Work Text:
Click!
Arthur pulled the key out of the slit in the door, quickly opening to let both him and his lover inside the house. It was raining outside, but even saying it was just that was underestimating it. And unfortunately a good 20 minutes prior the Englishman and Argentine decided it’d be great to go and pick up some food.
“Dios mio, my hair got all wet!” Felipe whined, shutting the door behind him as he patted the bottom of his shoes onto the doormat. “All that time just so it can get all flat…” He shook his head slightly like a cat as Arthur squeaked, covering his face with the bag of fish and chips he had.
“Ack-! ‘Lipe, you're getting water all over!” He yelped, quickly walking over away from him to the dinner table, letting the bag down. The moreno rolled his eyes, fluffing up the sides of his inky black curls with his hand before following Arthur himself. He placed his own bag down next to the other, glancing over at how Arthur picked though different forks and knives before grabbing two of each and bringing it to the table, along with some placemats.
“Can you set the table for me love?” he asked, I need to make myself some tea.
Felipe snorted. “Couldn’t you just order it at the shop-thing?”
“I like it my own way.”
The South American chuckled again, shrugging his shoulders as he placed the fabric placemats and silverware on the table. Did Felipe think all of Arthur's fancy-shmancy teas taste the same? Yes, but that was because Arthur had no variation, so what was there to even be picky about? The Brit was strange but Felipe loved him no less, especially since he could definitively call him his husband of all things. Everything seemed much more endearing and cuter when attached to the man he shared a ring with.
It had been almost three weeks since the ceremony and the Argentine still could hardly contain his own giddiness over seemingly nothing. Arthur Kirkland, the country of England, his husband? It seemed more like something Felipe fantasized about all alone in his bedroom than his actual life. But either way he was extremely happy and extremely smitten by the Englishman, in fact even more than extreme if that was possible. It took him all of his might and strength to not constantly slobber over that man, to crawl all over him and kiss him senselessly, to constantly present and open himself with the prospect of sex you’d think he was trying to create a whole new island for their governments to squabble over. And yet even if Felipe was an admittedly strong man it was only skin deep; strength lying in the muscles of his abdomen and biceps, but little to none in his heart. He was admittedly very weak on the inside with how he walked over to where Arthur stood in the kitchen, waiting for his tea, wrapping his arms around his waist and placing his chin on his shoulder with his nose pressed just slightly against his neck.
“You smell good…” The Argentinian muttered, pressing a kiss on the skin that peaked out of Arthur's collar. The blond tensed up, letting out a small squeak from the back of his throat that the moreno giggled at.
“Really?” The Brit asked, in which Felipe hummed in response, fingers at the buttons of his coat that undid them one by one, pressing the plastic disks through the loops. Arthur looked down, letting out a noise halfway though a chuckle and a huff, then grabbing his lover's wrist in its tracks. “I’d rather eat first before anything else, Lipe.” He spoke, turning his head slightly to look at the man on his shoulder. Felipe rolled his eyes, bringing his hands up to his shoulders.
“I wasn’t gonna do anything like that Conejito.” Felipe mused, pressing a finger into his milk-colored cheeks, “You just have a dirty mind.” He snickered, pushing further until it tilted Arthur's head to the side. “Besides, I just wanted to take your coat off to hang it up! Do you just not expect me to do nice things for you?”
“Not really no.”
The Argentinian man furrowed his eyebrows, pushing his husband away in a huff. “Oh whatever,” he grumbled, ironically as the tea kettle began to howl and screech. “Go put your own coat away then boludo.” he snarked, walking back to the dinner table as the Brit poured the boiling water into one of his porcelain cups. He rifled through the plastic bag they had brought home earlier, taking out two cardboard boxes that he placed on each other's respective placemats. Arthur finally walked back to the table, cup of tea the color of chocolate in his hand as he sat down. Felipe could hear how he undid the cardboard latch, and the smell of baked beans in the air which frankly made him thankful that he was able to press his nose against Arthur when he still smelled like cigarettes and the rather cheap sandalwood cologne he wore and not… baked beans.
Felipe opened up his own little box, simply containing a plethora of fries that he picked up between his index and his thumb and flicked into his mouth. They weren’t the greatest things he’d ever eaten of course, but they tended to taste much better when he was near the blond who at that moment was dunking pesto sauce over his own fish and chips. He cut a slice, picking it up with a fork and placing in his mouth before chewing and cutting another, only this time to offer to the moreno.
“Want some?” Arthur asked, still chewing his battered and fried fish as Felipe looked at the greasy green cutlet on the fork. He grimaced slightly before shaking his head, in which Arthur shrugged in response and quipped “Your loss” before shoving it in his mouth anyways. Felipe simply ate another fry.
And maybe it was something in the air, or the greasy food itself, or maybe it was simply Felipe being weird as always, but he couldn’t help but glance up at the Brit and how the dim lighting of his cottage looked against him. How it seemingly curved around his face, glowed in his lemon-colored hair, and gave the slightest gleam to his green eyes. He looked almost angelic, picturesque; the Argentine could almost see the delicate brush strokes that weaved and dipped across him, the slope of his nose, the angles of his fingers, the hideous bright green that stained his face as he ate.
Felipe could imagine himself as Adam and Arthur as Eve, created in God's image, pure and beautiful. Of course Felipe could hardly consider himself pure, nor any sort of term used for the first humans on Earth, but he could definitely see Arthur as that. The sun had never touched his ivory skin, he was as pure as clouds and lilies; but Felipe was soaked in it, ravished. His own virtue stained with molasses and coffee, never to reach the ranks he oh so wished he could. Oh but the moreno would gladly rip himself open, let himself bleed out on the cool green grass like a lamb, and snap off his own rib just so Arthur could be created, have a warm body to accompany him in paradise, maybe just to see how wonderful someone could actually be. How much different is a rib to a wedding ring? Or doing laundry or the white feathered wings of a dove, an angel? And when Arthur eventually tempts him to try the fruit of knowledge he’d bite it out of his hands like a dog, cradled in his sinful hands as if it was the purest thing in the world. He would hardly mind being banished from paradise because frankly he could find paradise in the way the Englishman smiled, or laughed, the way his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows furrowed. Maybe God wouldn’t have made his love a sin if he saw the way his cheeks grew to the color of roses, or maybe the color reminded him too much of apples anyways to be worth forgiving. But either or the Argentine could hardly care, death was more of an abstract concept that the two would never truly experience. Countries don’t die, at most they simply evolve. Felipe wouldn’t mind evolving if Arthur was by his side. Time seemed much more warm and inviting if he was there.
“Are you alright, love?” Arthur asked, looking over at the Argentinian who had been staring off into space for the past minute or two. Felipe blinked, sitting up straight as the Brit picked up a chip from his box. “You’ve been staring at my food.”
“Huh?” he squeaked, “Oh- uh- I’m fine, soooo fine-“
“Do you want tea?” Arthur interjected, tapping his finger against the rim of his mug. The moreno went silent, opening his mouth to answer before Arthur got up from his seat anyways and walked towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you some, I think the water in the kettle is still warm.” Felipe closed his mouth, eyes trailing over at how his husband opened up the cubbard and pulled out some flowery mug and dropped a teabag in, then trailing back down to his own box of fries that leaked oil onto the cardboard. He could hear the pour of water, a waterfall, and the clank of the metal spoon circle around the ceramic before seeing the cup land on the table with the steam from the liquid puffing out from the top. The Argentinian flushed, bringing his hands over to hold the cup close to his face and take a sip. He could taste the lemon and lavender from the sweet, saccharine water, and how it warmed his palms.
“I put some sugar in there for you.” Arthur spoke, “I know you think it tastes bitter by itself.”
“O-Oh, uhm, thank you corazón.” Felipe quipped back, giggling slightly, “But you really didn’t have to-“
“Oh pish-posh, it's fine, don’t worry about it.” the Englishman replied, going back to eating his fish and leaving the Argentine in a rather stunned state. Felipe glanced at the darkened water and how it reflected the big light fixture above the table. He wondered if maybe the blood that pumped through his lover's heart would taste just as sweet; like a wound, dripping from the concave of his chest. Almost like some sort of animalistic sacrifice; that's what the blond surely deserved for being nice to his husband when he expected nothing in return. A part of Felipe wanted to sob at the gesture, fall onto his feet so full of gratitude that it came pouring out of him like that very same tea kettle, proclaiming his undying love to the man and how he could hardly breathe without him, he hardly deserves anything good to deserve something so sweet, sacrificial, a message from God to an unworthy sinful prophet. And another part wanted to toss the teacup at the wall so it shattered, get all mad and defensive and act like he hardly did anything to deserve something so selfless and kind as bringing a cup of tea for him, and then storm off in a huff with the knowledge that by his very nature he is bound to destroy all the good and joy in his life, pry his heart from his major arteries. Both scenarios involved metaphorically eating that man alive.
But he chose none of those routes, because both were too pathetic and vulnerable in a way he could only let himself be seen in scenarios from the past. He was a married man now, married to a man that undoubtedly loved and cared about him. Felipe had to be mature! No sense in acting like an inconsolable child having a tantrum in two different ways. He couldn’t bear the idea of stripping himself of more than just his clothes but his own skin, opening up to see how soft and vulnerable he was on the inside. Of course the Brit knew about it, but that didn’t mean he needed to know of it every two days or so. Besides, Felipe figured seeing how his heart got all mushy and gross for him would be too much for him on a constant basis, and the last thing he truly wanted was to scare Arthur off. So instead he breathed in, taking another sip of the drink before setting it back down on the table, and speaking.
“You must love me sooooo much, don’t you Arty? You’re just obsessed with me, aren’t you?”
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, rolling his eyes and scoffing, “Yeah yeah, and that's the last time I sure do anything nice for ya.”
Felipe paused, frowning slightly as he hummed, picking up another fry and biting it. Had they gotten soggier? He couldn’t really tell, or more that he didn’t really… care. His eyes trailed down to the food, then to the corner of the room, hunched over slightly.
“Please don’t.” He said, sliding another into his mouth as Arthur perked up and tilted his head to the side like a dog.
“…I wasn’t being serious, love.” He nervously chuckled, smiling in a way that made the two bucked teeth poke out slightly like a rabbit. The moreno looked back over, sitting back up straight as he picked up another chip.
“I- uhm- I know,” he muttered, biting into the potato slice, “Just wanted to… make sure…”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, turning his head back and shrugging. “You’re so bloody weird.” He chuckled, “But I suppose I’m no better.” Felipe blinked at him, mouth pressed closed before snorting out a laugh and curling up in his seat. The Brit himself chuckled along, elbows on the table and hands holding his head up as he asked “What's so funny?” but Felipe couldn’t really bring himself to stop.
And it always sort of looped around to this; Felipe getting all sad and self-loathing and miserable over anything he possibly could be, then like a light switch he got all giggly and happy again. Like a hamsterwheel of emotions that he experienced on a near-constant basis, and he sometimes wondered if even that in-itself could drive the Brit away. Felipe always feared loneliness, or more so the thought of being intentionally left alone and abandoned. As self-centered he could be, he never ceased to chase after a task, a request, to be useful to someone and be loved. He was chronically lazy and selfish up until it seemed he’d make a good tool, because that meant he could be adored and praised like a little show dog. Arthur, however, seemed to not necessarily expect that from him, let alone expect him to do things for him. Felipe hardly did anything good, he was still a sinful spineless wreck that sobbed when his lover yelled at him a bit too loudly and yet teased him for fun. Who was he to receive love and care, or free food, or safe comforting sex that let him do whatever he so desired? He hadn’t done the dishes or dust the shelves or mopped the floor, he lounged around the house and bothered Arthur all day. Was he really deserving of praise, sweet tender praise that kissed away his tears and told him he was no less than pyrite? But here he was, laughing in his seat with practically the love of his life, and he couldn’t bring himself to think about those things. He just had them, earned them, by the sheer will of his own being even despite his flaws. Maybe he’d think about that later while brushing his teeth, or the next day while watching TV, or maybe never. He could never really tell, but it never really mattered anyways. All that seemingly mattered was the way the soft yellow glow of the overhead light shone above Arthur like a halo, and how Felipe could just see the pristine white feathered wings on his back, preened and pure, and how they opened up just for him. Maybe if the Argentinian got close enough he could feel them, maybe, just maybe…
Felipe pushed the chair he was on away from the table, getting out and swiftly placing himself on Arthur's lap to the surprise of the blond as he let out a squeak. He wrapped one arm around his neck, the other’s hand grabbing the side of his face and turning it to the side slightly as he pressed a kiss on his cheek, quick and chaste, as if it was almost the first time he ever did and not like the two were married. He pressed his nose against his skin, breathing out slightly and squeezing him closer to himself.
“Those papitas sucked.” he muttered, the hand on the blond's face going up to gently scratch his hair from behind his ears, like a pet.
“Really?” Arthur replied, before glancing over at the cardboard box of chips belonging to the other man and humming, “Well… you sure didn’t eat a lot of them…”
“Yeah, they were all oily. And soggy.”
Arthur hummed again, pulling the arm around him down to intertwine their fingers before blinking. “Hey! Are you wiping the bloody grease off on me?!” he exclaimed, and Felipe just laughed again, pressing his palm against the Englishman's chest and pressing another kiss against his face, then another, and another. Arthur squeaked again, though was muffled up by Felipe pressing his mouth against his, click, key in the hole like earlier in the rain, pinned and mounted against him like a butterfly. He could feel the way Arthur's blond eyelashes squeezed flush against his face, then subsiding and relaxing, and how his heart thumped against his palm, like the drums of one of his little records, or like a machine gun, his skin so cold and yet something inside being so, so warm. And how desperate Felipe was to get closer, and closer, to the warmth that lay in his core, slotted together like puzzle pieces and passwords; he could almost feel whole then.
Felipe pulled away, slowly, like he savored the way his mouth tasted like basil. He smiled at him, at the way his cheeks went red like apples or roses.
“Hiya~” he giggled, finger hooked around the collar of Arthur's shirt, tugging on it slightly. He giggled again, watching as Arthur blinked at him rather blankly for a second, tilting his head to the side and chuckling slightly, a small grin on his face as he reached over to slightly pinch one of Felipe's tan cheeks.
“Silly,” he mused, “Are you just laughing for no reason? Or do I have something on my face that you refuse to tell me?”
“No- Noo~!” Felipe laughed, leaning over slightly as he slowly started to choke back sobs with the smallest little tears running down his face. Arthur paused, looking at the other man dumbfounded at the seemingly quick change of emotions. He was about to interject and ask if he was okay, though hesitated when the Argentine shook his head and tried to get something out.
“I’m fine- I’m fine- Just… Just give me a s-second.” Felipe stuttered slightly, the lisp in his voice getting more prominent as he sniffled and rubbed his eyes, letting out some more small giggles before blinking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t-…” He trailed off for a second, bringing his hands back down from his face and sniffling. “I’m just… I’m just really happy.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Happy…? Then why were you-?” The two went silent, Felipe sitting there with the slightest of red, puffy eyes and splotchy, rosy cheeks, then giggling a bit again while shaking his head.
“I don’t knowwww!”
The moreno heaved through his giggles, leaning forward to catch himself in the crook of Arthur's neck, the slightest bits of tears left over staining his shirt. The blond stared at the wall for a few seconds or so, ever so slightly confused, as he brought his hand up to his lover's hair, letting his fingers tangle up in his inky black curls. Felipe pressed himself closer to Arthur, chest flush against his, head tucked into the nook between the Brits jaw and shoulder, like a secret compartment behind a bookcase that only he could access. Every so often he’d still croak out apologies in between Arthur scratching his scalp with his fingers, and he could hear how he sighed quietly.
“Oh ‘Lipe…” he muttered, prying Felipe's face from his shoulder as he smiled slightly. “Aren’t you quite the handful…” The Argentine sniffled, glancing down at the floor for a second as he pressed the leftover tears in his eyes with his thumb. He sighed, smiling a bit through sucked lips.
“God, I know, I know… I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Felipe spoke, bringing his hands back down to rest on his lap. He chuckled slightly, tilting his head to the side and looking back up at Arthur. “Y-You’d think I’d get better after we got married or whatever.”
“Oh stop that,” Arthur huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Felipe, it's fine, you’re fine. I’m really rather used to it.”
“Yeah but…” Felipe paused, bringing his hand up to almost nervously twirl his hair around two of his fingers, leaning in slightly like he was going to tell a secret only he knew. “I dunno, I guess it’d be nice if I was just… well-adjusted by now.”
“I really don’t expect you to, dear.” He flushed slightly, pressing his palm against his face as he continued. “I rather like you… like this.”
Felipe's eyes grew wide, blinking, before smiling a little. “Really?” he asked. Arthur shrugged, leaning his head back with his hand on the back of his neck.
“Well, I don’t like it when you rub your filthy little fingers on my clothes..” he replied, letting out a small scoff, then pausing for a second or two to let out some sort of suttery-sigh and leaning in closer to Felipe as if he was going to tell him some sort of hushed little secret, or to kiss him. “But… you know… you’re here in my house for a reason.”
“I thought I was here because I charmed you with my looks so much that I overlooked every other part of me.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Sure, Felipe, sure.” The Argentinian snickered, holding his arms as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second or two before looking back up at the Brit.
“Oh come on Arty, don’t lie to me and say that I didn’t.” Felipe flipped a part of his curly hair behind his shoulder as he grinned. “I’m already very aware of my beauty.”
“Oh you want me to be honest, huh?” Arthur replied, placing his hands on Felipe's shoulders and bending him over slightly to be closer. “Well if I have to be truthful, I find that the world and every miserable person in it is an absolute bore. Trite, monotonous, and a bore. But you,” The blond pressed a finger to Felipe's chest, square in the middle over where his heart was, “You are not. At all. And god dammit you need to stop with this whole thing where you act like I don’t want you the way you are. Because I do. I do a lot.”
Felipe went silent, just staring at his husband for a bit and watching how his face grew redder and redder and looked away in an almost embarrassed manner. The Argentinian smiled warmly, feeling how his heart grew softer and softer and how his stomach got all fuzzy inside. And he could notice how close their noses were, and how his palms splayed onto Arthur's chest again like earlier; cool cotton fabric against his warm hands. He inhaled slightly, then exhaled. “I love it when you’re all honest.” he whispered, pressing his lips against the Englishman's again, though comparatively more gently than before like he was scared of hurting him. I was too rough before he thought, I’ll get better, I’ll improve. Like cooking, folding in flour and sugar into a bowl; Felipe could get more tender. It’d be good for him, teach him things like how to load washing machines or to not tense up hearing a belt hit the floor. And it was a nice feeling how the hands at his shoulders crawled up to cradle his face and press him closer, some sort of confirmation that he spoke only of the truth, that he wanted Felipe just as much as Felipe wanted him. Maybe Arthur wasn’t Adam, maybe he was the apple itself with how his cheeks glowed red, and Felipe wasn’t ever supposed to have him. That would surely line up with their governments, their conflicts; three months spent at war just to backstab his own people and marry the man who they lost against. But even still, he couldn’t have helped himself either way, mushing himself further into his little piece of forbidden fruit, the apple of his eye, for just a few more seconds before Felipe pulled away and giggled. Arthur huffed through his teeth, wide eyed and flustered.
“God you make me stupid.” he complained, head rolled back into his chair. “One of these days they’re gonna put me in an asylum.”
“I’ll sneak in as a nurse so I can see you then.”
“Oh Christ Felipe…”
Felipe laughed, pressing another kiss on Arthur cheek before continuing, “Yeah right, like I’d let them take you away in the first place. Besides, you like what I do to you, huh?”
The Brit grumbled a bit, squeaking out a half embarrassed “I do”
“You better!” he snickered before humming, moving to just face Arthur instead with a calmer sort of smile on his lips. “I am happy though, I really am.” he spoke, honestly rather sheepishly and nervously with his hands back on his lap. “I’m glad we’re married.” Arthur smiled as well, tucking a piece of Felipe's hair to the back of his ear.
“I’m glad as well.”
The moreno grinned, wiggling his way off of Arthur's lap as he stood back up and fixed how his shirt rode up slightly. He walked back to his own seat to pick up his, now cold, chips, then the blonds, walking over to the area under the sink that opened up to the garbage bin. “I’ll clean up the table Arty, don’t worry about it.” The Brit turned his head to look at Felipe as he shoved the two boxes into the bin.
“Alright then,” he replied, getting out of his own seat and leaning back to crack his back slightly. “I’ll be upstairs then.” Felipe simply nodded, walking back over at the table, folding up placemats and rolling up plastic bags and shoving them in the rubbish bin and placing utensils in the sink as well. He’ll wash them in the morning, when the sun peers through the window of Arthur's cottage, he will scrub forks and knives with his sponges and dry them off with his towels. He’d used to make it a habit to steal Arthur's things to bring back home; a paperclip, a pin, sometimes if he was brave enough he’d smuggle a shirt or coat over, though the Brit would always notice and ask for his clothes back. He wished he could share them in a way, where he can use his dishes, his pens, wear his sweaters and smell whatever traces of him lingered. It’d be nice to have a piece of his beloved with him no matter what, stuck in his pocket or worn on his jacket. And then Felipe blinked, glancing down at the silver wedding band on his finger, the bright blue sapphire perched on top reflecting the light from the kitchen as he stood right in the middle. Of course nothing could ever stop him from taking his husbands ratty little punk t-shirts and wearing them to sleep, but at least Arthur wouldn’t complain about his pens going missing again.
Once he seemingly remembered to put the placemats on the little shelf in the corner he made his way out of the kitchen, flicking the lights off and walking over to the wooden staircase that lead to the floor upstairs. It always tended to creak no matter what, with every step, like a seagull. Arthur would always complain about the noise and how he wished he could just replace it all together, and Felipe would hum and nod along, but in reality the Argentine found the sound more comforting than anything. He surely didn’t have a second floor back home, let alone a staircase. And even still most of the ones he came across were concrete or metal; cold and dull. Wooden staircases were for nice houses in rich neighborhoods or fancy government buildings. But here he could have all the stupid fancy things he wanted, like wooden staircases and modern stoves, a washing machine and non-barred windows. Arthur was his husband for Christ's sake, his home was practically Felipe's home at this point, and that made Felipe extremely happy. If he squinted the Englishman's little cottage could appear like Eden with all the wildflowers that bloomed outside to where his car was parked, but he already knew paradise lied somewhere else.
Reaching the top of the steps and walking a bit further passed he reached the bedroom, pushing the half-closed door open and letting himself in. Arthur perked up at the sound of the door, standing right beside the bed as he rolled a shirt over and down his head to act as pajamas. He could see the halo glow over him again, and his wings opened up once again at Felipe's arrival.
Of course, he thought, This must be it, as he once again let himself curl up under the sanctity of angel wings.