Summary: Arthur never expected that the best part of his New York apartment would be the handsome American doorman. USUK. Oneshot.
Rating: M for suggestive fluff followed by a couple of smutty paragraphs. Also mild swearing and drunk!Arthur.
Warning! Terrible knock-knock jokes ahead.
In the rush of moving to Manhattan, Arthur picked an apartment based solely on proximity to his office.
The financial district was expensive, but rent costs were no obstacle for Arthur Kirkland, who at the age of 27 was set to take over the U.S. headquarters of his family's investment banking empire. He and his cat arrived on a Friday and he furnished his apartment over the weekend (paying an arm and a leg for designer furniture and finding that he needed to buy an electric kettle, since even swanky American apartments didn't keep that essential appliance in their kitchens). By Monday morning, he was ready for work.
As he rushed out the lobby door, Arthur caught a glimpse of perfection—a handsome man in a well-tailored suit with a gleaming smile.
Arthur paused briefly on the sidewalk, causing several pedestrians to jostle him as they rushed to work. Someone swore, but Arthur paid him no heed as he walked back into the building. He knew his building had a doorman; he had thought nothing of it because it was simply expected that any building as expensive as his would have a doorman for security and convenience. And Arthur normally never paid attention to the people who held doors for him, but he wanted a second look at this one, to see if his eyes had deceived him.
"Welcome back, Mr. Kirkland," the doorman said with a smile. "Did you forget something?" he asked cheerfully.
"Uh, yes," Arthur mumbled, distracted again by the handsome young man's bright smile. He had forgotten how to speak in complete sentences. His mind just shut down as he drank in the sight in front of him. His doorman was fucking gorgeous, like a modern-day Adonis. The man's sparkling eyes and charming smile left Arthur weak in the knees. After an awkward moment, Arthur realized he couldn't keep staring (or else he would start drooling), so he walked to the elevator, taking advantage of the excuse handed to him by the doorman. He had "forgotten" something, indeed. He seemed to have lost the capacity for rational thought as soon as the young man entered his field of vision.
Arthur drank a quick glass of water and waited for the heat in his cheeks to cool down. He checked himself in the mirror—adjusting his bespoke suit so that it was perfectly arranged and making one last attempt to pat down his wild hair. It wouldn't do to let the gorgeous doorman look more professional than he did.
On his way back out, Arthur paused to savor the sight of the doorman's firm butt. Whoever chose the doorman's outfit had done a bang-up job. The crisp white gloves looked splendid as the young man opened the door. The navy double-breasted jacket displayed his strong arms and chest, while the black pants accented his long, lean legs. And the jaunty cap perched on the young man's head completed the ensemble like a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. Arthur realized he wanted a name to go with the heavenly image.
The young man tipped his hat as he held the door open. "Have a good day, Mr. Kirkland."
Arthur paused at the door, hoping to impress the handsome doorman with his gentlemanly charm. "Thank you. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr...?"
"Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" the doorman said with a grin and another tip of his hat. "Let me be the first to welcome you to New York, sir," he said with a smile so bright Arthur wondered if Americans drank fluoride instead of milk as children.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones," Arthur replied. With the image of Alfred floating around in his brain, he was sure he would have a magnificent day.
Arthur started 'forgetting' things on a regular basis just to have two chances each morning to admire his handsome doorman and an excuse to have a brief conversation, mostly bemoaning his terrible habit of losing important items. During their second conversation, the doorman insisted that Arthur should call him "Alfred," explaining that "Mr. Jones" was his dad. Arthur happily complied. He liked the way that "Alfred" rolled off his tongue. He soon learned that Alfred typically worked the midnight to 8 a.m. shift. Arthur left early for work and sometimes came back to his apartment after a very late night, so on a good week he could see Alfred nearly two dozen times.
Arthur had always admired true gentlemen and from what he could tell, Alfred was a perfect gentleman.
Alfred wished him a good morning every day and it always sounded like he genuinely meant it.
And when Arthur arrived home from business trips on red-eye flights, he could always rely on Alfred to help him carry his luggage to his apartment. Once, as his cab pulled up during a rain storm, Alfred even came out to hold an umbrella for him as he exited the car and walked him to the building.
Arthur had been told many times that he had a brusque and grumpy demeanor, but he also prided himself on being a gentleman and he always responded to Alfred's kind gestures and helpful attitude with genuine thanks. It was impossible to be mean to such a beautiful and happy-go-lucky person. It would have been like kicking a puppy.
Sometimes Arthur wondered if Alfred gave him special treatment, but he quickly brushed that thought aside. Arthur's looks were nothing to write home about and most of the men and women who flirted with him wanted a business deal or simply admired his family's money. Everyone in Arthur's building was wealthy, so that was no reason for Alfred to favor him over the other residents. The more likely reason for the courteous treatment was a simple one—Alfred was a people pleaser, and he hoped for nice tips when Christmas rolled around. Whatever the reason, Arthur loved Alfred's constant courtesy.
More than anything else, Arthur loved watching Alfred interact with the young families in the building. The young doorman seemed to adore kids and the feeling was mutual. Early on a Sunday morning, he saw Alfred greet a family leaving for church.
"Hey, Sebastian, knock, knock!" he called to a young boy.
The child smiled back. "Who's there?"
Alfred grinned. "Don't cry, it's only a knock-knock joke."
The child laughed and waved goodbye as Alfred held the door for his family. Even on Sundays, the sidewalk bustled with people. Though he still missed his native London, Arthur had grown to enjoy his new home over the past few months. Of course, his attentive doorman certainly helped him feel more at home. Alfred always had recommendations for restaurants and sight-seeing. Arthur didn't have much time for either, but he loved to see Alfred talk animatedly about his favorites. (Though given the building's wealthy demographics, McDonald's was a rather odd recommendation.)
A glance from Alfred pulled Arthur out of his thoughts. He had been caught staring. The doorman gave him a broad grin. "Good morning, Mr. Kirkland, did you want a knock-knock joke too? I know a British one."
Arthur shrugged, which Alfred took as agreement.
"Knock, knock," the American said cheerfully.
The Englishman decided he might as well play along. His doorman was childish sometimes, but he was still rather endearing. "Who's there?" he asked.
Alfred smirked. "That's right."
Arthur groaned and pretended to swat him with his newspaper. "That's terrible and wrong. The Doctor's name isn't 'Doctor Who', that's just the name of the show." Despite the atrocious joke, Arthur still smiled and waved goodbye. With his sparkling eyes and boundless cheerfulness, Alfred never failed to brighten Arthur's day. Even if his knowledge of Whovian trivia was woefully deficient.
Arthur's first few months in New York flew by and he found himself enjoying his light and flirty one-sided relationship with his doorman more and more.
He reminded himself that it was a simple infatuation with an attractive young man. Doormen were meant to be charming and handsome, like human decorations for refined and expensive apartment buildings. Arthur would be foolish to read anything more than that into his interactions with Alfred, though he found his conversations treading on more personal subjects with increasing regularity.
"Can I help you carry that up to your apartment?" Alfred asked when Arthur walked in with a box full of papers that he needed to review over the weekend.
"Thank you, that would be lovely," Arthur replied, handing over his burden. He pressed the elevator button for his floor and smiled at Alfred. "It must be rather boring during the night shift."
Alfred laughed. "Boring? Not in the city that never sleeps. I've seen some pretty strange things at 4 am. There was even an UFO once."
Arthur chuckled, almost positive that Alfred was teasing him. He gave the doorman a side glance and decided to pry a little deeper. "Does your girlfriend ever get upset that you work nights?" he asked lightly.
The door dinged as they reached Arthur's floor. Alfred stepped off the elevator and gave Arthur a wink. "Girlfriends aren't really my thing."
He waited for Arthur to open his apartment door and then set the box on the nearest flat surface, Arthur's coffee table. He said good night and left Arthur in his apartment. Arthur slowly closed the door and leaned against it with a happy smile.
As much as he wanted to spend all of his time thinking about Alfred, Arthur had a very busy job that took up most of his time.
The piles of paper mocked Arthur as the clock ticked above his desk. If he could finish the deal, it would be their largest U.S. contract to date. Unfortunately, he still had another hundred pages of security disclosures to check before they could sign the contract.
Arthur's new secretary brought him a cup of coffee around midnight. It was a thoughtful gesture, so he refrained from insulting the secretary for his poor choices in caffeinated hot beverages. Arthur stretched out the kink in his neck and decided that the papers would all make more sense after a few hours of sleep. He took the coffee with him, thinking in the back of his mind that Alfred might appreciate the late-night boost.
He was right.
"Ooh, coffee!" Alfred chirped as he accepted the Styrofoam cup. He took a sip and his eyes lit up. "Thank you, Mr. Kirkland!"
"I feel like your English teacher when you call me that," Arthur groused, too tired for his normal gentlemanly behavior.
Alfred laughed. "If you had been my English teacher I probably would have paid more attention in class. Sorry, management has a last-names-only policy." The American shrugged apologetically and took another sip of coffee, sighing happily.
"Well, I wouldn't want you to get fired just because it makes me feel old," Arthur managed to reply, feeling his heart race at the thought that Alfred found him interesting. It was a good thing that Alfred wasn't his student. Fancying a student would be wrong, but wanting a bit of how's your father with the doorman was only frowned-upon.
Alfred grinned. "Thanks, Mr. K," he teased, using Arthur's last initial instead of his full last name.
"Okay, now I really feel like your English teacher." Arthur sighed. He didn't like to be reminded of the age gap, although as far as he could tell it wasn't more than five years since he thought that Alfred was in his early 20s. He wanted to ask, but he worried the question would be too personal.
"Sorry, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred replied, though he didn't look particularly sorry about using the cutesy pet name. "Would you like a knock-knock joke as an apology?" he offered.
Arthur couldn't say no to Alfred's grin, so he nodded.
"Thermos be a better knock-knock joke than this."
Arthur sighed. "Good night, Alfred," he said with a small wave of his hand as he walked to the elevators. He should have expected that the joke would be terrible. Arthur smiled just a bit to himself. The doorman was a dork, but he was still a cute one.
Arthur had expected to be miserable in New York, but he found that two things made the city feel like home: first, his energetic and charming doorman, and second, his adorable Scottish fold cat.
When no one was around (which, given his nearly nonexistent social life, was most of the time), Arthur would talk and sing to his cat. He loved Scone and when work became too hectic, he could always relax by curling up on the sofa and petting his cat's soft fur. Sometimes he worried that Scone was lonely, but most days he thought that his cat liked solitude just as much as Arthur did.
Arthur had an automatic cat feeder and fountain that served to take care of his cat during his short 2- or 3-day business trips. But when he planned to go home for a week over Christmas, he wanted someone to check in on his cat during the longer absence. Alfred was the natural choice. Even if he hadn't been the natural choice, Arthur would have used the excuse to spend more time with the handsome American.
The doorman happily agreed (especially when Arthur added that he would pay extra for the service). After Arthur finished packing he showed Alfred around his apartment, pointing out the feeder, fountain, and litter box.
"The cat's name is Scone, but I'm afraid she's a bit shy. You might not see her very much during the week," he explained.
Alfred grinned. "Scone? That's so cute. My cat's named Milkshake."
Arthur smiled back. He knew that he shouldn't assume a man was gay just because he had a cat, but it seemed that in their case, the stereotype was true. Arthur liked some dog breeds well enough (particularly corgis), but his business trips made it difficult to care for a dog and he didn't have time for daily walks. No matter what other people said, he found that Scone was an intensely loyal kitty once she got to know a person.
Alfred apparently agreed, which made him even more attractive in Arthur's eyes. He listened with half an ear as Alfred babbled on about his fluffy white cat and the chocolate ring around her neck. Alfred explained that he had tested out several different names before settling on "Milkshake" as the one that "really captured her personality."
"Cute," Arthur replied, though he meant Alfred, not the cat.
Arthur found himself missing his daily dose of Alfred during his Christmas vacation, which was ridiculous. He should have been happy to be home, with his easy access to a decent cuppa and the cook's delicious homemade goose. Then again, given his family's dysfunctional nature, perhaps it was perfectly normal to prefer to spend time with a young man who didn't insult him every other minute. And he missed Scone.
Tired of dealing with his passive aggressive parents and four annoying brothers, Arthur caught a slightly earlier flight home, since it was a choice between an earlier flight and murder. He opened the door to his apartment and was surprised to find Alfred on the floor, using a laser pointer to play with Scone.
Alfred scrambled to his feet, embarrassed to have been caught rolling around on the carpet with a cat. "Hi, Ar—Mr. Kirkland," he quickly corrected himself, brushing off some invisible dust. Arthur knew there wasn't actually any dust in his apartment, he paid a cleaning service to make sure of that.
Arthur smiled and nodded, pretending that he hadn't noticed the lapse, though he was secretly pleased that Alfred thought of him as 'Arthur.'
"Hello, Alfred. Merry belated Christmas. I hope Scone behaved?" he asked as he leaned his rolling suitcase against the wall and shut the door.
"Oh, yeah, she was great. I didn't see her the first few days, but I think that she got lonely and finally decided to come out. I hope you don't mind us using your laser pointer?"
If it had been anyone else, Arthur might have been annoyed that his expensive laser pointer was being used as a cat toy, but he couldn't be mad at Alfred. Especially when Scone seemed to enjoy her new playmate. "Of course not," he replied. Arthur opened up the side pocket of his luggage and pulled out a present for Alfred. "Here, this is for you. To thank you for taking care of Scone."
Alfred eagerly took the present and ripped it open. He laughed when he saw the scones from Marks and Spencer inside. Beneath the baked goods was an envelope with payment for taking care of the cat and his Christmas bonus. "Wow, thank you!" the American replied with a happy grin.
Arthur nodded, pleased that his gift had been well received. He knew that doormen appreciated their year-end bonuses, but it seemed cold to hand over cash without an additional present. "I hope you enjoy. They're genuine English scones."
Alfred licked his lips. "Mmm, English... sounds tasty."
Arthur was almost positive that Alfred wasn't talking about him, but the combination of lip-licking, English and 'tasty' in one sentence made his heart thump faster. At that moment he made a New Year's resolution that he fully intended to keep: so help him god, he was going to get the doorman into his bed.
Arthur considered a number of plans, but in the end, it happened by accident. Accident and a lot of alcohol.
Arthur handed a wad of bills to the taxi driver. Probably too much, but he and his officemates had been celebrating their latest contract and he was feeling generous. As he stumbled out of the cab, he realized that he was also a bit tipsy. Perhaps a shot for each million he expected to earn on the deal was too much.
He made it a few steps before a wave of dizziness sent him reeling toward the sidewalk. A strong grip on his arm steadied him and prevent him from landing face first on the strange collection of stains that marked every New York sidewalk.
"Are you alright?"
It took Arthur a few seconds to recognize his doorman's voice. He tilted his head back to look at Alfred, then fought another wave of dizziness as he tilted it back too far. He smiled at Alfred's worried face. "Oh, 'allo Alfred. Lovely day, innit?"
"It's 3 am."
"Lovely night, then," he said with a giggle. He had an amazing tolerance, so it wasn't like he needed help walking into the apartment building, but he let Alfred guide him indoors anyway just to enjoy the feel of the warm arms.
"Is there anyone I should call, Mr. Kirkland?" Alfred asked, worry tingeing his voice as he led Arthur to the elevator.
"I dunno. Your mum? It's always good to call your mum regularly. Mine yells at me when I forget to call," Arthur rambled as Alfred leaned him against the elevator wall. The doorman held him upright with one arm as he punched the button for Arthur's floor.
"Do you miss your mother?"
"Oh, god no. My parents are twats. I think I knew my nanny and the cook better than my own mum."
They arrived at Arthur's floor and Arthur gave up on trying to walk. It was much easier to just rely on Alfred to half carry, half drag him to his apartment. He blanked as they arrived at the door and didn't quite understand Alfred's questions about keys. The doorman finally stuck his hand into Arthur's pocket and that got his attention.
"Keep digging and maybe you'll find a surprise," Arthur said with a giggle. Arthur imagined slipping his own hands into Alfred's pockets (or perhaps just groping the doorman's magnificent arse), but instead he slid down the wall until he was resting in a sitting position on the carpet, slumped somewhat sideways. He wondered why the carpet was spinning. He heard the lock click as Alfred found the right key to open the door.
"Upsy-daisy," Alfred said as he gently lifted Arthur to his feet. Arthur swayed forward and ended up with his face pressed against Alfred's chest. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the firm warmth. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck as the American scooped him up. Arthur let Alfred carry him into the bedroom and he smiled as Alfred set him to the bed. They were finally going to do the wonderful things he had only imagined in his mind. He gestured toward his nightstand where he kept his condoms and lube.
Alfred set him on the bed and brought him his rubbish bin instead.
Arthur shook his head and then realized why the rubbish bin was a good idea as he retched up his dinner. The next few minutes were largely a blank in Arthur's memory, although he did remember a cool drink and Alfred's soothing voice.
He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Arthur woke up with a splitting headache, although it wasn't as bad as some hangovers he had suffered. He spotted a glass of water on his night stand and gulped it down like it was finest ambrosia. At the side of the bed, he saw a rubbish bin half-filled with vomit and an empty bottle of Gatorade. Well, that explained why his mouth tasted terrible and a little bit like lemon-lime.
The Englishman stripped off his day-old clothes and took a hot shower. His clock warned him that it was almost 10 am, but at least it was a Saturday and he would only have to work for a few hours, finishing up time-sensitive projects and getting started on his next big contract. After the previous night's revelry, he didn't expect that many people would make it to the office over the weekend.
Arthur wrapped a towel around his waist and brewed a cup of tea. His head and stomach always felt better after a bit of sugar, milk, and earl gray. He was halfway through his cup when the sound of light knocking drew him to the door. For all of his time in the building Arthur had only had neighbors knock on his door twice—once to warn that they planned to have a late evening party and the second time to apologize for the noisy party.
If anyone had held a party the previous night, Arthur certainly hadn't noticed from his position passed out on the bed. He opened the door carefully and was surprised to see Alfred. The doorman had changed out of his uniform, and into his street clothes of hoodies and jeans. He handed over a piece of folded clothing to Arthur.
Arthur took the clothing with a feeling of puzzlement.
"Here, you said to just bring it up to you for dry cleaning," Alfred prompted.
Arthur looked at the pants, spotted the vomit stain near the hem, and suddenly began to piece together a logical timeline of events. He must have puked on Alfred after his doorman helped him into his room, an absolutely rotten repayment for Alfred's kindness.
"Oh, oh god. I'm so sorry," Arthur hastily apologized. Alfred had been kind enough to help him to his room and take care of him as he puked and he had repaid that kindness by staining the young man's clothes.
"Hey, it was just the bottom of the pants. I cleaned most of it off and I don't think anyone noticed last night. Don't worry, you're not the first person to puke on my shoes. Although you probably are the first to offer... um," he coughed and didn't finish the sentence. The American shifted his gaze to the floor.
Arthur stared at him blankly, his brain still trying to work up to speed. He spotted the faint blush on Alfred's cheeks. Given his state of inebriation and his absolute infatuation, he could guess what he had offered the night before.
"Sexual favors in addition to dry cleaning?" he asked hesitantly.
Alfred nodded, his blush deepening. He didn't look angry or upset, just mildly embarrassed. With his rosy cheeks, the young man looked particularly marvelous. "I can fill you in on last night, but do you mind putting on a shirt?" the American asked.
Arthur blinked and realized that he was standing at the open door with nothing but a towel. It was Arthur's turn to flush. He gestured for Alfred to come in to the apartment's living room and then hurried to his room to toss on a shirt and trousers. If he was going to have a deeply awkward conversation he could at least be fully dressed for it. He also needed another cup of tea. Scone rubbed against his ankle and he gave her a little treat.
"Would you like some tea?" Arthur called from the kitchen.
"Do you have any coffee?"
"Sorry, no. I've got hot cocoa?"
"Yeah, that'd be great."
Arthur carried the cups to his living room. Alfred had sat down on the sofa, so Arthur perched on the nearby armchair after placing the two cups on coasters on his coffee table. Absentmindedly he thought it was rather odd to call it a 'coffee' table when he never actually used it for coffee.
He refocused on Alfred and the matter at hand. He had horribly embarrassed himself in front of his handsome doorman and now he couldn't even remember everything that had happened. He hoped to piece together his fragments of memory into a coherent memory—obviously it had involved vomiting and a sexual proposition at some point. Arthur started with the clues in his bedroom.
"Was the Gatorade yours?" he asked.
Alfred grinned. "Yeah, I grabbed that from the vending machine. I learned in college that Gatorade was a good way to rehydrate someone after too much drinking."
"College?" Arthur asked. "Oh, university."
"Yep. Cornell," Alfred said, gesturing to his hoodie, which said 'Ithaca is gorges.' At Arthur's blank look, he explained that Cornell was located in Ithaca, New York. Arthur nodded, vaguely recognizing the location as somewhere in upstate New York. Presumably it had a number of attractive gorges.
"How did you find your way to Manhattan?" Arthur asked. They were supposed to be unraveling the mystery of what embarrassing things Arthur had said and done while drunk, but he decided that he preferred finding out more about Alfred's past.
"I studied aerospace engineering and then discovered that NASA wasn't hiring." Alfred laughed self-deprecating. "So it was either a service gig or working for a credit card company in Texas. I'm just glad I have a job. Lots of my friends are bussing tables part time. Plus, the doorman position comes with a tiny apartment in the building if you take the graveyard shift."
Arthur sipped his tea. "I expect you'll be moving on in a year or two, then," he said.
"Yeah. Maybe if the U.S. ever goes to Mars," Alfred agreed wistfully.
"I'll be very sorry to see you go," the Englishman offered. He kept his tone light, although he would genuinely miss his daily dose of handsome Alfred. Then again, he wasn't sure if he would still be in New York in two years' time.
Alfred grinned. "Hey, I'm not leaving just yet."
"Of course, I'm terribly sorry for causing you so much trouble last night. I'll have the trousers cleaned for you before your shift tonight. But, uh, I'm not sure if I should apologize for anything else." Arthur shifted on the chair. He was an honest drunk, so Arthur was sure that what he had said was his genuine desire. But he'd take back the words if they made Alfred uncomfortable.
Alfred tilted his head to the side. "Nah, it wasn't anything bad. You offered to have the pants cleaned and then suggested I should take them off if I wanted... um... a blow job," he said the last part in a stage whisper.
Arthur had forgotten how prudish Americans could be about sex. He chuckled and sipped his tea. Seeing as how he had already embarrassed himself, he decided that he might as well let Alfred know that the offer was genuine and not just a result of drunken horniness. "The offer's still open, if you'd like," he said.
The American turned bright red. "Um," he said hesitantly.
It wasn't a no, so perhaps Arthur just needed to take things a little slower. "Or I could treat you to lunch. I'd suggest brunch, but I don't want to even look at food for the next few hours."
Alfred shook his head. "We're not supposed to date residents."
He looked torn, which gave Arthur the push he needed to proposition him again. "Well, are you allowed to have fucking fantastic sex with the residents?" he asked.
The American scrunched up his face. "You know, they were very clear about the not dating, but I don't really remember anything advising us against wild, hot sex." He sounded rather intrigued by the whole idea.
"Good, because I've wanted to do this for a long time."
Arthur rose from the sofa and placed his hands on Alfred's knees. He leaned forward, placing their faces only a breath apart. From such a short distance, Alfred's eyes seemed impossibly blue. Arthur closed the distance and pressed his lips against Alfred's.
He wanted to start slow and tender, to make sure that he respected the young man's limits, but even as the thought of going slow crossed Arthur's mind, he found himself pulled into Alfred's lap. The American eagerly began to devour his mouth, using his hands to caress every inch of Arthur's body.
Arthur shimmied out of his shirt. His pants were soon uncomfortably tight, so he lost those too. Alfred's hoodie went flying across the room—Arthur wasn't even sure which one of them had thrown it—and they stumbled together to the bedroom. Arthur remembered himself well enough to shut the door; he didn't want Scone interrupting.
Arthur was glad he had already taken out the rubbish bin because by the time they hit the sheets he barely had enough thought left to pull out the condoms and lube from his nightstand. He writhed in pleasure as Alfred used the distraction to put his mouth to good use. Americans were prudes when they talked about sex, but they apparently weren't shy when it came to actually doing it.
As waves of pleasure crested over him, Arthur tilted back his head and ended up hitting the headboard. "Ouch," he murmured as the pain strengthened his headache.
Alfred pulled back. "Are you okay?" he asked, all tenderness and concern.
Arthur nodded and smiled wanly. "I've never had sex with a hangover before. Usually I just wake up and find some stranger next to me."
"I sure haven't noticed any late-night visitors since you moved in," Alfred remarked. "I mean, not that I was paying attention or anything," he hastily added. Arthur grinned, realizing that of course the American would know all about the comings and goings of one-night stands.
"Yes, it's been a while," Arthur admitted. He didn't admit that the reason for the dry spell was because he had eyes only for his handsome doorman. "A very long while," he added, stroking Alfred to remind the other man why they were naked in a bed.
Alfred quickly grabbed the condom and lube. He slipped both on as Arthur rolled over, getting on his knees and shoving his arse up in the air. He wasn't drunk, but as he felt his inhibitions melt away, he might as well have been. Arthur gasped in pleasure as Alfred took the hint and slowly inserted his first finger. He arched up, which encouraged Alfred to speed up the preparations.
The American wasn't the most skilled lover Arthur had ever had, but he was passionate and enthusiastic and attentive to Arthur's desires. Arthur could tell that his pleasure was just as important to Alfred as Alfred's own. He arched and moaned and screamed Alfred's name. The name sounded delicious on his tongue, almost as delicious as the American himself. With a final push, Alfred came. A moment later Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's body. After a few harsh jerks, Arthur shuddered and collapsed onto the bed, his hangover completely forgotten.
Alfred landed next to him, their limbs still entangled as they both caught their breath. They weren't joking about the wild, hot sex. He heard Alfred begin to chuckle slightly and he rolled over to face the American, curious as to what he found so amusing.
"This will sound terrible, but I'm really glad you puked on my pants," Alfred explained. He yawned and closed his eyes. "I've been up all night. Do you mind if I sleep here?" he mumbled.
He was asleep even before Arthur had a chance to reply, 'Yes, stay forever if you like.'
Arthur decided to skip going to the office for the day. He spent a lovely hour in bed, took another shower, made another cup of tea, read the newspaper, pet his cat, and—when he heard rustling from the bedroom—ordered take-out for lunch.
The food arrived just as Alfred finished showering. By all rights, it should have been an awkward lunch, but if Alfred wasn't embarrassed, Arthur decided that he wasn't going to be embarrassed either. Besides, from the sly glances that Alfred kept giving him, he suspected that this was going to be a regular thing.
Arthur discovered that his apartment began to change as he spent more time with Alfred. The first change was a coffee pot. The others were minor changes as he started to notice more ice cream and fast food leftovers stored in his refrigerator. His apartment also seemed a bit messier (since Alfred never bothered with making the bed), but somehow Arthur didn't particularly care.
The other big change was 'playdates' for Scone and Milkshake. Alfred wanted to make sure that the two cats got along (and Arthur tried not to read too much into that simple desire). Arthur worried that Scone, after years on her own, would reject the other cat, but his fears eased when the cats fell asleep curled up together on the sofa.
Alfred took one look at the adorable scene and started nuzzling Arthur's neck. Arthur took that as his cue to pull Alfred into the bedroom.
As the humans lay curled together, Alfred rested his chin on Arthur's shoulder, his arms comfortably wrapped around the other man. "Hey, Artie, will you remember me in a year?" he asked.
"Of course," Alfred replied. He sincerely hoped that they would still be together in a year. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the 'Artie' nickname, but it was a definite improvement over 'Mr. Kirkland'.
"How about in a decade?"
"I'm sure I will. You're very hard to forget."
Apparently satisfied with that answer, Alfred lightly kissed Arthur's ear. He spoke again after a few moments of comfortable silence. "Hey, Artie. Knock, knock!"
Arthur sighed, but he played along. "Who's there?"
"What? How could you have forgotten me already!" Alfred said, mock-offended but still grinning madly.
As punishment for the terrible joke, Arthur swacked him with a pillow. Then again, perhaps it was his own fault for falling in love with an adorkable American.
Arthur felt bad for the other residents, because when he moved out, he took Alfred with him.
And they lived happily ever after with their two cats.
Alfred as a doorman? Hot damn, you better believe Arthur would fall in love with that. I've tried to do a bit of research on New York doormen and many do pride themselves on being charming and they have snappy uniforms. I'll let you decide for yourself whether Alfred was being extra charming to get into Arthur's pants ;)
Review me, please! :)