#like she's my number one most hated coworker now absolutely the worst absolutely despicable

[soryualeksi]

In all seriousness. When I'm driving patient transport ambulance and we end up getting scheduled as a team for the day and you CAN'T share even ONE "cancer fucking sucks mate" moment with me, I don't want you on my car ever again and also I don't know what you're even here for (except getting paid for being on your fucking phone ALL DAY).

Fucking callous, heartless, self-absorbed, fucking Mean Girl Syndrome piece of shit. Also completely useless as a team partner BUT BITCHING AND MOANING ALL DAY GIVING "ADVICE" LIKE YOU KNOW ONE END OF THE STRETCHER FROM THE OTHER AAAAAH

[gallifreyanlibertea]

Oh Captain, My Captain

a/n: THIS IS MY LAST OUT-OF-THE-BLUE AIRPORT AU I SWEAR I’ll get back to the requests and the usuk network event asap so sorry, I was on an airplane back home and this happened. Full offense but idc if this is shitty or if there are inaccuracies in this, I’ve never researched this much. Ever. 

You can pry lovesick! Alfred out of my cold, dead hands.

“The nerve of the woman, honestly.”

Arthur felt absolutely no remorse in monopolizing the conversation.

After all, every flight brought the worst of all things, and as always, they seemed to happen to only and exclusively him. At this point, he had the God-given right to spend however much time he wanted, out of his miserable day, to bitch, whine and complain.

And Francis couldn't do anything about it.

“The bloody hell am I to do if the air conditioner isn't as cold as she’d like it to be?” Arthur scoffed, loosening the ribbon tied around his neck as shoes clacked ferociously in tandem with his long-striding movements. The almost-empty airport’s tiled floors dramatized the otherwise gentle noise and Arthur decided it was fitting. “Or if the peanuts weren't as salted as she'd like, or if the damn toilet was too loud, I'm not omnipotent.”

Francis, on the verge of rolling his eyes, struggled to match his coworker’s pace. “Yes, we get it, your life is hard.”

“You don't get to be annoyed with me, Francis.”

It was true. Francis could do absolutely nothing about it. Their pay was shitty- for the most part, at least- the in-flight company was hardly to be envied, and to top it off, Arthur was considerably less attractive than his other coworkers. Where they were slim, he was lanky, where they had a full, perky butt, he had, well, not that. 

So yes, he had every right to shout into oblivion because somehow, with all the luck in the world, he seemed to attract the most despicable of passengers. Every single time. Every whining adult who thought they deserved much more than the flight had to offer, every edgy teenager who thought they could swipe a free snack off his cart when Arthur wasn't looking, every person who'd call on him expecting a magic cure to their ear barotrauma.

The worst part being that Arthur had to smile through it all. So damn it all, he could be angry, and Francis couldn't protest because he was, although Arthur didn't admit it easily, a beautiful man. Things came easily to him, and it was so bloody unfair.

And all Arthur wanted to right then was to sleep in his own home, curled up under his own sheets, with all that infernal makeup scrubbed off his skin.

“I suppose you're correct there, mon ami.” Francis reached out to grab Arthur by the shoulder, bringing him down to his slower pace, “But did I tell you about those cheerleaders on the fifth row?”

Francis’s lips spread in a triumphant smirk, proving Arthur’s point. “Got a list of the numbers of their whole squad.”

Arthur suppressed a frustrated growl. “Of course, you did.”

“I heard you got a number too.” A snicker and Arthur glared holes into those teasing blue eyes. “To pass on to me, that is. I’ll be calling him tonight, so I suppose I have you to thank.”

Arthur didn't, however, suppress a fierce stomp onto Francis’ foot.

“Would you two at least behave until we get to our hotels?”

And if the flight-attendant life wasn’t glorious enough, the older attendants liked to pretend they had some kind of authority. Of course, Arthur and Francis liked to let them believe that they did. It made it easier to hate them.

As soon as the older woman left, looking over her shoulder only to shoot them a warning look like either of them cared, Francis ran a finger along the inside of the ribbon looped around his neck.

“I see that screwing the passenger in 15A wasn't enough to dislodge that stick up her ass.”

“She did what.”

Arthur was a respectable, courteous, gentleman of a man yet it was gossip like this that made hours bottled up on a flying torture chamber bearable. He supposed that's how he and Francis just clicked, despite hating almost every aspect of each other.

“Didn’t you hear it? The whole rear of the plane did.” Francis muttered nonchalantly, to which Arthur replied with a snort.

“Well, I’m glad I was on the other half.”

Loud laughter. It was despicable really, the things they said, but it passed the time and that somehow made it temporarily okay.

Arthur cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the ones of the clearly annoyed attendants in front of them. “We really should be a bit quiet, Francis, people are looking.”

“Oh, people are indeed looking,” Francis smirked in response, patting Arthur on the shoulder almost patronizingly, eyes cast over Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think the new captain is making eyes at me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, footsteps coming to a stop as he came to cross his arms, falling into a makeshift line by an empty lot meant for the cabin crew’s bus to their hotel.

Layovers meant one thing and one thing only- Rejecting Francis’ every offer to drink until they forgot their last name, and holing himself up in his less than enjoyable hotel room, catching up on his online novel before eventually falling asleep. Perhaps this time would be different. Arthur had already agreed to a small drink and an even smaller stroll, but who knew? Francis was fickle if anything, and judging by the way he was looking at their flight captain, he might not have enough time to entertain Arthur for the evening.

“I could eat him up faster than a platter of fine cheeses.”

Arthur spared a faint glance beside him, finding their brand new captain in shallow conversation with the copilot.

There was no denying Francis’ attraction. He was rather attractive, actually. The way his shirt was so tight around the sharp contours of his body, that Hollywood-heartthrob way his hair swept across his forehead. Not to mention Arthur’s secret craving for men in glasses. Or men in uniform, or honestly just men.

And that, right there! That was definitely a look back in their direction. No matter how quickly the man looked away, or how he immediately laughed aloud as if he'd never diverted his attention, Arthur had caught him and if Francis wasn't standing in such a close vicinity, Arthur might’ve thought the look was aimed at him.

Hah, him. Arthur Kirkland. A bitter air host whose most appealing features were his slightly-elven looking ears. Yes, definitely.

Arthur scoffed. “The man is clearly straight, he probably thinks you're a woman.”

“I'd be whatever he wanted me to be.”

The comment rose a hearty chuckle out of Arthur before Francis slapped him on the forearm, eyes wild. “Shut up, he's coming.”

And indeed he was. A slow, shy walk in their direction, boyish smile painted on those adult features. Arthur stepped aside for the man’s convenience as he headed toward Francis, possibly to make a few passes, ask him out for a drink, the whole three-sixty, it was tiring really. He would watch as Francis did the same exact thing once more. Playing coy, then going naughty.

Arthur had already begun selecting what title he would begin reading for the night.

“Bonjour!”

Ah, so it would be this routine tonight. Francis would begin with a phrase in French, to which the victim would respond with a-

“Oh! You're French?”

Right on schedule. The captain had made his way between them. He was an American, it seemed, making him quite possibly dumb enough to fall for Francis’ next line.

“Oh, sorry, sometimes I forget I'm talking in my native language.”

No, he rarely ever did. Arthur rolled his eyes and Francis glared through his smile.

“That's so cool.��� The American gushed, “I speak fluent Spanish so I kinda get what you mean!”

Fluent Spanish, oh dear. Arthur couldn’t help wondering what hearing it whispered passionately in his ear would sound like.

Like that would ever happen.

“Spanish, a Romance language,” Francis smirked and the American smiled abashedly in response, accepting the hand offered to him in a firm shake. “My name is Francis. What brings you over to our side of the bus stop, hm?”

“I'm Alfred,” Alfred said and Arthur couldn't help but find it fitting. A name as unusual as the chances of finding a hot pilot. “And actually, I-”

A soft touch to Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur found himself slightly recoiling, eyes glancing up from their position fixed at his feet to find Alfred smiling rather warmly right down at him.

“I just wanted to say, your eyes are the greenest I've ever seen.”

Alfred punctuated this with a light laugh and Arthur merely blinked. Francis mirrored the expression, and Arthur found himself shifting away.

This could not be happening. He had to have conjured the whole thing in his head. A cruel ending to an already grueling day.

“Less than a percent of the population has green eyes, so-” He found himself sweeping a lock of hair behind his ear, eyes traveling back down to the pavement- “I suppose I, um, understand your fascination.”

“I expected that English accent!”

Another laugh and Arthur threw a look in Francis’ direction. One of confusion, one that Francis threw back with an intensity ten times greater.

Was this Alfred fellow chatting him up?

“You have a very British structure, if anyone's told you.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Arthur managed a polite smile. Francis now stood in Alfred’s shadow, watching incredulously the captain stepped closer, closing the gap Arthur had created with his shift away.

“You should.”

Oh, my.

The bus rolled into view and Arthur pushed away with a shy smile, joining Francis in their hurried scramble aboard, settling in the back almost as if hiding from that charming smile.

“Arthur, he wants you.”  Francis cooed singsonged-ly.

“Shut up.” Was Arthur’s hissed response before he sank deeper into his seat, peering over the side to watch as Alfred climbed aboard, and to Arthur’s relief, found a seat somewhere in the front.

The goosebumps dotting his arms were hardly from the bus’ air conditioner.

“Leave it to young pilots to grab the first air host they see.”

“And here I was, thinking I'd be the one getting lucky tonight.” Francis thought aloud, head shaking.  

“I'm never lucky,” Arthur mumbled in response.

No, things like this rarely happened to him, and it was a good thing too. Despite always whining about the lack of attention people paid him, it was situations like these that told him just how uncomfortable he would be if he'd lived a better life. Arthur, therefore, appreciated his irrelevance, embraced his mediocre looks.

And ran as fast as humanly possible from anyone who looked at him twice.

“I never got your name, you know?”

Alfred was waiting for him as they departed the bus.

You’d think after a moderately-long bus ride, that infatuation of Alfred’s, or whatever it was that swam in those blue eyes, would’ve simmered away with the realization that there were other flight attendants who could give him exactly what he wanted without any hesitation whatsoever.

No, Alfred stood waiting, with eyes expectant behind the frames of those square glasses, and Arthur found himself craving back that bad luck of his. The luck that would have him attracted to a married man, or someone painfully straight. The luck that would have them anything but attracted back to him.

The luck that would have Alfred already checking himself into his room and not leaning against the side of the bus with that infernal smile on his face.  

“Arthur.”

“It’s a regal name,” Alfred remarked and Arthur shot a pleading look in Francis’ direction. “So, tell me how the cabin crew goes wild. What are you doing tonight?”

Arthur parted his lips for words, finding that he’d long forgotten his language, and Francis stepped in to rescue him, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder with a laugh. “Oh, Arthur is rather boring, actually. If you want fun I suggest the other two attendants.”

Francis leaned forward to whisper and Alfred mirrored the action unwittingly, expression inquisitive.

“I heard they did body shots on the last layover.”

“Oh jeez!” The look on Alfred’s face was akin to a child coming across a mature scene in a film. His cheeks went rosy, finger pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That's, um, no. I didn't mean to give out the wrong idea, I'm definitely not looking for that type of wild.”

Arthur shot Francis a look to which he responded with a shrug.

And Alfred was blissfully unaware, gazing at Arthur as if he were Alfred's husband returning home from the war. “It's just us mild folk here, I guess. I can't drink before a flight so I might as well hang out with you guys!”

“Actually, I was going to grab a drink,” Arthur interjected, to which Francis hastily followed up with a-

“Yes, we were doing just that.”

“Great! A little drink never hurt anyone, I'll pay for a round!”

Oh dear, Alfred wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

The fact became increasingly evident as the evening progressed. How Alfred stood directly behind as Arthur checked in, how he tossed shy glances in Arthur’s direction as he himself checked in after telling them to wait for him.

“Can I see some I.D., sir?”

Alfred smiled in Arthur’s direction and after a rough shove to Arthur’s shoulder, courtesy of an annoyed Francis, he sent a smile back. One that had Alfred beaming, oblivious to the unentertained man behind the hotel desk.

“Sir!”

“Oh! Yes, give me just a minute, sorry.”

A card was slapped onto the counter before Alfred turned to look over his shoulder yet again, an embarrassed smile on his face, as if afraid Arthur would run away.

“I’ll just go take a quick look at my room and meet you at the bar?”

It was a simple solution that would facilitate the check-in, Arthur thought. Alfred nodded furiously, yet instead of turning back to continue the process like Arthur had assumed, he watched as the elevator doors closed around Arthur, every second of it, that smile beaming on his face the entire time.

Francis snickered, “Wow.”

Arthur blinked, hands smoothing over his suddenly, goosebumped-yet-again arms, deciding that an original response had no place in their current situation. “Wow indeed.”

“Want to stand him up?”

Any sane person would. The transition between no attention to all the attention was quite reeling, and Arthur, if anything, wanted nothing more than to spend the evening alone in his room.

Yet still, he found himself at the hotel bar, taking the seat directly next to Alfred despite the empty ones anywhere else.

Francis watched slyly as Alfred sat one hand gripping the back side of Arthur's stool, the glass of wine in him tinting his cheeks a healthy red.

“Y’know, the flight attendant uniforms are so cute.”

Alfred’s free hand set his glass down atop the table, running a finger along the ribbon on the back of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur inhaled rather sharply, ignoring the look Francis gave him, with those eyes wide, lips twisted up in a knowing smirk. “Well, that is our job, to look pleasing to the eye and keep passengers calm.”

“I can’t even imagine how harder your job would be, Captain,” Francis said and Alfred practically giggled, arm flexing and wow those were some defined biceps coming out of that short-sleeved aviator shirt.

“It took me years of training, you, uh-”

Alfred leaned closer to Arthur and Arthur didn’t know if it was the courage from the alcohol or just the confidence he seemed to carry on those broad shoulders that brought that hand of his up to grip Arthur’s bicep- “You should come down to the cockpit one day, and I’ll show you just how hard it can be.”

He invited Arthur to touch his bicep with a little wink and Arthur hesitantly obliged, finding that it was harder to stop running his fingers over the tanned swell of that arm than it was to start.

He forced his hands back into his lap with a clear of his throat, “That training of yours is quite evident.”

Francis’ eyes bounced back and forth between the two. At Alfred, who seemed to be very interested in the shade of red Arthur’s cheeks were turning, and at Arthur, who averted his eyes, anywhere, everywhere, oh god.

“I’m going to go get myself another drink in my room,” Francis said almost defeatedly, shooting Arthur a warning, I better not have left for nothing look and Alfred gave him a wide grin as a parting gift, turning to the host under his arm with an expression even brighter when Francis was well out of sight.

“Why don’t you give me a personal cabin safety demonstration?” He mimicked the two fingered pointing and Arthur found himself smiling. Just a little. “Shall we take the nearest exit?”

Hell, it was a layover.

The one time Arthur would have anything close to a vacation, the one time he could have some fun on the job, a one time.

A single time, just aching to be filled with a mistake.

And that was what Arthur assumed he would be getting himself into as he parted his lips for a response. “Alright, Captain, shall I demonstrate how to unclasp your belt?”

Alfred blinked, that same no mom, I wasn’t looking at the kiss scene expression seizing his features as Arthur shifted under his arm to smooth a hand up his tie.

If someone wanted Arthur when no one else did, there was no point in playing hide and seek.

“Isn’t it advisable to keep the belt fastened, when we, um-” Alfred paused. He had probably read Arthur’s expression to find that yes, it was not a joke, so he reached into his wallet to pay the bill. “When we’re in for a bumpy ride?”

It was an action confirming that they were indeed going to take the nearest exit.

“I’m sure you’ll keep me safe, Captain.”

Arthur barely caught sight of Alfred’s incredulous smile before he was led, no, dragged, steps charged with the adrenaline of the moment and slight, buzzing intoxication, all the way into a hotel room. One that, by the looks of it, confirmed his bitter suspicion that the captains got better room service.

Arthur didn’t like attention, that was true, but more than likely they were two people seeking out company for the night. He was okay with that. He was okay knowing it was another mistake in his lifelong list of many- after all, with the size of their airport, they would probably never have to see each other again, and Arthur was, if anything, damn good at avoiding people.

Nevermind the fact that walking down the aisles the next day was a right, sore pain, or that Francis had demanded to know everything there was to know about Alfred’s ‘moves’.

Or that the entire flight crew somehow came to know of the fact that he’d slept with the captain.

It was a one-time thing. It was a fleeting, trashy, once-in-a-lifetime mistake that simply had to be made. How many others had the privilege of having a story starring a hookup with a flight captain?

Of course, it’s not like he ever expected to have to tell his children the exact same story- cheeks positively aflame as Alfred chuckled from the kitchen- when they’d asked him how he’d met their father.