Special Delivery

It had all started with a letter.

Which was really quite funny, because, in today's world, no one really sent letters anymore. If you asked Arthur, that was a shame—letters had this kind of personality to them that an email or a text lacked.

Anyway, yes, his predicament had started with a letter. Or rather, who was delivering it.

Because there he was, walking down the sidewalk of Arthur's suburban street at 4:34 PM, the mailman. He was tall and blonde, and his eyes were so blue that you could see them from a distance away, even behind square-framed glasses.

Quite frankly, Arthur found him to be extremely attractive. Not that he would ever admit it.

Arthur was new to this town, new to America, and certainly new to suburbia. He had lived in cities his entire life, and was used to visiting his P.O. box once a week for the bills he had to pay.

But now things were different. With his job as a high-school English teacher all set up and all moved into his new, small, townhouse, Arthur, for the first time, saw the mailmen walking their daily routes.

…

It really wouldn't have been a problem if he had a different job. But no, he was a teacher, and he left the school every day at 4:00, without fail. And his mailman would always round the corner at 4:34, just when he would exit his car.

Naturally, Arthur waited to pick up his mail. He just didn't expect this…attractive male specimen to talk to him.

"Are you new around here?"

"Yes, I just got a new job."

"Oh, where?"

"The high school. English teacher." Why was he even telling him this?

"Oh! Sweet. See ya, um…?" He paused to silently ask his name

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

The mailman laughed. "Jones, Alfred Jones. Nice to meet'cha."

He winked and walked away.

And even though Arthur would deny ever looking, his ass looked great in those mailman's shorts.

…

And so every day, rain or shine, except for Sundays, of course, Alfred delivered mail to Arthur, and he got to know him a little better.

Like how Alfred had a puppy that he loved more than anything, or how he had just moved to the "'burbs," tired of the city.

And Arthur shared small things too, like his love for novels and his cat, Winston (which Alfred had snickered at, the prat).

But they didn't know each other. Not really. And yet Arthur felt the creeping attraction to the mailman growing every day. He began to have some extremely dirty thoughts about Alfred and his mailman shorts.

On his car ride home, he thought about how he would make him hard, so that his cock would strain in his trousers. Maybe then he could take them off, and suck it then, but he wouldn't let him finish—not then. No, Arthur would let the mailman have him then (and if he was as excitable in bed than he normally was, Arthur was sure he'd get it good).

And of course, by the time Arthur reached his driveway, he was hard. And Alfred was rounding the corner.

He was just glad for the heavy winter coat to hide it, and glad that Alfred had traded in his shorts for a pair of long trousers for the winter.

…

Their short conversations continued into high summer. It was July, and they were in a drought. Alfred had switched back into his shorts, which meant that Arthur was doomed.

Because of summer vacation, Arthur wasn't working. He still came to visit Alfred as he rounded the corner. They would still have their flirty conversations, and Arthur would bring him some water to beat the oppressive heat.

Alfred always thanked him and was on his way again with a smile and a wink.

…

But on one particularly scorching day in August, the drought was worse than ever. The newscasters said 100 degrees, and even though Fahrenheit was strange to Arthur, he knew that was extremely hot. He would sweat from just walking outside, and he pitied Alfred.

So when Alfred rounded the corner, Arthur brought him a two bottles of water, which Alfred, so temptingly sweaty, drank before thanking him.

"Man, it's hot out!"

"Yes, and the sky is blue. Thanks for telling me." The heat made Arthur cranky.

"Hey, hey. Be nice to me, it's too hot to think. No one has any mail to be delivered today, except for one house at the end of my route. I usually get there at six, but it's so hot that I'm going slow. I really don't care what time they get their mail at."

"You're usually so precise about getting me my mail."

"Yeah, but that's because it's you— I mean, well, you're at the beginning of my route. Well, the middle. But still."

Because it's you… Arthur just wanted to drag him inside and do things to him that were maybe frowned upon.

He went for it. "Hey, you said it yourself, no one's got mail today. Come in and have some more water."

Alfred smiled, but shook his head. "Thanks, but I don't want to intrude on you—"

"Oh come on. It's sweltering out and I feel bad, Alfred. Just for a few minutes? Enjoy the air conditioning, splash some water on your face…"

Alfred smiled again. "Oh you tempt me so. Let's go."

…

Inside, Arthur silently rejoiced in getting the mailman in his house. Alfred guzzled up maybe three more glasses of water before just going to the sink, taking off his glasses and putting his head under the faucet.

"You know, we're in a drought."

The sound of water running over his face distorted the sound, but Arthur was pretty sure he heard the mailman say, "Fuck the drought."

I can give you something better to fuck.

Arthur cursed his thoughts again.

Cool for now, Alfred toweled off his soaked head, and put his glasses back on. He then scrunched up his nose.

"Sorry, I'm probably stinking up your house right now, I was sweating like mad out there."

It wasn't a problem. Some guys just smelled amazing when they were sweaty. Alfred was one of them.

"Oh no, it's okay.

Alfred ruffled up his damp hair. "Hey, I know it's kinda awkward, but do you mind if I stay here a little longer? Just until it cools down a little outside?"

On the contrary…

"Oh, by all means. I was just going to watch a movie or something, just make yourself at home."

False. Arthur hated movies. But one tidbit that he'd learned was that Alfred loved them.

"Ooh, which one?"

"You pick." Arthur couldn't care less.

Alfred chose some robotic action movie with lots of explosions, and Arthur watched mindlessly. Alfred was pretty into it.

Just then, Arthur's phone beeped. The three dings of a text message sounded out, and Arthur was too lazy to pick it up.

"Um, Arthur?"

"I don't want to move. It's closer to you anyway. What does it say?"

He heard rustling as Alfred moved to reach the phone. It was silent for a good thirty seconds before Arthur sat up. Alfred was a little red in the face.

"What?"

No response.

"What does it say?"

Alfred slid the phone across the coffee table towards Arthur. He had received a text from Elizabeta, his fellow teacher at the high school.

Arthur:

Mister, I know you're antisocial, but you should still talk to me. How have you been? I hope you're well, and if you tell me you haven't fucked that cutie mailman yet, I'll be very disappointed in you :3

Liz

With every word, Arthur's face heated up to a new shade of red. He didn't want to look up, but when he did, Alfred had the most wicked smile on his face. It was… really hot.

"Well, I'm flattered, Arthur." There was a teasing edge to his voice, slightly darker with…something…

"Um, it's not you… it's the other mailman I see six days a week." Oh, that made perfect sense. He stood up and refused to look in Alfred's direction.

"Okay, so since it is me…" He got up off the couch and walked right up to Arthur.

"You weren't just being nice, inviting me in here. You want to get in my pants, huh?"

Alfred had him backed against the wall, so he decided to just give up.

"Yeah, I do. Sorry."

Alfred chuckled, much different from his usual boisterous laugh. "Oh, don't be sorry. That's… fuck, that's kinky, Arthur."

"What's kinky about that?!"

"Oh come on—you offer the mailman some water and seduce him into bed with you. How Desperate Housewives can you get? Kinky."

"To be fair, I haven't actually seduced you. Yet."

He smirked. "Let me spare you the trouble."

And then they were kissing hard against the wall and it was everything Arthur had fantasized about since he saw Alfred. Alfred's hand had a rough grip on his hip, the other on his thigh as he lifted it up and around his waist.

They were both a little hard and somehow they managed to lose their shirts, Arthur's light button down and Alfred's uniform starchy blue shirt, on the way back to Arthur's couch.

Alfred ended up sprawled on top of Arthur as they kissed, tongues battling for dominance until Arthur let Alfred explore his mouth. Their hands were everywhere, pulling at shorts and boxers until they were naked and grinding and sweaty.

"Please tell me you have lube within walking distance." Alfred sounded strained.

Arthur thought for a moment. "Actually…." He quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen separated by a half-wall.

He returned a moment later. "Kitchen drawer."

"Lube in the kitchen? Kinky."

"Alfred?"

"Mm?"

"Shut up."

Arthur straddled Alfred as the mailman poured the lube onto his fingers. He placed one finger at his entrance and pushed in, with a moan from Arthur.

When one wasn't enough, a second was added, and Alfred began to scissor his fingers in different directions in search of that spot. It stung a little, but Arthur liked how it felt. When he found his prostate, Arthur was sent into frenzy, and Alfred hurried to put in the third finger. It had stung even more, sure, but it was completely necessary. Alfred was definitely bigger than three fingers—Arthur was excited and a little terrified at how it would feel. It had been a while since he had had sex at all, and Alfred's cock was…impressive, to say the least.

Alfred pulled his fingers out. "You ready?" He asked, voice husky with want.

Arthur nodded, began to lower himself down, and then Alfred's cock was nudging at his stretched entrance, and then pushing in.

"Oh god, Oh god, Oh god…"

"Arthur? You okay." He stopped Arthur from pushing down any further.

"So big. So good, Al. Can I keep going?" He didn't care that he sounded like a needy slut, he really didn't care. He didn't care that this was straight out of a bad 70s porno. He really needed this.

Alfred let him continue, and when he adjusted to the length inside of him, he started to impale himself with it over and over. And it was good that Arthur was slowly feeling the pleasure rising, because Alfred, unable to hold back any longer, was thrusting up to meet Arthur's downward motions.

They continued on like this for a while, and Alfred all but attacked his neck, sucking on the skin and biting hard at certain moments. Arthur was glad it was summertime, so he wouldn't have to wear a turtleneck to school the next morning. When Arthur couldn't keep his motions up, Alfred jackhammered his hips up and changed the angle, finding Arthur's prostate once again.

Arthur's eyes rolled back into his head, and he might have screamed a little.

He was so close, and when Alfred wrapped his hand around his cock, he was pushed off the edge, coming on both their stomachs. He felt his muscles contract around Alfred, and he most definitely felt it when Alfred came inside him.

When they were done, they lay in a sticky heap on Arthur's couch. Arthur reflected on his life a bit.

"I'm pathetic."

"Huh?"

"Pathetic. I just had sex with the mailman at 4 in the afternoon. Kinky sex. Probably the best I've ever had. But still, I'm pathetic."

"Hey, the mailman has a name. But he appreciates being the best you ever had."

Arthur was silent.

"Since your kinks don't line up with your conscience, can I take you out to dinner tonight?"

"Hmm?"

"Dinner? A date? I really like you, Arthur. I was going to ask you out eventually, but…"

"Okay. Yeah. But first, a nap sounds nice."

"Mmm, a nap would be great."

Then, something came to Arthur. "Al, you still have one more house to deliver mail to…"

"Fuck!" He scrambled up off the couch, picking up clothing as he went. He turned to leave, and then came back.

He kissed Arthur. "Seven-thirty. I'll pick you up."

And then he was off.

Arthur immediately went to his phone.

Liz:

You have perfect timing. Will explain later.

Arthur

Texts weren't that bad, after all.

END

A/n:

PWP! PWP!

Yeah. Here you go.

Arthur= desperate housewife. CANON

R&R pwease.

Mandaaaa