It’s just black coffee with maybe a few teaspoons of milk, but that’s about it. At least Kiku knows he’s not picky in that department. Apparently, he likes to eat doughnuts with it, so that’s likely why he keeps it so bitter. As for his other drinks, Alfred is quite a simple man—it’s either soda, tea, or water, so he puts both. He throws in a can of Coca-Cola, a can of diet AriZona green tea (he likes it better because it has diet on the label, and it has a pretty Japanese lady on the can that he imagines is Kiku), and a 20-oz iced water bottle.

All of Alfred’s bentos, both the breakfast and the lunch, and his plethora of snacks and drinks are stuffed into his lunchbox. Before finishing, he writes a small note for Alfred in Japanese with the expectation that he translates it.

Pictures of you adorned in your military uniform would indeed help this blossoming desire of mine bloom. But it shall only bloom with your love inside me. Come home tonight; I’ll be waiting. Love, Kiku.

His lunchbox looks like he should be going off to war with how tactical it looks, and while he’s technically not, Capitol Hill resembles enough of a warzone that you might as well be retaking Omaha Beach. Kiku sighs a great sigh of relief when he finally zips it closed. His work is done… for now.

Alfred comes out from the bedroom with a briefcase and a backpack, likely containing his change of clothes for the veteran ceremony. He’s now wearing his beige jacket to complete his suit for the day, with a beige coat to match, the same one Kiku got him last Christmas. Again, Kiku loves seeing Alfred in a suit, whether it be because of his shoulders or how emphasized his smaller waist is. Regardless, he’s a man too deep in love to care about the specifics.

When they meet each other at the front doorway, Kiku can hand off his lunchbox and thermos cup to his husband. “What’d you make?” Alfred has to ask, and Kiku is half-glad he did.

“Yakisoba, chicken and vegetables with rice, and hamburg steak.” Kiku notices how Alfred’s eyes just glow brighter with each course. He mindlessly flattens Alfred’s tie. “And I packed your breakfast, too. Tamagoyaki with dashi, green tea ochazuke, some mini pancakes, rice, strawberries… Everything you like. Some snacks, too.”

“… Dude,” Alfred can’t help but smile like a little kid. “How do I marry you again?”

And now it’s Kiku doing the same. “By coming home.”

“You’re too good for me. Silly ol’ me deserves all this?” He gestures to, well, just about everything.

“And much more,” Kiku runs his hands across Alfred’s chest, which incentivizes the man to come down for a kiss. He thought it was going to be an ordinary goodbye kiss, but Alfred locked his arms around Kiku’s waist so that he could press soft, loud, and frequent kisses all across his face.

“You’re very pretty, y’know that?” He then peppers more kisses. “Too pretty, and you’re very sweet… And… we should totally have kids. I love you.”

Kiku’s smile is too hard to suppress. He grabs Alfred’s cheeks and kisses his lips once, and of course, Alfred flusters and folds like a cartoonish idiot… because what do you do when the most stunning man you’ve ever laid your eyes on kisses you, gives you such a sincere smile, and gives you those eyes? You can’t do anything but deflate like a total fool. “Watashi mo.”

Alfred giggles like he’s drunk on love, which he likely is. “Can I just stay here with you?”

“How are you going to get money?”

“… We don’t need money,” and his response is met with another kiss, “… okay, fine, maybe a little.”

Alfred finally decides he needs to go to work, so Kiku lets him go. He opens the front door to the treacherous cold weather and realizes he really misses his husband. He hasn’t even gone through the doorway. “Kiku, please, find any reason to keep me home!” He whines.

“You need to pay the bills!” Kiku tells him instead.

He pouts. “Honey, I don’t even pay bills!”

“Go!”

Alfred, with the biggest pout on his face, trots his way down the porch into the dreary, cold weather of Columbia. Although Kiku closes the front door, he watches Alfred go through his normal routine—get in the car, start the car, put all his bags in the passenger seat, wait until the car gets warm, and contemplate life, then actually start moving out of the driveway.

Kiku looks back inside the living room, noticing Hero watching Kiku with nothing less than homophobia in his eyes. He can sense it. Hero isn’t one to talk; his whole demeanor suddenly changes to an affectionate little kitten who's done no wrong when Tama is even in the same vicinity, practically becomes a queen in heat.

As Alfred aptly put it, “Gay ass cat.”

For breakfast, Kiku has himself the leftover food from Alfred’s lunch while watching whatever on Netflix and YouTube. He doesn’t have any coffee, just some tea he brewed himself. Hero decides he wants to lounge with Kiku, ignoring the homophobic glare he gave him a few minutes ago. After eating, Kiku decides that this house is too dirty. It’s not, but that’s not what he thinks.

Kiku washes the dishes, organizes and cleans the pantry and fridge, wipes down the counters and cupboards, and sweeps the floor. In the living room, he vacuums, dusts, wipes down all surfaces, cleans the windows, and adjusts the drapes. In the bathroom, he wipes down all surfaces, mops the floors, and cleans the bedroom—vacuums, organizes, and cleans. As a last effort, he takes up their blankets, pillow casings, stuffed animals, all their dirty laundry, and even Hero’s bed, and tosses them into the washing machine.

By the time he finishes everything, it’s already ten in the morning, and Kiku is exhausted. So, like any sane man, he grabs one of their blankets fresh out of the dryer (Alfred’s abnormally heavy tortilla blanket) and takes a nap on the couch. Hero also likes to savor the warmth of his freshly dried bed, so he takes a catnap as well. All is good in the Jones household.

At 2 p.m., Kiku wakes up from what is potentially the hardest nap ever taken in his life. It was a dreamless nap that felt like he only slept for a second before waking up hot, confused, and with drool on his lip. He never understood how Alfred could sleep so hard that he’s not snoring, but Kiku believes he just found the reason—this damn tortilla blanket. It has magic that Kiku hasn’t discovered in his millennia-long life.

Kiku checks his phone: 2:45 p.m.

Four hours of pure sleep, not bad. But, he doesn’t really want to leave its warmth to go do something. Kiku’s phone vibrates, so he checks his notifications. Alfred sent four photos with a text right after it.

I’m about to head to the ceremony, and I can’t have my phone on me, so take these for consolation. Also, your cooking is so good, I might start going to church again. Love you! 😚❤ XOXOXOXO

Kiku has never tapped on a notification faster in his entire life to see photos of his godsend of a husband, the most attractive man to ever grace his eyes, he believes. The photos take Kiku by surprise. He initially thought he was going to wear his modern-issued formal uniform, but he’s instead wearing his uniform from 1942-1945, Air Force. Brown coat and slacks, gold buttons, beige shirt and tie, his rank as Lieutenant on his biceps, gold and silver medals on his breast, and it’s contouring his body with exact measurements. You can leave it up to Alfred to keep military uniforms from 81 years ago in perfectly mint condition.

Kiku knows the specifics of that singular uniform all too well; it’s his favorite. The fact that Alfred hasn’t aged a year and looks just as youthful as that day automatically makes those photos his favorites. He immediately saves them to his Ero album.

Of course, Alfred looks professional, likely going to meet his old comrades from WWII or maybe the Korean War, but Kiku’s mind is quite far from war. No, it’s always been a fantasy of his to be seduced in that uniform. Something about the solemnity of a man whom Kiku normally associates with everything but solemnity turns him on immensely. Kiku has had the incredible privilege of witnessing Alfred regard himself with that proper behavior—rigid posture, diligence, and that longing glance he gave Kiku on that day.

Oh, that longing glance! That moment when they both knew what they needed more than oxygen itself, and yet they couldn’t have it!

There’s emotion tied to that uniform. Truth be told, he just needed to be fucked by Alfred in that uniform. That’s all he really asks in life nowadays. But now that Kiku thinks about it, he’s likely going to come back home tired and stressed, and there’s a good chance that Kiku could help him relieve some of that stress in the form of good, fool-proof sex. For the record, Alfred knows that he’s more or less sloppy during sex, whether he’s stressed or not. It’s usually up to Kiku to teach him some technique.

And, to make matters better, they’ve recently practiced how long they could hold off from finishing. Kiku can hold off for a decent amount of time, but Alfred isn’t too gifted in the restraint department, and it’s not his fault that if he’s fucking someone he loves, trusts, and finds hot, he’s going to cum faster. Basic psychology and physiology. It’s endearing, of course, but it’s not too optimal for Kiku if he hasn’t finished either before him or right when he does.

All of this taken into account, Kiku just wants Alfred to last longer; it’s not a need, but it would be nice.

Kiku shoots him a reply.

Come home in uniform, please.

He doesn’t expect him to reply that quickly, but surprisingly, Alfred responds in the blink of an eye.

Yes sir. 🫡

Kiku loves it when he acts like a soldier. His little soldier boy, who comes home to him and him alone. Kiku’s heart can’t help but swell—he deserves the world, and he also deserves Kiku at his best.

With nothing else to do and the sense of productivity won’t fade, Kiku decides to bathe. He’s got a lot of time to spare before Alfred gets home, so he goes all in with an everything shower. That’s apparently the name TikTok is giving to shower routines where you do everything you normally wouldn’t do on a workday, or just to clean yourself. Kiku could be a pioneer for that movement (despite being fully unaware of the term about a few months ago), since he takes his bathing routine more seriously than most.

Hero always follows him around, but when bathing, he’s usually forbidden since Kiku keeps it as hot as a sauna, and he wouldn’t want to suffocate the poor thing. That results in Hero pawing at the door and yowling to be let in, but he usually relents about five minutes in. He’s quite a clingy cat.

The first part of Kiku’s bathing routine is showering. It’s the actual way to properly cleanse himself. In the times that he showers, Alfred thinks it’s a great idea to set up shop right beside the walk-in shower (with clear walls, by the way) to watch Kiku bathe. Kiku, naturally, tells him to go do something else, and Alfred always brings up the fact that they’ve seen each other naked before, and he likes to see his husband in his natural, God-given state. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Kiku just thinks he’s a pervert.

But, since he’s not here, he can focus on cleansing himself instead of arguing for his privacy.

He goes through the typical motions, but with added steps since he has time. He tries out a hair mask Alfred likes to use, something about promoting hair growth, and Alfred has been relentlessly begging Kiku to grow his hair out again like he used to back in… 1845…

He hates to tell Alfred that it’s going to take at least a year to see some growth, and maybe a hair mask or oil is something he’s needed to help it along. It goes with his conditioner, so it shouldn’t provide much of a hassle anyway, and it smells like rosemary, which Kiku likes. After that, he works through his body washing and also takes inspiration from Alfred with something called an exfoliating scrub. It comes in a little plastic jar that supposedly scrubs off dead skin and leaves the skin smooth and “rejuvenated.” It’s also full of ingredients he definitely cannot pronounce.

Kiku, personally, likes his formulas simple and easy to pronounce, but he tries them anyway. It also smells like eucalyptus. Alfred makes up for his poor taste in food with an amazing sense of smell. Despite Kiku’s skepticism, it’s abrasive enough to do the job, but not so much that it hurts to scrub it on his skin, and the clean scent really ties it all together. He might use this for himself. Maybe it’s a placebo effect, but after scrubbing thoroughly and then rinsing, it feels like Kiku can notice a difference immediately. After the scrub, he uses his body wash, thankfully not too vastly different from the scent of the exfoliating scrub.

While working through the body wash, Kiku notices the hair all over his legs, arms, a bit on his chest, and from his navel to his nether regions. Normally, he doesn’t care much for shaving body hair—he’s gotten so used to it that shaving isn’t common whatsoever, but it’s not like he grows much body hair anyway. Something about his genes, supposedly, from an article he read sometime ago. Alfred only cares about his body hair if he’s trying to look good for a swimsuit photo when the press finds him out and about on the beach… but it’s almost winter, and Alfred is certainly not going to frolic on the beach any time soon. Concerning Kiku’s, it doesn’t even matter.

As a matter of fact, they spent 90% of their lives without the luxuries of full-body shaving, and it’s not like it mattered to them either way—they would still go down on each other without a second thought.

But… Kiku guesses it wouldn’t hurt to do some shaving, just because.

And by some, he ended up getting carried away and overall just decided to do his whole body. He sort of liked shaving and then feeling the results of it—smooth skin. It felt a little alien, but a good kind of alien. Kiku shaved his legs, arms, and the thin hair on his chest, but left the happy trail on his stomach. He remembered halfway through that Alfred apparently likes that small feature… for whatever reason.

After showering, it was finally time for Kiku’s most anticipated part of bathing—the tub soaking.

He gets out for a bit and fills the tub. In the meantime, he puts on a face mask he brought over from Japan, one of those trendy ones like the ones with snail mucin or milk (this one’s rice milk, by the way). Once the tub is full, he adds some Epsom salt and debates on two oils to add for soaking—sandalwood or rose. Sandalwood is Alfred’s signature scent, also known as his favorite. Alfred doesn’t know a thing about aroma profiles, but all he knows is that sandalwood is his favorite, so he wears it constantly in his perfume or even his body wash.

Sandalwood is quite sensual, a lush aroma that Kiku always associates with Alfred. There’s no cologne of his that turns him on quicker than anything to do with sandalwood. But roses are also one of his favorite flowers, and he loves roses too. Maybe he should go get Alfred some roses; the dining table is looking a bit dull.

Kiku decides on roses for one reason only—it’s an aphrodisiac. Not a strong one, but one nonetheless.

He lets Hero into the bathroom and perches on the toilet to watch him soak like a lifeguard. Kiku can admit aloud that Hero is adorable and about as fluffy as you would think a cloud would be, but his fatal flaw is that he’s loud and very chatty. He meows at Kiku like he can understand what he’s saying. As a result, Kiku talks back at him, ending each sentence with -nya, to indicate he’s talking in cat lingo. This conversation carries on for a good five minutes.

Kiku relaxes in the tub for an undetermined amount of time before checking his phone above the bathroom floor, and not the water. You can thank Alfred for that tiny bit of information. It’s 4:02. Thanks to a lovely app that Alfred introduced to Kiku called Life360, Kiku can now track Alfred anywhere across the world, so long as he has a connection. From the looks of his icon on a map of D.C., he’s still at the ceremony venue, so Kiku takes about five more minutes to soak before getting out.

As the water drains, Kiku rinses himself and then moisturizes with, you guessed it, rose body lotion to lock in that moisture. Hero watches with homophobic slurs bottled behind those eyes. Kiku would call him a word that rhymed with maggot if he could understand English or Japanese. Afterward, he checks his phone for Alfred’s location, noticing some movement from his original location, but mostly stagnant.

He decides to do some logistics checking in his robe and a clean pair of socks. First, he checks the nightstand drawers, specifically the sex drawer, or whatever Alfred decides to call it as a euphemism for sex. The “funtime” drawer, the “party favors” drawer, the “spelunking” drawer—every name but sex. Moving on, he checks if they have enough lube, condoms, or their toys have batteries, just in case. They do, which saves Kiku an emergency trip to a pharmacy.

He has an idea to actually order pizza for the aftercare sector of the night. For all the money that Alfred carelessly spends on Kiku, it’s more than the right time to spend some on him. So, he quickly puts an order to be made at about 5:40 p.m., which is the estimated time when Kiku expects Alfred to be here, including their aftercare time, so it can be delivered right when they finish. Kiku spends about $53 on the order alone. It hurts, but anything for his husband. Lastly, he takes Hero outside the bedroom. He’s not allowed inside for many reasons, mainly shedding.

He then has another idea. Maybe it’s a bit risque, but he’s sure that Alfred would appreciate a photo back for the ones that he donated so graciously. But, truth be told, Kiku isn’t one to perfect poses, let alone ones that are meant to be erotic. He’s sure that if he sent one of himself standing in front of the mirror naked, Alfred wouldn’t care, as he’s not a hard man to please.

But, then again, he wants to feel photogenic. He can’t wait for him to get home, and he wants to show that in one or two pictures.

Kiku fixes their bed so that it’s smooth and brainstorms. He kept telling himself that it doesn’t make too much, but he wants to impress Alfred nonetheless with a good picture. One that captures what Alfred loves to see in Kiku—seducing him with a level of decorum and coyness. He tries a variety of poses to see which one works, but only one really stands out as both photogenic and capturing his coyness.

Kiku lies on his back, robe sheathing his arms but open to expose his stomach and chest, and he positions his phone’s camera just above his nether regions but close enough to capture his spared trail of hair on his navel. With his face a bit flushed from the warm bath, he almost looks blushy, so he takes the pictures before it goes away. He takes three, each with a different facial expression, before sending all three to Alfred with a simple ❤ to accompany the pictures.

He sets his phone aside on the nightstand, hoping they’re received well, which he knows they will.

It’s been a while since Kiku has actually had sex, about four months or so, and Alfred is going to be eager and definitely somewhat rough just because of his disposition. He might as well get used to the feeling. He fishes through their nightstand drawer until he finds what he’s looking for—a dildo, about six inches. It’s nice to know Alfred keeps himself busy when Kiku’s gone, and much the same vice versa.

He lubricates the toy and then himself appropriately before lying on his back. Once his thighs are spread far enough, he nudges the tip against his entrance, sending a shiver up his spine. His imagination immediately starts running to Alfred, and just about everything about him that makes him yearn, even when he’s all Kiku’s. That’s the thought that keeps him going—the possessive thought that only Kiku gets to fuck him, and he belongs only to Alfred.

Kiku pushes the toy further inside, his head thrown back against the plush pillow as each push is shallow but quick. A whimper escapes as he can feel the toy brushing against his prostate, but not exactly pressing it. Eventually, the whole toy is inside Kiku. He lets himself get used to the fullness in his abdomen for a few seconds before pushing it in and out. Whenever his hand gets faster, he can feel himself becoming submerged in his thoughts, like a building pressure in his stomach.

He presses against his prostate after intentionally searching for it, and of course, like a button, a gasp, along with a shiver, followed by a tidal wave of pleasure, overwhelms his body. It’s like a drug to him. Once he gets a feel for it, he can’t stop. His other hand grips the sheets, his back is arching, and all he can imagine is Alfred fucking into him like this—perfect and at the right place. Once Kiku gets into this mindset where all he craves is his husband’s flesh and presence, that’s when his inhibitions melt away like candle wax.

Kiku reaches for his phone, still on Alfred’s iMessage, and his finger presses the voice recording button. He desperately needs Alfred to know how much he’s craving him—how the only thing he wants is him. All that is wanted is portrayed through sound. Kiku’s labored gasps and raw whimpering (and the subtle slicking noises) are captured, and he has to whisper Alfred’s name. You, you, you—all I want is you. He sends the voice message with a single 🎧, which is code for “Listen with headphones,” when they’re too lazy to type.

After that, he almost tosses his phone aside, and purposefully slows his rhythm as he can feel himself yearning for release more than anything. What he thought was going to be a simple session to get used to being stretched might’ve gotten a little of a hand… or, really, it stayed in his hand. But, he whined for stimulation. He needed to be filled, and he brought himself to a point of euphoria where it doesn’t matter who fills him… but of course, his heart desired Alfred.

Kiku’s phone vibrated, prompting him to see the cause—Alfred’s reply.

WAIT FOR ME

I’M DOWN THE STREET

Kiku can’t help but chuckle at his reply, but his eagerness only swells when he knows that he’s down the street. Life360 finally tells him he’s arrived home, or in the general area labelled home. Too impatient, he starts slowly stroking himself, his feather-light touch feeling like electricity over his skin. He has no better way to express his desire except by moaning out his name for no one to hear except for himself.

After what feels like centuries of yearning, Kiku perks when he hears the front door open. He can hear Alfred practically throwing aside his things on the floor and jogging to the bedroom, where he pushes open the door just as quickly as he shuts it. The best part of this—Alfred is recently disheveled from work, a little stressed, a little frantic, and perfectly clad in uniform as Kiku wanted.

“H-Hold on, let me…!” Alfred tries to balance on one foot while he tries to take off his dress shoes, and Kiku can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. As expected, he looks even better in person.

Kiku gets off the bed and closes the distance between him and Alfred. Like a lovesick idiot, Alfred melts when Kiku’s hands touch his waist, then his biceps.

“I really missed you,” Alfred pouts a little, as if he didn’t already look desperate enough.

“I know.”

Alfred can be molded and manipulated like clay, and he lets himself be if his sculptor is nobody but Kiku. It’s why when Kiku’s hands hold Alfred’s face and bring him to his knees, he obeys without even a question or a flicker of his eyes. No, those blue eyes know nothing else but the man in front of him. Kiku sits on the edge of the bed and forces Alfred to come closer, right between his thighs. He can always trust Kiku to sculpt him as a beautiful masterpiece every single time; those hands know his malleable body better than he ever knows himself.

Naturally, how fire sets dry bramble ablaze, Alfred’s lips are magnetized to Kiku’s thighs, kissing and suckling the smooth skin. His eyes drag themselves to Kiku’s erect cock, dripping with precum and eagerly awaiting attention. Meanwhile, Kiku’s hands remain tangled and continue to ruin Alfred’s groomed blond hair, subtly guiding him to his cock. His soft lips gently kiss Kiku’s tip, tongue lapping the gland and capturing precum in his mouth before it has a chance to run down the shaft. Alfred’s hands massage Kiku’s tender thighs, almost wrapping his hands entirely around them if he truly tried, but his fingers merely rub the plush flesh.

Eventually, he takes the tip and shaft into his mouth with one motion, one that pumps a gasp out of Kiku’s mouth. Pretty blue eyes glance up at him, curious to hear more sounds. He keeps bobbing his head up and down to elicit more, Kiku’s cock brushing against his salivating tongue and the tip nudging the back of his warm throat. One hand remains tangled in Alfred’s hair, while the other props himself up as his body is consistently at a diagonal angle, and his thighs are spread and massaged dutifully by Alfred’s large hands.

Without warning, Alfred lifts his mouth off, leaving behind a slobbering mess. His right hand grips Kiku’s entire cock and starts pumping strongly, and his lips instead tease only the tip. His left hand slides down his own erection, merely a bulge in his uniform pants, and presses against it. A moan vibrating on his cock likely forced Kiku to cum right then and there, the first few strings of semen painting Alfred’s cheek a translucent white before he takes the member into his mouth and lets the rest shoot in his throat.

Kiku’s thighs tremble; his moans are breathy and frantic. Alfred is sure to savor the salty taste on his tongue, going as far as to use Kiku’s cock to wipe the cum off his cheek with the tip and suckling it after. He becomes so greedy for it, and it’s all he craves. He doesn’t let his cock soften until he’s finished worshipping it, which is why he keeps his hand latched onto it when Kiku, hands on his face, brings him up to kiss him. From there, Kiku can taste himself on his tongue. Naturally, Alfred keeps pumping Kiku’s cock to keep a consistent vibration on their lips.

Their passionate kissing injects an addiction in their souls where they can’t get enough of each other's taste. Tongues constantly brush and lick each other to drink in their love, a substance that, if it were a wine, they’d be drunk after a glass, and wouldn’t stop despite rational thinking. It’s a substance so intoxicating that they’d need an entire ocean to fill their minds and bones to detox, and they’ll remain arid in response.

Alfred gently pushes Kiku onto his back and eventually severs their lips, a little red and wet—the tiniest string of saliva connecting them before breaking. As Kiku adjusts his position and catches his breath, his flushed shoulders and chest rising then falling rhythmically, Alfred prepares himself. He undoes his belt buckle and slides the belt from his pants’ loops, then throws it aside. Kiku eyes his bulge with a hunger lasting a thousand years, something he didn’t know he craved until he had it.

His cock springs free from its clothed restraints once Alfred pushes his pants and underwear to his ankles. He quickly reaches into their nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom, the bottle of lube already present on the bed from Kiku’s previous venture. In fact, his entrance was more than welcoming to Alfred’s dick, but after he put on the condom and lubricated himself, he still applied some to Kiku’s entrance.

His fingers, or just him in general, are disproportionate enough to elicit the right kind of reaction when he slides them inside. Kiku wastes no time letting Alfred know he’s doing it right, but with modest, timed gasps and a small whimper at the end. Of course, Alfred, ever the praise soaker, hears these (no matter their volume) and goes the extra mile. He pumps them in and out faster, and the noises come out faster and a little less modest-sounding with each pace.

For one last good measure, Alfred curls his fingers upward and presses against his prostate. A real, raw moan shudders out as Kiku’s hands tighten on the blanket beneath him, and that’s when Alfred knew he had the restraint of a poorly trained mutt. He props his hands on each side of Kiku’s hair and aligns his cock against his entrance, slowly pushing it in. He could’ve sworn his mind was truly lost somewhere a few seconds ago, because his thinking is wobbly and fully clouded with lust.

Alfred starts with a slow rhythm, something to get him started, like cranking an engine on after a few years of being broken or forgotten. A genuine whine falls from his lips, pouring like warm honey onto Kiku’s ear. “I missed you so much, I missed you so much…” And Kiku snatches the sugar on his lips in the blink of an eye. Alfred whines into the kiss and maintains his rhythm.

Kiku pulls away, staring Alfred directly in those glassy, lust-smothered blue eyes. “Prove it… Don’t you want to be my good boy?”

Alfred nods vehemently. He straightens his posture, both hands grabbing onto the dip of Kiku’s waist, and picks up the pace. His cock is brushing against Kiku’s prostate, but surprisingly, he’s hiding that immense pleasure incredibly well… maybe enough to frustrate Alfred. If there’s anything Kiku knows Alfred to be, it’s impatient when his buttons are pushed in the correct order.

Since he thrives on nothing but praise and approval, he searches for sounds like waypoints. Of course, Alfred can’t help but wonder if he’s going too slow or not doing enough when Kiku remains exceptionally silent. All except for the damning evidence—Kiku’s words.

“Don’t hold back…” Kiku manages to mutter by navigating around the bubbles of bliss swelling.

“I’m…” Alfred’s brows are furrowed and arched upward, his teeth gritted slightly. He almost argues back, but then he wouldn’t be a good boy for Kiku if he did, so he nods diligently. “Okay… Okay…”

His fingers dig deeper so he has a better grip as he goes faster, harder as well.

Kiku won’t lie—it’s harder to feign indifference when Alfred, everything he’s ever yearned for carnally, is exceptionally submissive and eager for approval. But, he needs him to go harder. Despite being smaller, he is anything but fragile. A body so battered in scars and age isn’t going to break at the slightest bend nor shatter at the tiniest drop. Alfred knows this; he knows Kiku isn’t fragile… yet he always pretends he doesn’t.

That’s why he can tell Alfred isn’t pouring out all the stress, pride, and rage. He doesn’t need him to hesitate—he needs him to try and break Kiku.

“You’re better than this,” Kiku swallows the pills of indifference with little to no water lubricating his throat. “You know you are.”

“I… I don’t wanna hurt you…” He slows his pace significantly, as if waiting for a command. Kiku especially hates it when he tries to act meek, knowing he has unfettered rage and frustration pent up that need to be released. For God’s sake, his voice and body are trembling. It’s as obvious as saying the sky is blue.

“You’re not going to.” If he wants a command, then Kiku will give him one. “Be a good boy, and fuck me like you hate me.”

The surprise at Kiku’s swearing paints itself on Alfred’s face, for it’s quite uncommon that he ever does. But, it’s a straightforward command, and like the soldier boy he is and always will be, he’ll heed his higher-up’s word until death do they part.

His pace builds quickly. Nails dig into pale flesh the harder he thrusts into Kiku, and slowly, he can see that frustration seething over like a kettle on the stove. It’s more than sexual frustration—it’s the anger he subdues every day, dealing with people who treat their job second to their greed. Strong hands gripping onto Kiku’s waist tighten as he’s pounding into him relentlessly.

Kiku finally lets those unrestrained noises escape, his eyes focusing on Alfred’s top half, particularly his medals branding his breast, rocking back and forth with his vehement motions. His biceps and forearms flex underneath his uniform when they lift Kiku’s hips off the bed so that he can fuck into him more effectively. The lust and frustration are beginning to mix, as evident on his face.

The best part had yet to come, right until Alfred moved onto the next stage rather seamlessly, at least to Kiku’s intoxicated mind. He practically manhandles Kiku to flip over onto his stomach, immediately pulling his hips back up to meet his crotch and begin thrusting into him again. Although unexpected, Kiku races with a healthy amount of adrenaline.

Alfred’s breath deepens, almost into a low growl if Kiku tried to focus on the mere sound of his voice, but his mind is overwhelmed in the best way possible. He can leave as many marks as he wants, so long as he gets the job done. Alfred pushes Kiku farther into the bed so that he can kneel on the mattress, and his hands have further control over Kiku’s body. By now, he’s hitting every spot that makes Kiku tick perfectly, but his vehemence and almost characteristic strength are the cherry on top. Their bed is squeaking constantly right alongside the skin slapping and raw sounds bellowing from each other’s guts, like two animals in heat.

When he’s spearing his prostate, Kiku’s unable to try to pretend to be modest. Alfred is doing a damn good job. He’s moaning out loud, his body wants to fight back all those urges by literally struggling against Alfred (though do not be mistaken, he asked for this), and his clenched fists bunch up the blankets. Without warning, one of Alfred’s hands plants itself firmly against the back of Kiku’s head for even more stability as he ruts into him at an almost inhumane rate. Kiku’s guttural moans are muffled into his sheets only about halfway.

On the other hand, Alfred swears like there’s no tomorrow. His own pleasure, dabbling in personal frustration and rage, is making him dizzy. A pent-up orgasm is due, and he can’t show it any other way except by fucking into Kiku like he loathes his guts. The hand on Kiku’s head removes itself but finds another spot, jerking Kiku off aggressively, and Kiku feels nothing more than just a toy. It doesn’t take longer than a minute before Kiku cums into Alfred’s hand and goes rigid, and is still being mercilessly fucked into. However, he doesn’t remove the hand; he barely acknowledges that he came.

Kiku starts whining loudly. His body is worn out, arched the farthest it can go, but surprisingly, Alfred hasn’t finished yet. His cock is still ramming against his prostate, milking every pang of pleasure for all its worth. When his orgasm hit him, it continued to beat him until he couldn’t breathe… literally. Kiku whines and whines, overwhelmed but not wanting it to stop either. Even though he’s surprised Alfred has lasted this long, maybe it’s his soldier will keeping him from finishing.

“I’m your good boy, right?” Alfred groans, teeth gritting every once in a while. “I’m still your good boy…”

Alfred does one last aggressive string of thrusts, each one punctuated, “I love you, I love you, I love you!” Louder than the last, truly visceral admissions that sound like genuine screams of agony. Right as he comes into Kiku, his vision goes white, and he screams out like he is being tortured.

Kiku is shaking from head to toe, whimpering from the leftover pulses of his overstimulation. He still feels full for a few seconds after Alfred pulls out, and he has to remain frozen to gather his mind and body and regenerate his common sense.

Alfred takes off his condom, ties it, tosses it into their small trash bin at their bedside, undoes his uniform jacket and shirt, tosses those aside, and then collapses like a log beside Kiku. He notices that his husband is lying on his stomach fully, completely still with the exception of breathing, and his face is buried into the ruffled blankets. He also sees the purple bruises on Kiku’s hips, and suddenly, his heart swells with concern.

“Hey…” Alfred nudges Kiku a bit. “Are you okay?” Kiku takes his time, and in the first few seconds, he doesn’t respond. Alfred immediately jumps to apologize. “I’m sorry, I… I was just trying to, y’know…”

Kiku finally picks his head up and gives Alfred this… look, like he did what he was supposed to do, but you can always leave it up to Alfred to go the extra mile, and he certainly went for many of them.

“… I’m sorry.” It’s all that Alfred could say in response to that look. Kiku scoots over to him. “I didn’t mean to—”

His ramblings are silenced when Kiku captures him in a kiss, and of course, he can’t resist when Kiku offers. Their kissing could indeed heal some internal wounds, and it likely did for Kiku. It can also be Kiku getting high off dopamine just from kissing Alfred, but all that animosity seems to fade away when he does. He can’t ever stay that upset with him.

When he pulls away, Alfred still looks for his lips hopelessly. However, his eyes find Kiku’s, and it’s all okay then. “You did very well.”

That sentence alone practically leaves Alfred a puddle of love. “You’re not mad?”

Kiku shakes his head, and all Alfred wants to do is snuggle him until he has a high chance of suffocating. But then, he asks Kiku a question. “I kinda wanted to bottom.”

Always a rollercoaster with Alfred, Kiku believes. Usually, when he says that, he wants the act reciprocated somehow. “… I’m very tired.”

Alfred wraps his arms around Kiku, practically squishes his face against Kiku’s ear. “… I’m still bothered, man…”

Kiku wants to sigh heavily, but he also doesn’t want Alfred to get the wrong idea. He knows he has little to no stamina to continue. However, Alfred has plenty enough to run a marathon twice if he could. “Why don’t you use a toy?”

“… Can you use it on me?”

It’s not a bad suggestion, and it would save Kiku from becoming too exhausted. So, he agrees. The dildo Kiku was using on himself was tossed aside on the bed. Seeing Kiku sit up and reach for it, Alfred’s heart races, and he quickly spreads his legs whilst on his back. He keenly watches Kiku lubricate the dildo and eventually his entrance, coating his fingers in the substance before inserting.

A little whine vibrates through his chest and stomach as Kiku slides his fingers in and out, although he keeps it brief. Kiku holds onto his thighs, pushing the dildo deep inside Alfred with almost no resistance. Alfred’s breath shudders, his eyes glued on the dildo, invoking this pleasure. “Faster.”

Kiku thrusts it consistently and faster, as Alfred wanted. It pressed against his prostate, only evident by the fact that Alfred suddenly began squirming, and his moans were a little effeminate.

“Oh, God,” Alfred cries aloud, “faster, faster, please, Kiku…”

Although his body is wrecked, Kiku’s cock starts to harden again, and suddenly, helping him climax doesn’t sound too bad at all. Elevating the experience, Kiku straddles Alfred, letting the tip of his cock nudge his entrance for a few seconds. He then inserts the whole member inside him, but he doesn’t move whatsoever, only warming it inside his body.

“Shit…” Alfred bites his lip. “God, fuck…”

Kiku still reaches behind him to keep thrusting the dildo into Alfred, but moves it faster. In response, Alfred grabs onto Kiku’s now hard cock and strokes it. As if it’s a game now, Kiku starts actively riding him, hoping his cock will fuck into his prostate again with considerably less effort than before. Each act turns them into messes again—moaning, whining, and begging for release.

“Oh, fuck!” Alfred yelps, followed by high-pitched, panicked breathing and intense writhing. “Right there, right there—I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close, I—” His own moaning cuts him off, and seeing him unravel like this… Kiku doesn’t even try to hold back. Before his mind could even register his orgasm, there was already cum painting Alfred’s rapidly jerking hand.

Alfred screams out, ripping his own throat, and his body involuntarily tries to resist the urge. It’s powerful enough that it slams into him like a tidal wave. All he sees is stars right when he comes into Kiku, who goes rigid at the feeling of his cum inside him. Kiku lets his breath and mind return after an orgasm so intense, he almost thought he passed out.

He pulls the dildo out of Alfred and sets it aside. However, he doesn’t get off Alfred; he lies on him instead. As he expected, Alfred’s arms wrap around Kiku’s back. Both of their chests are compressed together, needed contact after a long day. Alfred presses kisses onto the top of Kiku’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary.

“Dude,” Alfred takes a longer sniff. “Are you using my hair mask?”

Kiku looks up at him, and Alfred watches a smirk slowly pull at his lips before he decides to kiss Alfred so he can’t formulate a thought in response. Their lips massage each other for a good minute or so. Alfred has to pull away for the sake of his own body since his mind likes to bite off more than his body can work through. “C’mon, I don’t wanna get hard again. I’m actually beat.”

Kiku only chuckles at the remark. He gets off of Alfred so he can sit up, but as for him, he’s far too lazy to do anything except let his muscles relax. Kiku watches Alfred observe his hand, and he glances back at Kiku. “You could’ve cum in me, y’know.” He reaches for a tissue and wipes it clean.

“I was tired…” Kiku mutters.

“Oh, yeah, but you still had enough energy to ride me. I see how it is.” Kiku smiles at his sassy tone. “That’s why you should’ve let me ride you. It’s less effort, man.”

“You would’ve broken one of my bones. You’re not particularly gentle.” Additionally, Kiku doesn’t believe Alfred understands he weighs 194lbs of muscle and some body fat, and Kiku literally cannot handle all of that efficiently without having his breath squeezed out of him every time he comes down. Admittedly, Kiku wishes their weight-to-strength ratio were less disproportionate.

“I can be gentle!” He argues. “You just don’t ever want me to be. You always want me to go rough, and being the good husband I am, I do it anyway, because as long as it’s with you, anything is fine… But it’s true, what I said—I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“… And you didn’t.”

“I left bruises on your hips, by the way.”

Kiku glances down at his hip, finding there are tiny but frequent bruises. He’s not surprised, however. “They’ll heal.”

Alfred shrugs. “Still don’t like it.”

“You don’t like what I told you to do, and yet you still did it?”

“Well, I’m not going to say no in the middle of sex, dude. You’re also really hot when you’re mean. I kinda got harder when you told me to fuck you like I hated you… which I don’t, but the way you said it, I was willing to go with the part… That reminds me, we should totally try roleplaying again—”

“No.”

“And why not?!”

“You get too into it.”

“Dude, planning a full script is part of the thrill! Don’t you understand true cinema?”

“… I’m not going to memorize ten pages worth of lines.”

Alfred rolls his eyes. “So, what? You’re saying the sex isn’t worth memorizing ten pages of lines. If you wanted to tell me I’m performing mediocre, you could’ve just said so, Kiku…”

Kiku shakes his head and falls back to the pillows he was resting on. “You’re not mediocre.”

“You’re right… I’m stellar.” The thing with Alfred is that he has the strength to utterly manhandle Kiku if Kiku requests, but he has almost zero technique in his method. Kiku is actively trying to teach him techniques, like patience and motion, but Alfred is still Alfred, and he’ll stick it in, start ramming, and hope for the best. He’s also a tinsy bit selfish in that regard, but not overtly so—he’s still a slave to whatever Kiku wants to do, at the end of the day.

Kiku then gently kicks him off the bed. “Go clean.”

“But I wanted to keep talking with you…”

And this is how Alfred convinced Kiku to shower with him. He needs one, anyway, but now he’s trapped inside a shower with Mr. Yapper, and he’s telling him all the fun roleplay ideas they could do. As he said, it’s not that roleplaying itself is bad. It’s just when Alfred takes it too seriously that he’ll spend all day writing genuine movie scripts for either raunchy erotica or completely historically accurate depictions of period romances. Whichever mood he’s feeling.

“And, so I was kinda thinking… What if we pretend we’re pirates, but like, I’m the wayward prisoner you capture, and you start torturing me?” Alfred explains to Kiku as he scrubs the man’s body down. “But we can use all those toys! I found a really cool one—I got it on sale on Cyber Monday—it’s like… an ejaculating dildo… You gotta see it, bro—it’s so cool!”

Kiku listens to the noise but rather focuses on Alfred’s scrubbing, like he’s cleaning a statue he worships, but he also can’t help but respond with nods and hums just to ensure Alfred feels listened to… even if his ideas are ones that definitely should be kept in his head. But, if Kiku were as talkative as Alfred, he’d like him to listen to his fantasies as well and give some feedback.

Kiku’s fantasy involves the dream of a certain fisherman’s wife. One day, it’ll come true, and Alfred will be the wife.

They finish showering together and step out to dry off. Alfred decides to wrap one towel around both of their waist, resulting in him pulling Kiku in for a hug from behind. He plants gentle and frequent kisses atop his damp hair. “You’re smokin’, dude. You don’t look a day over 1,000.”

Of course, Alfred had to ruin the moment with his mouth. Kiku elbows his side lightly, resulting in an exaggerated, “Ow! I’m serious! You’re hot.”

Kiku knows he means it, but he remains quiet, only giving him another look of disapproval.

“I mean it! I wanna marry you again—when’s our next anniversary? I think I’m gonna plan our wedding again and force everyone to come to it like we did last time… maybe without the open bar, but it’s gonna be our wedding.”

“… In this economy?” Kiku leans back against Alfred’s warm, flushed chest and glances up at him.

“Honey, 94 years ago, I would’ve married you with a tin ring. I hope you know that.”

Kiku smiles softly. “And you… Nothing at all.”

“I’m not worth a ring?” Alfred asks, burying his face in Kiku’s hair.

“… You’re worth a thousand gold rings.”

At this, Alfred brings him in even closer and wishes to fuse with him. “I like it when you’re nice to me.”

Kiku chuckles. “I am nice to you.”

“You bully me relentlessly, but it’s okay because you’re hot. You can call me anything you want, hon.”

Truthfully, Kiku’s insides melt when Alfred uses pet names, even the real cheesy ones. Kiku doesn’t know them to be cheesy. When he first started using these saccharine pet names like honey, honey pie, sweetie pie, sweetheart, darling, or baby, Kiku was already too smitten to realize how cheesy they actually were. Also, it was the 1950s, and romance was arguably at its peak when these names became notorious for their cheesiness.

Kiku doesn’t care whatsoever. He’s yearned for way too long to be picky.

They dress in their home clothes—a bulky hoodie and joggers for Alfred and a crewneck sweater and running shorts for Kiku. When they finished, the pizza Kiku ordered finally arrived. He let Alfred answer the door and accept the delivery, but he turned to Kiku on the couch with the hugest smile.

“You ordered pizza?!” He practically skips the place everything on the kitchen counter. “And I didn’t even pay!” To encompass Alfred’s large appetite, Kiku had ordered two large pepperoni pizzas, garlic knots (which Alfred would willingly live off of for the rest of his life if he didn’t need something called “nutrients”), a marbled cookie brownie (yes, Alfred would live off of it if he could), and a liter bottle of Coke. Alfred is as happy as a fat kid at Thanksgiving dinner… with love, of course.

“Dude, we gotta bang again!”

Kiku braces himself as Alfred pretty much pins him against the couch and starts attacking his face and neck with kisses. “Stop!” Kiku couldn’t help but laugh, feeling all the intense kissing over his exposed skin and Alfred’s hand gripping his waist as he settled between his thighs. His legs naturally wrap around Alfred’s waist. He does quite enjoy this sort of affection from Alfred strictly. Anyone else, and he might punch them.

Alfred ends his kissing attack with one long, passionate kiss on the lips. Kiku’s hands keep him anchored behind his head. When he pulls away, he nuzzles Kiku’s face, finding his squished cheeks the cutest thing he ever laid his eyes upon. “How did I bag you?”

In all their years, long and aching, Kiku can’t recall all the precise reasons he fell in love with Alfred. He supposes that the first encounter on the beaches of Yokosuka, when baby blue struck gold, that’s when Kiku knew his life wouldn’t be the same. 1,820 years of his life without Alfred, and he’s spent 180 years wondering how he ever lived without him.

“… I don’t know,” Kiku presses one last soft kiss on the side of Alfred’s lips, “but don’t ever leave.”

“You’d have to kill me for that.”

Kiku almost missed the weight on his chest once Alfred left. But, seeing that big smile on his face, goofy or not, is one of the many reasons Kiku ever wishes he wouldn’t leave. There’s only one man in the world who saw Kiku’s smiles, heard his laughter, and admired him, then thought, “I need him.” The only man to love a cherry blossom in scorching summers, brisk autumn, brutal winters, and of course, those fresh springs.

Even just sitting on the couch together, eating pizza, watching Devil May Cry (a show that Alfred refused to watch until Kiku was here to watch it with him), and musing to each other about nothing special is worth all those years of agony. Sometimes, Kiku will look over to Alfred, utterly enraptured by the fight scenes and a mouthful of pizza, and smile to himself for no real reason than just to look at him.

Even now, Kiku still has a hot crush on him, and he doesn’t think it will die anytime soon.

When the food is cleared, the series ended with enough pointless debate to rival the presidential one, and the outside becomes dark and gloomy, they’re back in each other’s arms. Kiku is lying on the couch with Alfred between his legs, resting his head on his chest, glasses off, and sleepy. His fingers card through his blond hair, like petting a cat. Speaking of the cat, Hero is in loaf-mode at their feet, since he feels the need to be a part of this. The magical tortilla blanket is draped over them, but Alfred is Kiku’s comforting weight, and he always will be.

“… Y’know, I think Mariah Carey was onto something,” Alfred mutters some time in the silence.

Kiku can only hum.

“All I want for Christmas is you!” He rests his chin on Kiku’s chest so he can look up at him after saying that intensely corny line. As a result, Kiku pressed Alfred’s face into his chest to prevent him from saying anything more corny. “Yay, I love your boobs…” He says as he’s buried into the fabric of Kiku’s chest, devoid of boobs.

“… What are you nuzzling?” Kiku looks down at Alfred’s continuous rubbing of his face against his chest.

His muffled voice hums. “Your boobs, bro… and you smell good.”

“What boobs?” He has to ask now.

“Only yours…” He stops his nuzzling. Sometimes, Kiku doesn’t even know what to say to Alfred when he does absurd things like this. He thinks it’s just low-energy babbling. “I love you.”

Kiku sighs, massaging Alfred’s scalp. “I love you too.”

“Yay… Did I tell you that you’re hot?”

“Yes…”

“Um… What about you being sweet?”

“Yes…”

“Good in bed?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiku adjusts the blanket over them. “You’re loud enough to compensate.”

Alfred chuckles. “Okay… It’s ‘cause you’re really good.”

“I know.”

“… Oh, so now you’re too good for my compliments, Mr. I Know?”

“Go to sleep, Alfred.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” But, like always, Alfred continues. “I love you.”

“… I love you too.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Do you hate me? Be honest.”

“Do you want me to hate you?”

“No, no, I’m sorry—I’ll go to sleep.”

This often happens when Alfred is feeling silly, where he’ll act stupid and moody for no real reason other than for Kiku to respond in a monotone, lightly annoyed voice. It’s annoying, sure, but Kiku wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. He’s had about 50 years to deal with it.

“Goodnight…” When Kiku thought Alfred finally fallen asleep, he spoke up.

Kiku almost fell asleep, so his voice is a little drowsy. His arms are around Alfred’s head, now permanently nuzzled on his chest. “Goodnight.”

“Can you say it in Japanese, please?”

“Oyasumi.”

Alfred giggles tiredly. “You sound so pretty when you speak Japanese. Do you wanna get married?”

“… We are married.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes…”

“… You’re my husband… Wow…” And he thinks Alfred genuinely fell asleep after saying that, or he was sleeptalking. Whatever it is, Kiku doesn’t bother much. He kisses the top of Alfred’s head before falling back to sleep himself, which doesn’t take long at all.

Maybe Mariah was kinda right.

Kiku doesn’t want anything more for Christmas than Alfred.