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Arthur awoke to the soft sounds of fabric rustling and slow, deep breathing coming from his left side, where Ford was shifting gently in his sleep, pressing further into Arthur’s arms, the bare skin of his back smooth against Arthur’s chest. Arthur smiled and buried his face into the mop of fiery curls tickling his nose, pressing a kiss to Ford’s head with a smile. He stretched a bit, pulling Ford a little closer, closing the slight distance between them that had grown as they slept.
The past years had been hard for Arthur, watching Ford flit about, confident, comfortable, beautiful, unafraid and uncaring of what others might think or say or do. He remembered Ford as he was when they first met, openly flirtatious, reaching out to touch and hold with seemingly no hesitations, no inhibitions. He was still much the same way, at least with everyone but Arthur. Around Arthur he was guarded, he played it safe. He was still Ford, with his wild hand gestures and crazy smiles and sex jokes, his effeminate nature with a hint of ruggedness that drove Arthur into a frenzy whenever he was near. He was still Ford, just slightly muted, rough edges a little smoother, words and actions held back and unpredictable emotions poorly stifled. He knew what had brought on the change: Arthur had rejected him, had played it safe, then stuck around. He’d strung Ford along, and not entirely accidentally. It had felt nice to have someone interested in him for a long period of time, but he never thought he could do it, could risk his job, his family, his life, simply to be with someone who was already around him constantly. He longed to be able to be with Ford completely, to hold hands at dinner or kiss at the park or do other things not as fitting for public areas. Arthur figured maybe someday society would change, maybe someday he’d be free to reach out to Ford, to hold him, to love him.
He wondered sometimes if he was the only cause of Ford’s change in behavior--Ford thought he hid the bruises on his arms and ribs and once or twice his face from Arthur oh-so-well, but Arthur noticed, sometimes. It was hard not to miss the winces and slight groans if Ford moved too suddenly, or someone patted him on the back or hugged him too roughly, or when Ford would disappear for a week or more and show back up at Arthur’s doorstep with a smile and a not-quite fully-healed black eye. Out in public, however, Ford’s behavior never wavered; in fact, he was more open and obvious there than in private with Arthur. Occasionally he seemed even defiant, inquiring about a woman’s nail polish or lip gloss as furious men watched on, making comments and threats that Ford would wave off with a newly-painted hand. With Arthur, however, none of that defiance was present, and Ford would bite his lip and say nothing as he stared longingly at a lipstick or eyeliner or an outfit or, worst of all, at Arthur. He missed the unedited Ford, the Ford he had first met, silly and sloppy and entirely free-spirited.
And now he had him, in his arms, breathing slowly and softly, relaxed and peaceful and utterly beautiful in his sleep, with a bit of drool slipping from his parted lips and pooling on Arthur’s pillow, in Arthur’s bed, in Arthur’s house, held loosely in Arthur’s grasp.
Arthur tightened his grip on Ford and glanced over at the clock. 6:54. His alarm would go off soon and he’d have to get up and go to work. Outrageous. Arthur wondered briefly if he could call into work and ask for the day off on account of being too in love to leave his house. He doubted his boss would like that, though he would certainly ask for every dirty detail of his night and whether his paramour had big jugs.
Pressing a firmer kiss to the top of Ford’s head, Arthur propped himself up on one elbow, beginning the process of disentangling himself from Ford, but got distracted as he leaned back down to litter Ford’s face with chaste little kisses until Ford, now roused, turned his head sleepily to join their lips as the first rays of the morning sun burst through the windows and set Ford’s red hair aflame. Arthur smiled against Ford’s lips, heart ready to burst, as he murmured oh-so-softly, “Good morning, hun.”
Ford stretched and rolled over in Arthur’s grasp, burying a yawn into the side of Arthur’s neck where he planted a chaste but wet kiss. Ford pulled back and wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth with a grimace before nuzzling at Arthur’s cheek sleepily. “Mornin’, dearie,” he grumbled back, affecting a silly accent and gracing his lips over Arthur’s cheekbone. Ford’s arm snaked around Arthur’s waist, hand dipping for a cheeky grab at Arthur’s arse before settling over the dimples of his lower back. “How are we feeling today?”
Arthur grinned at him. “A little sore,” he said, shocked at how gravelly his voice was, “but good.”
Ford pulled back slightly. “Good,” he whispered. He gave Arthur that weird, frightening smile of his and immediately went for his neck. He started off with little pecks which turned into wet kisses that had Arthur tossing his head back, then open-mouth sucking and licking as Arthur buried a hand in his hair and whimpered, until he bit down on a spot near Arthur’s collarbone, worrying the skin with his teeth. Arthur moaned openly, gripping onto Ford’s shoulders, about a second away from pinning Ford to the mattress so they could have a little fun before work.
Arthur’s alarm went off and he let out a disappointed groan, reaching over Ford to whack the snooze button.
Ford licked gently at the rapidly forming bruise by Arthur’s collarbone, almost apologetically, before lifting his head to kiss Arthur square on the mouth, lips swollen from his earlier ministrations. Arthur felt Ford’s tongue trace along his lips and parted them, allowing himself a moment of indulgence before pulling back and attempting to sit up, an attempt hindered by Ford insistently dragging Arthur back down to lie atop him and wrapping Arthur in a firm grasp.
“Do you really have to go in?” Ford groaned, tracing little circles on the sensitive skin at the nape of Arthur’s neck. “You could just stay here… with me…” Ford’s voice dropped to a lower pitch than normal and his speech took on a seductive tone. “In bed… just relax and have a good time…”
“Ford, you know I--”
“We could even do it the other way around, this time!” Ford exclaimed, bright and chipper.
Arthur tilted his head, not getting what Ford was trying to say. “What other way arou--” Ford smirked, quirked an eyebrow, and gave a happy little wiggle under Arthur. “...Oh,” Arthur groaned, dropping his head and resting his forehead on Ford’s. “Christ,” he swore, letting out a shaky breath. “Ford, you’re--you’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”
“We can do it any way you prefer, of course, if you aren’t interested in--”
Arthur shushed him. “I’m very interested, believe me,” he said, allowing himself to indulge in a brief exploration of Ford’s body, hand slipping between them to graze over Ford’s hips and below to grab at his arse momentarily, before trailing back up to rest on the side of Ford’s neck. “But if you want me to keep buying you drinks, I do have to actually go to work and make money.”
Ford groaned in disappointment, burying his face into the space connecting Arthur’s neck and shoulder and tracing his hands along Arthur’s back and sides longingly. “Do you have to make such good points?” He muttered. “Fine, have it your way, go sit in a damned office chair all day.”
Arthur smiled down at him. “Good boy,” he said just to be silly as Ford released his tight hold on him. Arthur rewarded him with a firm kiss to his pouting lips, then another, then another, before he finally managed to tear himself away and climb out of bed, making his way to the shower, unplugging his alarm clock on the way.
When he emerged from the shower, skin flushed pink from the scalding water and hair damp and falling into his eyes, Ford was asleep again, snuggled deep into the covers with just his nose and eyes visible. Arthur fondly brushed some hair off his face before dropping his towel and setting about finding some boxers in his drawers, bending over to wrestle a pair of nice ones from his bottom drawer.
Behind him, Ford whistled appreciatively, having awoken again. “Good view,” he remarked as Arthur blushed, “Mind turning just a little towards me, sweet cheeks, that’s it, little more--”
Arthur straightened up, scandalized, and grabbed a sleepshirt from an open drawer and turned to fling it at Ford, who let out a muffled giggle as it hit him square in the face. “Bloody pervert,” scolded Arthur, unable to hide his smile. He pulled his boxers on as he told Ford sternly, “Now put that shirt on or I’ll never make it out the door.”
“Why would I want to put it on knowing that?” Ford argued, but put the shirt on nonetheless, looking an odd combination of adorable and erotic in Arthur’s shirt that practically swallowed him whole, coming to about mid-thigh as Ford stood up. Ford drifted over to Arthur, yawning into his forearm as his arms stretched up and the shirt rode up his thighs to his hips and Arthur had to look away. “I’ll go make you a coffee,” Ford mumbled, going on his toes to give Arthur a quick kiss before padding out of the bedroom, unstyled hair flouncing messily about his head as he walked.
Fuck, Arthur thought, and began to get dressed.
***
Arthur stared intently at the little toy he kept on his desk as it bobbed up and down. It was a drinky bird, one of the little contraptions that bobbed up and down like it was drinking the water in the cup in front of it. He thought he remembered his chemistry teacher trying once to explain how it functioned to him, but he hadn’t really ever been listening in that class, so he was clueless. He wondered if perhaps Ford knew how it worked, he seemed to be clever about sciency things like that. Now that he thought about it, Ford was actually quite clever about a lot of things: he was very good with numbers, and could calculate twenty percent tips faster than Arthur could even read what the bill was for (Arthur always had to check behind him, though, since Ford tended to think that tipping was bullshit and would try and do ten or fifteen percent rather than twenty), and spoke English spectacularly despite it apparently not being his first language. He wasn’t the most emotionally in-tune person Arthur had ever met, but he always seemed to have good intentions (or, at the very least, decent ones) and was very kind to Arthur. Ford also had many other talents, a few of which Arthur experienced for the first time the night before and had very much enjoyed, but couldn’t allow himself to think of just then as it would be rather inconvenient and unprofessional to pop a stiffie at work when his boss could come in at any moment.
“Dent!”
Speak of the devil. Arthur quickly sat up and poised his hands over his keyboard to make it look like he had actually been doing his work. “Yes sir?” he said as his boss, Mr. Phillips, came into his office. Mr. Phillips was average height and somewhat rotund, drank like a monster, and liked to rant to Arthur about his “nagging wife.”
“I saw you were late this morning,” Mr. Phillips said, giving Arthur a strange look, not quite making eye contact with him.
Arthur took a deep breath. “Sir, I’m very sorry, I slept through my alarm this morning, I don’t normally do that, I promise it won’t ha--”
“Had a girl over, did’ya?”
Arthur blinked a few times, caught off guard. “I, uh, erm--”
Mr. Phillips laughed. “Relax, kid, you’re so high-strung. You should really start goin’ back to that therapist again, when did you used to go, Wednesday afternoons? We can spare you then, I don’t mind.”
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He hated that his boss knew about him going to therapy: it wasn’t exactly seen as a normal or accepted thing for a real man to do, but he had really needed it. For years, he didn’t have someone like Ford who was around him constantly and made him feel good. Most of the people in his life had seemed to merely be there to stress him out or make his life more difficult; they were almost always asking something of him, asking and asking and taking and taking, never showing appreciation or being there for him when he needed it. The therapy had been his sister-in-law’s idea after she noticed his irregular eating and sleeping habits and the way he got around a large group of people or around his parents, and he’d gone once to appease her. It had made him feel somewhat better most of the time and given him ways to calm himself down or make himself get out of bed on particularly difficult days. He hadn’t been going to his therapist recently, however, not since the time Arthur very carefully brought up the topic of homosexuality to him and he had expressed disgust and said that he couldn’t understand why it had been declassified as a mental illness.
“Uhm, thank you very much, sir, but I don’t really need it anymore.” Arthur fiddled with a pencil on his desk, discreetly covering his doodle-covered graphing paper with his forearm.
“So, is she just a one-night-stand, or a more long-term type of deal?” Mr. Phillips sat himself on the edge of Arthur’s desk which gave a threatening little creak as he seemingly settled in for a long talk.
Arthur bit his lip, tapping the pen on the desk. “S-She, uh, she’s long-term. Hopefully,” he added under his breath, flipping his graph paper over and starting to scribble distractedly.
Mr. Phillips gave a low whistle and a grin. “Well, good luck then, kid, you’ll need it.” Arthur gave a sharp laugh, covering his mouth with his fist after, flushing. “What’s she look like? Is she cute? Or are you more into intellectual women?”
Arthur really wasn’t sure how to answer that question, as he happened to find Ford both cute and intellectually inclined, though he was socially inept. “Er…” He scratched the back of his neck, “I’d say both? She’s very, uh, pretty, but she’s also rather clever, especially at maths.”
Mr. Phillips raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said skeptically, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I guess I’ll judge that when I meet her,” he said playfully, spotting the little Tupperware of pistachios Arthur had been snacking on and stealing a couple.
Arthur sputtered. “Wh-when--why would you meet her?” he settled on finally, wincing as his pen tore through the graphing paper.”
“Well,” said Mr. Phillips, giving him a strange look, “if she’s going to be around a while, I’m likely to run into her at some point, company dinner or something?” Arthur took a deep breath and nodded, giving a sheepish smile and turning back to his computer, hoping Mr. Phillips would think him busy and leave.
“One more thing, kid,” Mr. Phillips said, and Arthur quickly steeled himself before looking back at him. “Now, I don’t care, but if one of the higher-ups came in for a surprise visit they certainly would…” he smirked and tapped on Arthur’s desk. “If this girl is long-term and she’s going to be marking you up like that,” Mr. Phillips pointed somewhere near Arthur’s collar. Arthur paled in shock, then flushed, mortified, as he glanced at his reflection in the reflective glass door and saw a dark hickey peeking out over his collar. “... you might want to invest in a little, oh, what do women call it, concealer? Something like that. Cover it up, at any rate.”
With Arthur’s snack mostly eaten and Arthur sufficiently mortified, Mr. Phillips stood and left, shooting Arthur a wink and calling out, “Good talk, Dent!” as he left the room, polite enough at least to close the door behind him.
Arthur stared after him for a moment, dumbfounded, as he tried to get his brain back in working order. Finally, he snapped himself out of it, tugging at his collar, feeling rather hot and flushed. The fabric rubbed up against the mark he was now so distinctly aware of and, though he had never felt this embarrassed by his boss in his life, Arthur felt a strange sense of pride in having it and resolved himself to cover Ford in similar ones when he got home.
According to his brand new digital watch, however, that was another six hours away. Arthur sighed and slumped in his chair, going back to watching his drinky bird and answering the occasional phone call.
***
When Arthur did get home, Ford greeted him with a kiss and a bottle of beer pressed into Arthur’s hand. He was, astonishingly, holding Kevin under his arm, the chubby little beast looking utterly content with his face smushed against Ford’s (well, really Arthur’s) giant sleep shirt, smearing snot and slobber all over the fabric.
“Kevin’s really warmed up to you, huh?” Arthur said, reaching out to scratch behind his ear. Kevin turned his head to lick happily at Arthur’s palm, snuffling noisily.
“Oh, I spoilt him to death today,” Ford said proudly. “We went on a few walks, got some treats, went to the park and got pets from, like, a hundred people, came back and took a nap, etcetera, etcetera…” he bent and pressed a kiss to Kevin’s head. “We’re best friends now.”
Arthur hummed. “Soon enough he’ll like you better than me,” he said, scratching under Kevin’s slobbery chin.
Ford shook his head, still cooing over and doting on Kevin, and said distractedly, “Nah. But I will be the cool dad.”
Arthur froze, blinking rapidly. Ford had no reaction; if he had realized the gravity of what he just said, he didn’t think it a big deal. But Arthur’s brain short-circuited at those words. He imagined suddenly a more in-depth future with Ford than he had realized, the two of them doting over another small creature, this time a baby rather than a dog, a baby that (though it was physically impossible) looked like a perfect blend of the two of them, with dark, curly hair and huge blue eyes, fat and smiling, swaddled in a blanket, cradled in Ford’s arms. He imagined a little girl as well, with some random name they had come up with together, her vibrant red hair pulled up into pigtails and her knees covered with grass stains, clutching onto the fabric of Arthur’s trousers, looking up at him with a huge grin, front teeth missing.
“The cool dad?” Arthur choked out, ripping himself out of his imagined world.
“M-hm!” Chirped Ford, poking at Kevin’s nose playfully. “You’ll be the disciplinary dad, the clever dad, the responsible dad, and I’ll be the one to spoil him silly!”
A smile broke out on Arthur’s face as he watched Ford continue to coo over Kevin, his unstyled hair floating about his face, his mannerisms relaxed, peaceful, looking utterly content. Arthur reached up and buried a hand in Ford’s hair, then caressed his jaw. Ford looked up at Arthur and smiled gently, eyes sparkling. Not content, then. Happy.
“I told my boss about you,” Arthur murmured, calm, trailing his thumb along the elegantly sloped curve of Ford’s neck.
“What?!” exclaimed Ford, which prompted Kevin to begin barking, startled. He began wiggling and squirming, so Ford bent to set him down gently. Arthur took this moment to set his beer down on the little table by the entrance before Ford straightened up and promptly began panicking.
“You told him? Did he fire you? Did he say anything to you? Did he touch you? I’ll go kick his ass if you want me to, just say the word--”
“Ford, st--”
“Seriously, I’ll shove my entire leg up his arse, give him a good--”
“Relax, Ford--”
“I’ll chop his dick off--”
“FORD!” Arthur shouted through a laugh. “Don’t panic!”
Ford froze and a peculiar expression crossed his face. He looked astonished, eyes wider than Arthur had ever seen them. Then, he blinked. He didn’t do much of that, Arthur realized suddenly. Ford looked lost, far-away, staring at Arthur, or more accurately through Arthur, not really seeing him, as if trying to work out some great existential puzzle. He then shook his head vigorously, blinked again, and he was back, looking at Arthur expectantly.
“Okay,” Ford said. “Go on.”
Arthur watched him for a moment, concerned, then took a deep breath and decided resolutely to ignore the issue. There had been something unsettling in Ford’s gaze in that moment that Arthur had no inclination to evoke again. “I, well, I told him you were a woman, so you don’t have to shove any limbs into any orifices.” Ford grunted in what seemed like disappointment and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What did he say?” he asked, tone defensive.
Arthur smiled. “He said I need to invest in concealer and that he'd like to meet you.”
Ford snorted. “You know, I think he’d like it a lot less than he thinks he would.” A yapping came from below them as Kevin began to paw at Ford’s legs and bark.
“He wants out,” Ford said. “I’ll get him, you go get changed and comfortable, then we can watch something and have dinner.” He bent again to scoop Kevin up, poking his flat nose and receiving a slobbery kiss on his finger. Arthur placed a hand at the base of Ford’s neck and dragged him in for a kiss himself, though considerably less slobbery than Kevin’s. Arthur made to pull back, but Ford grasped his tie and yanked him back down to kiss him again, and again, and again, just gentle presses of their lips, chaste and sweet and lovely.
They both jumped when Kevin barked and swatted weakly at them, landing contact on Arthur’s cheek, demanding their undivided attention. Ford giggled and shook Kevin gently. “Oh, hush, you little beastie,” he said, pressing a final kiss to Arthur’s cheek and winking before slipping around him and out the front door, setting Kevin down on the porch and supervising the little dog’s intense sniff-and-piss mission in the garden.
Arthur smiled after Ford, watching him wave his arms and shoo Kevin out of the flower bed for a pause before loosening his tie and heading to the bedroom.
As he stripped to his boxers, he heard Ford come back in, praising Kevin in a voice that was at least an octave higher than his normal one and closing the door behind him. Arthur smiled to himself and pulled a sleepshirt over his head, then padded out into the kitchen and into the pantry for two cups of ramen.
“D’you like ramen?” Arthur asked absent-mindedly, reaching up and rooting around the shelves.
A pair of arms wound their way around Arthur’s torso as Ford pressed himself up against his back. “What’s a ramen?” He mumbled into Arthur’s shoulder blade.
Arthur chuckled fondly and brought his arms down to hold Ford’s hands where they rested on Arthur’s belly, pulling one up to press a kiss to the bony knuckles. Ford hummed and began swaying back and forth, Arthur following along happily, complying as Ford moved to grip Arthur’s hips, softly kneading the flesh there. “It’s salty noodles,” Arthur said, surprised at how gravelly his own voice sounded.
Ford hummed a tone that sounded distinctly mischievous. “Mmm, you know how I like salty things,” he drawled, gripping Arthur’s hips a little more firmly, fingertips pressing insistently, pushing his own hips forward just a bit, suggestively.
Arthur rolled his eyes and turned around, wrapping his arms around Ford’s shoulders and pulling him to his chest so his face was obscured. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, combing his fingers through Ford’s messy hair.
“I try,” Ford responded with no bite, snuggling into Arthur’s chest and sighing deeply, shoulders relaxing as they breathed in sync, calm and content and together.
Kevin barked.
“I think your dog’s homophobic,” muttered Ford. Arthur laughed and rewarded him with a kiss.