He was tired. He was tired of pain, suffering, heartbreak, hate. He was tired of the simple human instinct to wage war, and he was tired of war itself.
He fumbled with his keys, taking them out of his pocket and finally managing to slide them into the lock of his door, trying not to let the fatigue of the day show on his face. He tried to push it all aside. Push aside that annoying American’s words, the perverted Frenchman’s advances and actions, and he tried to completely forget about the official documents he had been forced to bring home that currently resided in his briefcase.
A tired sigh left Arthur Kirkland’s lips as he pushed open the door to his flat. Immediately, he let his briefcase drop so his fingers, calloused from over the years, could press into his temples, rubbing small circles into the skin in an attempt to soothe the headache he feared was approaching. He tried to be gentle in his shutting of his front door, not really wanting any loud sounds to echo throughout his rather large house.
He sat down on his couch, his head resting back as his long fingers ran through his soft golden hair. Eyelids closing over his emerald eyes, a sigh left the Englishman’s lips. Work was... Well, actually, it was normal. He supposed that was the problem. As any competent person might assume, being a country did take a toll on a person after a while, and throughout the years of Arthur’s long life, it had been gradually chipping at him, but he still managed to proudly hold his head up through it all. There was no denying that he was tired though, it was obvious, however much he didn’t want it to be.
Suddenly, he felt two arms wrap themselves around his waist as a head nuzzled into his chest. Arthur was only slightly surprised at this development, but he still raised his head, opening his eyes to look down at your curled up form. Your arms were tight around him, your (h/l) (h/c) covering your eyes from his view.
Allowing a small smile to appear on his face, he maneuvered himself so that he could take you up into his arms so he could sit you on his lap. You smiled back at him as he did so, moving your arms from around his waist and instead resting them around his neck as you sat in his lap, looking lovingly into his eyes with your large (e/c) orbs.
You didn’t want to ask if work was bad, because you knew it never was really that fantastic, and you didn’t want to bring it up. You never really wanted to bring it up, so instead, you brought your lips to his in a chaste kiss before you pressed your forehead to his.
“I missed you, Arthur Kirkland,” you laughed gently as you brushed some of his hair out of his face, mostly looking for an excuse to touch him.
Seeming to look a bit more relaxed than he originally had, he smirked down at you. “I missed you.”
You smiled gently up at him, running your fingers down his chest as you lifted yourself up just enough to press your lips to his. His lips tasted just slightly of tea, and that taste always made you seem to crave more.
You immediately felt him respond, moving his own soft pair of lips against your own as his arms looped around your waist, pulling you as close as to himself as he could. He loved the way your body managed to melt into his own so perfectly, like you were made to do so.
Kissing him was always perfect. That was the only thought you could feel echo over in your mind. It was the way he could hold you so protectively while his kiss was sweet and loving. You moved your hands slowly upward, letting your fingers burrow themselves in his scruffy hair as you tried to press your lips even more to his, not managing to get enough of him, of his kiss, his touch.
Eventually you had to part from his lips though, the need for air too great. You panted quietly, short bursts of air flowing out of your kissed-red lips. Arthur smirked, loving the way he could get you to this disheveled sort of state, as he ran a hand up your back. Swiftly, he leaned you down onto the couch until your back hit the cushions, straddling you.
Looking up into his eyes, a slight gleam of mischievousness in your irises. You let a small smirk, one that could rival his own, tilt your lips up, and in that moment, Arthur forgot. He forgot about his problems, his country's problems, everyone’s problems. He forgot about paperwork and even work itself. All he could think about was you. Your actions, your appearance, how you treated him.
You were the only person on the face of this world that could make the great Arthur Kirkland forget about all the pointless things in life. You, and only you, were the only thing that could make Arthur Kirkland happy.