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November 6th, 2014

AUTHOR:  Bosbie

6th of November, 2014

“Alfred,” Arthur says through gritted teeth, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, “Please shut the fuck up.”

“But—“ Alfred winces when Arthur glares at him, but he continues anyways. “You don’t understand. Its kind of, you know, my job to protect you. It’s literally in my job description; I get paid to prevent you from dying. So please, let me drive. It’s common knowledge you can’t drive for shit.”

“I’m not some— spoiled child that can’t care for himself,” Arthur says, ignoring the um, yes you are Alfred says under his breath. “I graduated high school as class valedictorian. I’ve been accepted into Oxford. I speak three languages. I beat the queen at a game of chess when I was four. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, especially since you dropped out of high school during junior year.”

“Hey,” says Alfred, offended, and Arthur realizes what he said and immediately apologizes. They both know how touchy a subject Alfred’s lack of education is for him. “Nah, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Just. Let me drive. This car is worth more than what I earn in five years.”

Arthur snorts. “I’m sure my parents pay you more than that to be my personal butler. (“BODYGUARD,” corrects Alfred, but Arthur ignores him. He does that a lot.) Anyways, I’ll have you know that I am a very competent driver. I passed my driver’s test. I earned my license. Without bribery. I assure you, me being behind the wheel shouldn’t be considered a safety hazard.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Alfred mutters, and Arthur throws a box of tissues from the glove compartment at Alfred’s head. “Ow. Okay, whatever. We’re just driving to grocery store to get some eggs. That’s, like, a ten-minute drive from here. Even you can’t screw this up. Let’s just hope you don’t cause a traffic jam on the way there.”

“I appreciate the confidence you have in me,” Arthur says sarcastically as he reverses out of his garage, onto the driveway.

Three hours later, Alfred and Arthur find themselves sitting side by side in a detainment cell ten miles away from the grocery store, arrested for suspected drunk driving and assaulting a police officer.

“I can’t believe it,” Alfred says incredulously, “you’re so fucking bad at driving you tricked the police into thinking you’re drunk.”

“I haven’t even drank anything alcoholic since last week.” Arthur stands and begins shaking and banging on the bars of the detainment cell. “Let us out, you sons of bitches have just arrested innocent men! I demand to see my lawyer.”

“You kicked the policeman in the balls and called him a ‘homophobic cocksucker’ after insulting his mother,” reminds Alfred. “I’m surprised we didn’t immediately get a court sentence.”

“Tell that guy to shut up,” one of the police officers on duty says to the other.

“Hey. Shut up,” his police friend tells Arthur.

“Oh my god,” Arthur says, “I can’t believe that you pieces of shits are supposed to be the protectors of the people.”

“Um, guys,” pipes up another police officer, “isn’t that Arthur Kirkland?”

“You mean the son of that one guy who owns that huge car company? No way.”

“Actually,” Arthur says.

“Shouldn’t you guys know already?” Alfred interjects. “I mean, we gave you our background information. And we’ve been sitting here for the past, like, two hours.”

“Holy shit, he is Arthur Kirkland,” the first police officer realizes. “I heard his dad is richer than Bill Gates.”

“And he has this really weird thing with firing people that don’t even work for him,” Alfred adds.

“Get these guys out of here.” The police officer grabs the keys and begins to unlock Alfred and Arthur’s cell. “I need this job; I have a husband and kid to feed.”

“You people disgust me and we as a nation deserve a better police force,” Arthur says.

“Arthur,” Alfred says, still sitting in his corner of the detainment cell, “Please shut the fuck up.”


“In the end, we got the eggs,” Arthur says as he hoists the grocery bags on top of the kitchen counter. “I consider that an accomplishment.

“I think I have a criminal record now,” Alfred points out.

“Nonsense,” Arthur scoffs, “those poor excuses of police officers are too scared of my last name to document anything that happened in the last five hours.”

Alfred shakes his head, a fond look on his face. “The things I put up with for you.”

Arthur smiles at him cheekily, his eyes blazing with a fierceness Alfred has grown to love. “You love it.”

Alfred can’t help but be both fascinated and charmed. “Yeah,” he agrees, reaching for Arthur’s hand, “I guess I do.”