Hey guys. Long time no see?
If you need an explanation for my 'absence', just take a look at my profile. c: Buuut. Since I kept getting reviews on this asking for an update, I just couldn't let you guys down. I also regularly post things on my AO3 account and tumblr, so please check my profile for those. :3
Aaanyways. Last I checked, there wasn't really any sex in this chapter, just good old moody morning-sickness Artie. :v
About five weeks had passed by, and the King and Queen of Spades had announced to their kingdom that the new heir was in the making.
Yao, the Jack of Spades, had confirmed it about a week ago. There was instant celebration, the trees and towers lit up with several lights and jewels all of kinds. Kings and Queens of other Kingdom's had arrived as well. Francis, the King of Diamonds, had made a show of arriving and had even attempted to flirt with Arthur (which wasn't all that much of a surprise – the man did it every chance he got when he wasn't being serious, which was about 1.5% of the time), which earned the man a nice kick in the arse and a punch in that amphibious face of his.
However, it didn't help the fact that Arthur was already in a sour mood. The hormones from being pregnant were kicking in, making him much more vicious than usual.
This morning, however, he wasn't in a bad mood the moment he woke up. In fact, the moment he woke up, which was rather early in the morning, he was instantly up and running to the bathroom that was connected to their large bedroom. There he sat, knelt over the toilet for nearly hours by now, dozing in and out of sleep, his cheek planted firmly at the side of the toilet, dried tears on his face and dark bags under his eyes.
The King of Spades, ever the dutiful and loving father-to-be, lay sound asleep in their large and luxurious bed. His arms reached out and clung to an indigo body pillow, although in his subconscious dreaming state, it was his pregnant husband.
Ahh... The Queen wasn't showing just yet, and it would certainly be a while until he did, but the mere thought of Arthur waddling around in an oversized dress was... absurdly comical.
N-Not arousing, or anything of the sort, just hilarious.
"Mmh..." Alfred rubbed his flushed cheek against the soft material of the pillow, not even caring that it was cool and silky, not warm flesh.
The Queen's stomach was still as flat and slim as it was before; but even so, he could tell there was another being inside of him – even though that being was still nearly microscopic at this point. Arthur's stomach lurched softly, a forewarning, and he snapped awake, robotically slumping closer to the toilet bowl before him, just as he had been doing the past few hours, a low pant coming from him.
He felt absolutely queasy; his heart did a strange flutter in his chest, and his head spun sickeningly. Bile rose up his throat, and, painfully, he retched loudly. Ducking his head forwards, he vomits for was seems to be the millionth time, his slender frame hunching into itself, tears stinging his eyes.
Finally, Alfred's eyelids slammed open. He stared at the silk canopy above him for a few moments, in an attempt to wake up himself, before he bolted out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. Last night, Arthur did say he was feeling somewhat queasy... And Alfred, while he could be rather clueless sometimes, was not a complete and utter idiot when it came to pregnancy symptoms. Well, simply because he had a younger brother, after all.
"Hang in there!" As soon as he reached the bathroom, the King slammed open the door, and slid over to his Queen's side. "I'll save you!"
Panting into the toilet bowl, Arthur's body gave a soft tremble, cold sweat covering him despite how feverish he felt. His face was pale, clammy. He didn't get a wink of sleep last night, due to the restless queasiness that would not go away. When he did fall asleep, he would wake up from dreams that he couldn't remember, and would lie awake trying to remember them.
When the door flung open, Arthur jolted; he had finished vomiting for now, his cheek lying on the same spot he had been laying it for the past two hours, sticky with his own sweat. "Sh...Shut up, you're ridiculous..." Arthur elbowed weakly at the male, eyes closing, grimacing. "I don't need to... be saved."
Running his hand through his husband's hair, Alfred quickly flushed the mess down the drain and closed the toilet lid, before crouching back down on the floor beside Arthur.
"Did... Did you get rid of whatever was bugging you?" Even though it was morning sickness his husband suffered from, not indigestion. "I... I was just worried, that's all. I..." Alfred's mouth twitched slightly, but he swallowed back whatever noise he was going to make. "I-I just don't like seeing you hurting. B-Because it wears me out." The younger male yawned softly, wanting to go back to sleep more than anything.
"No. I didn't. And it's not a bug, idiot." Warily, Arthur reaches to push the toilet seat back up, even that almost too much of an effort for him in this state; his arm shook as he did so.
Instead of laying his arm back at his side, however, he just sort of curls it around his stomach, his throat burning, his eyes opening to flick up to his husband, mumbling thickly. "...git. If you're so tired... why don't you just go back to sleep? It's still... it's still early." Ah, he felt horrible. His stomach was starting to churn again.
"Because it doesn't feel right... not having you next to me," Alfred mumbled, looking away from Arthur and crossing his arms. "Finish doing your thing and go back to bed, I-I don't want you wiping yourself out." The taller male shakily stood up on his own legs, the smell and sounds of nausea clouding their elegant bathroom. "Because y'know. You're an old man and all." Alright, well, he sort of regretted saying that, but still...
Arthur swallowed thickly, managing to calm his stomach for the time being. At Alfred's words, he looks up at the male, startled at the sudden name calling. And, of course, due to the fact Arthur was already emotional as it was, the tears he was keeping held back suddenly rose to his eyes, blurring his vision.
He turns his face away, facing the opposite direction, mumbling wryly. "...S...Sod off, then." He seemed to curl into himself, crossing both arms over his stomach. "...You idiot. Go back t'sleep and leave me alone."
Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but sighed instead and closed it. He stared down at his feet, and, giving a shrug of his shoulders, began to walk out of the bathroom and into the hallway leading to the bedroom. "Fine," he muttered, loud enough for Arthur to hear. "Just come lay down when you're feeling better."
Feeling pitiful but not giving a damn, the Queen raises his wrist and rubs away the tears threatening to leak down his face stubbornly, sniveling softly, although being careful not to move too much, terrified he would upset his stomach for the umpteenth time.
His thin shoulders slumped, pale skin clammy, eyes lowered. He was dreadfully tired and just wanted to go lay down – this position was cramped after hours of barely moving. All he wanted was to, simply, lay with Alfred and let the idiot hug onto him whilst they slept. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes again, and a low whimper came from him. "Alfred..."
Instead of going back to sleep, however, Alfred simply sat on the front end of the bed, his face buried in his hands. It was as if he was in some area between wanting to fall asleep and trying to wake up.
"Nnh..." The young honey-blonde massaged the area inbetween his eyebrows with his index and middle fingers, his face tensed as he... seemed to feel Arthur's pain. Sighing yet again, he stood back up and exited the bedroom, making his way to the bathroom once more.
Whimpering like a child, Arthur hugs his stomach and curls up against the toilet, feeling utterly alone. Now he had managed to aggravate Alfred as well. It was all his fault in the first place, that numbskull.
A small sniffle came from him, tears simply leaking from his eyes and down his face, most of them smearing under his eyelids before going any further. Compared to how feverish he felt, the tears felt relatively cold. He just wished for his husband to walk in, pick him up bridal-style like he usually always did when given the chance, and settle him on the bed so they could go back to sleep. That, obviously, wasn't going to happen.
The Queen of Spades was such a pessimist sometimes.
"Hey, Artie." A soft creak of the door filled the room, and Alfred stepped in, his face almost as weary and damp as his husband's. "You... You feeling better?" He stepped closer to his lover, his Queen, his arms outreaching for Arthur to take. "If you are, uh... that's awesome, I guess. Y-You just had me... kinda worried."
Alfred grit the teeth in the back of his mouth, trying to shake off the tears brimming in his own eyes. "I-I just kinda hope you're almost done with this puking-in-the-morning thing..."
Arthur lifted his head slightly from the toilet seat, tears having built where his cheek was squished to the seat, leaving a small puddle on his face. Not bothering to wipe it away, he hesitantly peers over to Alfred, looking up at his King wryly, startled to find that the male looked just as forlorn and stressed as he felt.
At the sight, the tears that had finally stopped started up again, welling in his eyes, as he mumbled weakly. "Y-You're an… an idiot." Nevertheless, the Queen reaches out, his own trembling hand grasping at Alfred's forearm, the other hesitantly uncurling from around his stomach to grasp the King's hand, shifting and, tightening his grip at the male, trying to push himself to his feet; effectively failing in doing so and simply slumping forwards against Alfred, the tears now welling further out of embarrassment, small tints of pink in his cheeks again, showing that most of the sickness was going away.
"I-It's okay... I-I'm here now..." Alfred's voice began to crack softly, the hand that was not wrapped tightly around Arthur's waist gently rubbing circles into the small of the older male's back, in an attempt to soothe him. "P-Please... d-don't cry... d-don't cry, Artie..."
Easier said than done for the both of them.
"I-I don't like seeing you cry... i-it makes me feel like I'm not a hero, a-and that sucks." The young King tried to mask his barely-suppressed whimpers with a chuckle. "Heh... right. I'm your idiot."
The Queen's bottom lip trembles softly with the struggle to hold back the tears, his cheek pressed to Alfred's collarbone, skin cool. Trembling, he simply slumps against Alfred, the strong arm around his waist a sort of reassurance, the small circles drawn at the base of his skin seeming to quell the sickened racing of his heart.
At such cheesy words, Arthur couldn't say anything, couldn't help the small smile that tugs his lips up at the side. Tears slid down his face, and he wryly circles an arm around the King's back, fingers tracing over the barely-there traces of scratches he had left from before. "Nn... they're still not quite gone, are they..?"
"O-Oh." As soon as he felt Arthur's cool, delicate fingertips rubbing against the scrapes on his back, Alfred's face immediately heated up. "H-Heh... Yeah. Damn... y-you mark your territory when you wanna, huh?" As usual, he stuck out his tongue childishly and winked. "Your hips don't hurt too much now, right? I hope...?"
His arm firmly against his Queen's back, the father-to-be lead Arthur out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, although whether or not the older of the two wanted to fall back asleep after all that was his decision.
A weak, but true laugh rose from Arthur's throat, one-noted, as it usually was whenever he rarely laughed. "I...I'm fine. They don't hurt nearly as bad as... as the headaches you give me when you act like a complete buffoon." This was Arthur's way of being playful – being sarcastic, which Alfred, of all people, knew best.
Somehow, the King's presence seemed to scare away the sickness. He let himself be dragged from the stale-aired bathroom, glad to breathe fresher air as they entered the bedroom. His cheek remained weakly against Alfred's shoulder, showing his exhaustion – he could barely lift his head up, let alone walk without his knees shaking and giving out beneath him.
In response, Alfred let out a chuckle of his own, and he couldn't help but move his hand a little lower and give Arthur's bum a quick pinch. Oh. Yes.
"Heh. Just... get better, will you?" He shook his head and giggled again, helping his husband sit down on the soft leather couch just a little away from their bed. "I miss... y'know... snuggle-time." The young male stuck out his lower lip into a pout, putting on that perfect childish face of his. "A-And I don't like seeing you sick, y'know."
"O-Oi, gerroff," Arthur mumbled, as barely-there heat rose to his face in a blush, half-heartedly swatting at the King's hand whenever his arse was pinched. Blinking at said male, Arthur slowly shifts on the couch, his apple green eyes bright and vivid as ever despite the pale complexion to his face. "…S...nuggle time?" Arthur studied his King's 'child-of-innocence' expression, clearly unaffected by it, unlike most others when they witnessed it. "You are not a 5-year-old, love."
The two of them, lately, had been given much more time together, and it was both exhausting and wonderful. Alfred had been rather... cuddly, and Arthur wasn't quite sure if he despised it or enjoyed it. Sighing warily, he hesitantly holds his arms out, peering at Alfred almost shyly. "...Come here, then."
The younger ruler felt a twinge in his heart, hearing Arthur's rather cold response to his plea for affection... only to smile brightly as his husband beckoned for him.
"Aww!" Alfred was, of course, more than willing to do so, and practically leapt onto the couch the older male reclined on. "I-I love you so much, you realize that?" He wrapped his arms around the other male's waist, holding him tightly as he could, before he crashed his lips against Arthur's. "...o-oh fuck, ew, you taste like puke!"
"Mmh— Alfred—" He never realized how ridiculously strong the King was. It was a wonder that Arthur had survived all the other hugs and 'snuggle-times'.
He wriggled in the tight grasp, feeble arms pushing at the male's more broad shoulders, grumbling against his lips and attempting to push him back slightly. "O-Of course I taste like vomit, you idiot!" Sour mood had switched back on. He groused a weak 'piss off', although it obviously wasn't true nor meant to sound as acidic as he planned.
If he wasn't feeling so exhausted and out of energy, he would have jammed his elbow into Alfred's ribs reproachfully and told him to 'get off before you kill me, you lug.' He turns his face away, eyeing the bathroom. "I suppose I should have rinsed my mouth out."
"Geez..." Alfred just stared at his ticked-off husband for a few moments, before shaking his head and scoffing. "Dammit, why do you always take everything so personally!?" He crossed his arms and inched away from Arthur, leaning back against the armrest as he waited for the Queen to slide off the couch and head to the bathroom. "Fine, just... do whatever you gotta do. This sucks."
Reast in peace, mood.
Grumbling, Arthur shifts from the couch, standing up. He seemed perfectly fine for that moment, and then starts to wobble, his balance wavering. A small noise rises from him, and he instantly grabs the edge of the plush, large couch, steadying himself with his head ducked towards the floor.
Curse these wretched mood swings, they only seemed to anger Alfred. And where would that get them? After a minute of regaining himself, he moves from the room and back to the bathroom, keeling over the sink and fumbling to turn it on. Just being in the room was making him feel nauseous again.
As Arthur made his way to the bathroom, Alfred remained seated there, a bit of a hurt and angry expression on his face. He looked almost exactly like a child who didn't get the toy they wanted. Something inside the young king called him to go and comfort his husband yet again, but... Nah, he told himself, Arthur's fine now.
Still, though, Alfred always trusted his gut feeling, even when it got him into trouble... but for now, he decided to keep to himself. Arthur didn't want him around, anyway...
Arthur bends down, cupping a handful of water as the running faucet sends a silky, smooth stream of water down the basin and pressing his mouth into his hand, taking in the water and then, after a moment, spitting it out and repeating several methodical times.
The sink was simply a large, hollowed granite rock that had several colours glimmering within, shapes and patterns naturally carved into it. Arthur stares down at it, his forehead leaning forwards and touching the mirror before him, eyes closing groggily. His stomach flipped softly, and he went completely still, fearing another spell of vomiting.
Is he okay...?
Alfred briefly looked over at the closed bedroom door, his disappointed face turning into one of unease. What if... What if Arthur got so dizzy he fell down? And broke his head open? And died?!
"H-He's probably okay," the young man told himself, drumming his fingers against the sofa's armrest. "Just... yeah. He can take care of himself. Doesn't need a hero all the time..."
Breathing out in a trembling manner, Arthur opens his eyes, staring down at the swaying sink below him. It obviously wasn't swaying, he was just dizzy. Unsteadily, he splashes water onto his clammy face, his bones even seeming to quiver with exhaustion. His stomach lurches again, sudden enough to make his shoulders hunch, and he leans against the mirror again, groaning warily.
"He's definitely alright," the King of Spades continued to tell himself, feeling rather... queasy and clammy, as well.
Poor, poor Arthur, if he was feeling like this, yet somehow worse. Perhaps, though, the sudden wave of nausea that had struck the young and healthy Alfred was brought on by guilt. "Okay," the blonde muttered, clasping his hands together. "If he doesn't come back in five minutes, I'll go check on him... y-yeah..."
Another stronger wave washed over him, leaving him in a sheen of cold sweat. His knees wobbled, and a pitiful noise rose, choked, from his throat, unsure if he wanted to cry or not.
Miserably, the Queen slid from the sink and dropped to his knees before the toilet once again. Another lurch. He sunk forwards, gagging, face paled, his elbows planted on each side of the toilet bowl and fingers gripping weakly at his hair as he waited for it to come.
The blue-eyed male stood up off the couch, a firm and determined expression now on his childlike face. "O-Okay. H-He better be alright."
Stretching a little first, Alfred crossed the bedroom and walked down the spiraling hallway once more, before opening the bathroom door with a slam. "I thought you were just gonna wash your mou— Oh, Arthur!"
The younger man's voice softened, and, just as he did hours ago, he knelt by his husband on the floor. "Not again..."
The bile slid up his throat, and he sank forwards like a limp doll against the toilet, letting it slide from him and into the toilet water below. It was nothing but liquid — he had vomited all previous food up from yesterday hours ago, when it first started.
His body continuously trembled, tears slowly forming in his eyes, his fingers raking clumsily through his hair as he knelt to the toilet, the burn horrid. He retched, coughing weakly, his watery green, dulling eyes flicking over to his husband, feeling absolutely pitiful.
Again, Alfred momentarily stood up to flush down the mess, before kneeling back down and placing his hand on Arthur's hunched, trembling back. "Honey..."
As much as he knew his husband loathed those stupid pet names with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, the younger ruler couldn't help but say such things in an attempt to show affection for his Queen. "S-Sorry I... was kind of mean to you... a-a little while ago..."
Panting softly into the bowl, Arthur's cheek slowly rolls to rest weakly on the edge, tears leaking down his face, not even making a face or retorting about the pet name that he absolutely loathed, but knew Alfred meant no harm.
The Queen felt drained of all energy, the weakest he had ever felt, not counting the very first time he and his King had sex. The day afterwards, Arthur was completely uncomfortable because his damn arse was bruised and stretched.
His hand slowly reaches out and, wordlessly, he grabs onto Alfred's clothing, simply holding onto it as if his life depended on it.
"Shh, t-take it easy..." Shakily, Alfred rubbed circles into his husband's back, his heart sinking as the smaller male clung to the royal blue robe he wore. If only the father-to-be could share that pain, in an attempt to empathize with his Queen... "I-I'm sorry... w-we don't have to have snuggle-time if you don't want, just please take it easy..." The young blonde could no longer hold back his tears, and let out a sound that was like a weak sob. "I-I hate seeing you in pain..."
Arthur's heartbeat was sluggish. Slowly, arms shaking with the effort, he pushes himself from the toilet and instead just scoots to the younger male, pressing his face to the soft robe at his shoulder, tears pooling in his eyes, too weak to do anything else but lean onto Alfred and grasp small fistfuls of the royal blue robe in his fists. "Sh...ut up," he said in a voice that didn't sound like his own.
But he meant no harm with the words; that was obvious. His tone was too small to sound mean. "I-I'm fine, Alfred..."
The King kept his hold on his ailing Queen, slowly walking him to the bedroom, but this time, allowing him to lay on their bed instead of the 'snuggle-time couch'. "Y-You're not fine," Alfred softly retorted, brushing his cool fingertips against Arthur's overheated forehead. Funny. Usually their body temperatures were the other way around. "I-I don't call puking in the morning until you're nearly unconscious 'fine'!"
His heart was beating strangely. It would go slow as a snail, and then suddenly burst into rhythm faster than a jackrabbit running. He let himself sink into the soft comforter of the bed, his face streaked with fresh and drying tear tracks, his eyes lifting to stare up at Alfred with hooded lids, brow creased softly. "It's... completely in routine, love." He tried to make his voice come out soothing, despite his weak tone. "Oi... St-Stop crying." Reaching up, Arthur hesitantly brushes his hot palm under Alfred's eyes, wiping them.
"I-I can't..." Alfred's chest heaved as he whimpered softly, the mere sight of his older husband in such a weak state making him feel... unheroic. Maybe they should have just adopted a child instead. "I-It hurts seeing you hurt..."
Still, though, the King quickly wiped the tears trickling out of his eyes, before curling next to his Queen and wrapping his arms around the other male's slender body. "Just... lemme know if you feel sick again, okay...?
A small, barely-there smile tilted the side of Arthur's lips up for the first time all day. His eyes drift closed, breathing out shakily, slowly curling up on his side and nuzzling his face against his husband's shoulder, more than content with this. The queasiness seemed to, for the while, subside again. Tears slowly drying around his eyes, Arthur continues to tremble gently, mumbling against the male's robe with a weak chuckle. "I suggest you do not try to kiss me again."
Alfred just grinned in response, ruffling Arthur's messy, sandy-blonde tufts of hair. "It's hard not to," he chuckled softly, deciding to give his expectant husband just a quick peck on the forehead. "Need anything? Or do you want me to go away...?"
Sighing softly, the sandy blonde burrows his face against his King's collarbone, thoroughly — and secretly — enjoying the natural warmth that seemed to transfer from Alfred's body into his own exhausted, energy-drained body and buzzing it back to life ever so slowly.
The small peck at his forehead brought a barely-there smile to his eyes, and he hummed softly under his breath in contentment. "I'm fine," he replied into the bundle of fur that was Alfred's robe. "Just... don't get up and leave."
"That's good to hear." Alfred's voice softened upon hearing Arthur's words. In fact, his own heart felt completely warmed. "Mh... just..." The younger male quietly drummed his fingertips against a silk throw-pillow he hadn't realized he had been holding. "When... When you feel better, w-we can have snuggle-time again, right?"
Of course, Alfred kind of figured they were having sort of snuggle-time right now, but it was nowhere near actual snuggle-time.
Arthur's face burrows further, finding the warm fur combined with Alfred's body heat rather comfy. His cheek presses weakly against his collarbone, breathing shallow; his eyes were closed, a soft furrow to his brow.
"...Yes, poppet." A small smile curved one side of his chapped lips up, feeble. "Of course. But if you end up squeezing me too tight, be aware that I will not hesitate to hit you." Despite the threat, Arthur seemed to sink into his husband's warmth, their bodies curving perfectly together, just as always.
TO BE CONTINUED