Chapter Text
Epilogue
Snow was floating gracefully down to the ground, creating mountainous piles on the already covered white ground. The sky had darkened, but the clouds prevented him from seeing the moon or the stars. All he could see was the faint outline of the mountains nearby. Behind him, the fireplace crackled and filled the room with the pleasant smell of burning logs. From the small kitchenette at the other end of the large area came the drifting aroma of hot apple cider heating on the rather tiny stove.
“Are you going to stare out the bloody window all night or are you going to come over here and have a damned drink?” said Arthur, sitting at the table in the dining room area.
At the stove was Francis, who was ladling cider into mugs that were covered in red maple leaves. The cups were provided by a certain Canadian who was currently seated across from the Brit. Matthew was wearing a thick red hoodie with his hands buried in the front pocket.
“I'm coming Artie geez. Chillax,” said Alfred, going back over to the table that had a plate full of freshly baked maple flavored cookies, courtesy of Francis and Matthew's earlier joint effort.
Sitting beside Matthew, Alfred grabbed a couple of the yummy and still faintly warm baked goods and shoved half of one in his mouth at once. Arthur handed Alfred a napkin and scowled.
“Are you a child? Honestly,” said Arthur.
Alfred just grinned, missing a crumb on his face when he wiped. Arthur leaned over and brushed the crumb away with his thumb, wiping the digit on his own serviette afterward. Matthew chuckled.
Francis, by then, had set the steaming mugs in front of everybody and sat down beside Arthur. The Frenchman kisses the Brit's cheek and murmured into his ear.
Whatever was said caused Arthur to blush furiously and punch Francis' arm as soon as their mugs were safely on the table.
“Aïe! So cruel, you know you love my-” started Francis, getting cut off by a hand on his throat.
The two older men fell to the ground in a heap of limbs, punches, and kicks. There was yelling in both french and english before the bickering stopped. Alfred stood up and looked over the table to see Francis atop Arthur, pinning the Brit's wrists to the floor, the two locking lips.
Matthew rolled his eyes and said, “Let's finish the cider in our room.”
They took the drinks to the room of the cabin they'd rented and closed the door. Alfred climbed on the bed and saw the skis in the corner of the room. They'd spent the whole day on the slopes skiing. Once again, Matthew had beat him on nearly every run down. Oddly enough, once Arthur got the hang of it, he was nearly as good as Matthew was.
Matthew set his cup on the bedside stand and knelt beside Alfred on the bed. There was a soft look in his eyes, shining in the dim light on the lamp from Alfred's side of the bed. Alfred gulped the rest of his drink back, feeling the hot burn down his throat since Francis had slipped some alcohol into the pot as he heated the drink. Then he put the cup aside and smiled at his lover.
“Glad we invited Arthur and Francis with us on our vacation?”
Matthew nodded, “Yes. I'm also glad that you are getting along with Francis again as well.”
Alfred shrugged, “I'm with you now. Besides, he makes Artie happy. Almost as happy as you make me. And anyway, it's been ten years since then.”
Squirming down on the bed so that he could rest his head on Matthew's chest, Alfred sighed and closed his eyes. He listened to the steady thrum of Matthew's heart, the one so in sync with his own. He traced lazy and random patterns on the soft fabric of Matthew's sweater.
They laid there for a while like that, both of them ignoring the sounds of sex from the other couple in the next room. Alfred normally loved to fill in silences with talking or music, but with Matthew he didn't need that. It was nice, peaceful and wonderful.
“Remember our first kiss?” said Matthew, playing with Alfred's silky hair that was only still faintly damp from the shower he'd had when they'd gotten back in for the night.
“Of course. You did keep delaying it until forever and ever,” said Alfred, chuckling into Matthew's chest.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” said Matthew, lightly swatting Alfred's shoulder.
“It was worth it though. Kissing me by one of our great lakes under the moon and stars. Who knew you were such a romantic?” said Alfred.
Matthew suddenly pinned Alfred to the bed and pressed their lips together. The Canadian immediately slid his tongue along the seam of Alfred's lips. Alfred opened and tangled his tongue with Matthew's, hot, wet and messy. Both of Matthew's hands were on his cheeks, holding his head in place as he probed Alfred's mouth, remapping every inch he'd already touched and felt.
As Matthew pulled back, Alfred whined in protest. Matt leaned back down and placed an oh so tender kiss back on Alfred's lips.
“I love you, Alfred.”
“I love you too Mattie.”
Later on that night, while they lay tangled together, sweating and panting, rope marks on his wrists, Alfred sighed. They may not have had the best start to a relationship, what with it being an affair. Both of them may have wondered at one point or another, “Why won't you kiss me?”
It was worth it though. Oh god was it worth it. There wasn't a moment that went by where Alfred wasn't glad that he'd been a cheater and had an affair. There wasn't a moment that went by that wasn't glad that Arthur, now one of his best friends, had cheated on him with Francis.
Because it led him here, laying half sprawled atop his Canadian lover. His partner. His life.
The one he'd spend the rest of his so long life kissing.