: IMAGINE : You work at Haha's as a kissogram and decide to put your skills into practice to cheer Arthur up on his birthday

-- 1st person POV --

When people ask me what I do for a living I tend to be rather liberal with the truth.

Singing telegrams have been a thing since forever, although it isn't quite as popular any more now it's the 80's. Booking a singer to deliver greetings to a friend or loved one is a bit old fashioned.

But 'kissograms' are still very much in high demand.

Yeah, that's what I do. I get paid to show up as a surprise at parties and sing, usually happy birthday, and perform a little striptease for the birthday boy.

It's not actually as trashy as it sounds. I never strip fully naked, usually just down to a basque, french knickers, and stockings, and once I've finished my rendition of the song I give them a kiss on the cheek and leave.
Simple as that.
Easy money.

I'm not a proper stripper or exotic dancer. There's a strict no touching policy and no amount of cash could tempt me into providing extras for the client.

But.

There's still a stigma that comes with this line of work and I am admittedly a bit ashamed of what I do. I find it kind of humiliating. Especially considering that I moved to Gotham city hoping to make it as a singer or professional dancer.

Needless to say, that hasn't exactly worked according to plan.
I haven't completely given up hope, but in the meantime I have to pay my bills, and the job, while not exactly ideal, is still pretty cushy.

I only work evenings and more often than not it's weekends only, which means I have plenty of free time to attend auditions and I've started taking acting classes.

HA-HA'S Entertainment Agency is where I'm employed. They hire out street performers and party clowns for all kinds of events and occasions.
There's a few jugglers, stilt-walkers, fire-breathers, and even a male stripper.
The difference between us though is he strips right down to his pants, but he doesn't have to give the client a kiss.

Sexist right?
Still, at least I get paid a few cents more than he does.

Mostly though at HA-HA'S, there's clowns.
And I mean that in every sense of the word.

Out of them all there's only two that are bearable.

Gary, who makes a living out of being a 'diddy clown'.
He's just the best.

And Arthur.
Actually, Arthur is a little bit odd, but he's also the sweetest guy you could ever meet.

I realised he was painfully shy the very first time I met him. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure it out, as he was so awkward and clumsy, and he could barely even speak to me....

"Right guys, I wanna introduce you to our new member of the team. This is (y/n)."

The changing room came to a standstill as all eyes turned toward me.
A few catcalls and wolf whistles ensue and I respond the only way I know how.
I almost eye-roll myself into another dimension.

"You guys play nice now." My new boss, Hoyt, warns them semi-seriously, as he left the room.

"I'm sure you and me could play real nice together, sweetheart." A big guy drawled as he pulled on his clown bracers.

"Shut up Randall." The friendly one chided him, before coming over to shake me by the hand. "Ignore him he's an idiot. It's lovely to meet you (y/n), the name's Gary."

"Thank you Gary." I smiled, thankful to have made a friend and ally so quickly.

He then proceeded to introduce me to the other few guys, but in all honesty I practically forgot their names minutes after him telling me.

Except Arthur. I didn't forget Arthur's name.

Maybe it's due to it being a memorable meeting, because the second Gary introduced him to me he dropped a pot of white face paint which hit the floor, the lid came off, and it went everywhere.

Including on my black suede ankle boots.

"Shit! S-sorry. I'm so sorry." He mumbled, bending down trying to wipe up the mess he'd made. "I...I'll pay to have t-them cleaned for you."

I wasn't too impressed by his clumsiness, but then he burst into a manic fit of laughter.

As the others taunted and heckled him, Gary quickly explained to me about Arthur's neurological condition which causes him to laugh whenever he feels anxious.

"How awful. The poor guy." I remarked sympathetically, as the laughter went on and on.

It was uncomfortable to watch. This underweight, thirty-something man gripping his chest and trying to cover his mouth as he gasped and choked.
It was apparent he was in physical pain as a result of the unrelenting laughter.

As time goes by, I haven't learned a lot about Arthur due to his shy, reserved nature, but I do know that he gets anxious a lot. Because he gets antsy, and laughs a lot.

I also know that he's a Scorpio.

This random bit of information I found out one day after everyone got into a conversation about star signs...

"You're a typical male Aries." I told Randall, who is always hitting on me and he's never deterred no matter how scathing my rejection is.

"I'm not a typical anything, sweetheart." He grinned from across the table. "You uh, you believe in all that star sign stuff then?"

I sat pouring over the horoscope section in the newspaper, whilst I drank my lukewarm coffee. "Yeah some of it seems pretty accurate. Do you?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. Sure."

"Pfft, yeah right." Gary chimed-in with a laugh. "You've always said anyone who wastes their time reading horoscopes is a nut. That it's just a bunch of bullshit."

"I think you must be confusing me with somebody else, short-stack. 'Cause I never said that." Randall lies not very convincingly. "It was Artie that said that. Right, Artie?"

Arthur sat with his back to us, carefully applying his makeup in the vanity mirror. "No I've never said that." He muttered.

Gary laughed in triumph while Randall protested his innocence.

"As long as I get a free show from you on my birthday, that's all I care about." He leers at me. "I've always wanted to see you in action. And that whole 'no kissing on the lips' rule wouldn't apply to me."

"Leave her be, Randall." Arthur leaps to my rescue. Which is a pleasant surprise.
I don't need rescuing, but it's nice that he cares.

"It's okay Arthur. If I deliver a kissogram to him in his dreams he better wake up and apologise."

Gary hoots with laughter and Arthur laughs too. But this is real laughter. The genuine kind that I've never heard from him before. It's soft and lilting, and I feel strangely happy and proud to have been the one who made him laugh because he found something I said funny.

"So anyway....do you read your horoscope, Arthur?" I ask, turning on my chair so I'm facing his back.

Without his shirt you can see just how skinny he is. You can actually count the visible vertebrae in his spine.

"Uh, no." He replies quietly. "It has the word "horror" in it, and there's already enough of that in my life."

I'm so surprised and amused by his joke that it's now my turn to burst out laughing.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror and he looks shocked. As if he can't believe my response.

"You're funny, Arthur." I tell him, holding his gaze in the reflection of the glass.

"I am?"

I frown a little, still smiling at him. "Well yeah, I think so."

"You do?"

"Sure."

"Really?" He swivels around on the chair to face me.

"She's lying. She just feels sorry for you 'cause you're a loser." Randall interrupts, and I thwack him with the newspaper.

"No I'm not! He made me laugh. And he's not a fucking loser!"
Turning my attention back to the newspaper, I try to engage Arthur in further conversation. It's the most he's ever said to me before.
"So you don't know your sign? Let me guess...um..."

He blinks like a startled rabbit as I lean forward in my seat and study his face closely. Even though his face is painted white I can see he's blushing for some reason.

"Um...Virgo? They're meant to have amazing eyes, and yours are.." I begin to lose myself in those glittering green orbs and feel quite winded. I never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before. "....green...and, well they're...p-pretty." I stammer, which is out of character for me.

Immediately Randall seizes the opportunity to tease poor Arthur remorselessly. "Aww, we'll call him 'pretty green eyes' from now on, right guys?"

"Sexy!" I blurt, for devilment. Wanting to teach Randall a lesson and maybe boost Arthur's confidence. "You have incredibly sexy eyes, Arthur. He's just jealous 'cause his are brown because he's so full of shit!"

Randall bristles but recovers quickly. "Actually they're not brown."

"It was a guess." I say in a bored voice. "Like I'd actually notice or care."

All the while Gary has been chuckling to himself, now he interjects in his adorable London accent. "Is (y/n) right, Arthur? Are you a Virgo?"

Arthur shifts uneasily on his seat. "I don't know what sign I am."

"When's your birthday?" I ask him.

"October."

"Ah, so you're either Libra or Scorpio." I scan the horoscope column. "October what?"

"28th." He says in a small voice.

"Ooh. A Scorpio."

Randall sneers. "So much for sexy Virgo eyes."

I raise my eyebrows. "Actually they're known as 'sexy Scorpio' so, I guess that means Arthur's the complete package."

Poor Arthur. I see my retort affects him as he hastily continues applying his makeup, only to start laughing uncontrollably.

I felt guilty for embarrassing him like that, but I just want to make him feel better about himself. It's clear from his slumped posture that he has zero confidence, and Randall mocking him doesn't exactly help.

So. For some reason it sticks in my mind that Arthur's birthday is in October, although admittedly I do forget the exact date.

A few weeks have gone by since that conversation, and I don't really give it any more thought until one late October afternoon.

Usually all the guys have gone home by the time I'm preparing to go to work, and even if any are straggling behind, I wait until they leave so I have the place to myself when I'm getting ready.

But today as I walk in I'm completely caught off guard by a lonely figure sitting hunched on the bench in front of the lockers.

"Arthur!" I exclaim in surprise. "What are you still doing here?"

He jumps upon seeing me and looks all apologetic. "Sorry (y/n). I...I lost track of time."

He makes to stand then winces, as if he's in pain.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

He nods his head, even though it's clear to see that he's struggling to move as he stuffs the remainder of his things into his shopping bag.

Frowning, I approach him, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Honestly, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, sweetie." I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder and he flinches.

"Please, (y/n). I'm okay."

He turns to face me. His clown makeup hasn't been washed off all that well. There's still traces of white around his neck and red on his lips.

I shake my head, unconvinced. "Arthur I know there's something wrong. Please, just tell me. I want to help."

He refuses to look me in the eye as he sighs heavily in defeat. "I got jumped."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"It's no big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal. You've been hurt--"

"Not that much." He argues.

"Then let me see." I tell him bluntly.

His dark brows lift. "Oh, no. That isn't necessary."

"Arthur either you show me or I'll call the cops and report the incident."

"What? No. I don't want you to do that. It was just a bunch of kids."

Without thinking I take hold of his shirt and try to slip it down off his shoulders. He recoils a little, trying to squirm out of my clutches.

"(y/n) please. You don't have to do this."

"I want to check that you're not seriously hurt. You might need to go to the emergency room."

"No!" He says flatly. "No hospitals. But okay, I'll show you."

His jaw clenches as he shrugs out of his shirt with great effort.

My hand automatically clasps over my mouth in shock. Angry purple bruises are already starting to bloom across his narrow shoulders, and as I urge him to turn slowly around I can actually trace a path around to his lower ribs.

"Jesus, Arthur! No wonder you're in pain."

Now he's facing me again, looking crippled by humiliation due to my careful scrutiny. On closer examination I can see that some of the red around his lips isn't just paint. He has a split lip, and it probably hurt too much for him to wash his mouth properly.

"Do you think you've broken anything?"

He shakes his head. "No. I've had broken bones before and it hurts more than this." He says ominously.

My heart pinches. It's hard to imagine why anyone would want to pick on this poor, defenceless man. He's so vulnerable.

There's something  about him that provokes the instinct in me to protect him. He's delicate, fragile even. So deciding in that moment that I want to tend to him, I set to work, efficiently steering him back onto the bench.

"Sit there Arthur, I'm going to look after you."

"You really don't have to do that (y/n)."

"No, but I want to."

I pour some warm water into a bowl that I find in the kitchenette area, and fetch a clean cloth and towel from the shower room.
Then I sit down next to him on the bench and bathe his swollen lip as gently as I can.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." I soothe when he hisses in pain. "Be sure to get some ice on this when you get home. That should reduce the swelling."

"Thank you." He whispers, his eyes closing while I carefully use the towel to dry his mouth.

Afterwards I make him a cup of coffee and manage to find some aspirin in the kitchen cupboard.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?" He points out.

I sigh, glancing at the rota. I'm due to 'perform' at some guys retirement party tonight and I have to be in Gotham Plaza by 7pm.

But as I look at the date on the calendar, I realise something.

October 28th is Arthur's birthday.

My heart wrenches at the realisation.
It's his birthday and he's been beaten up.
How shit can life be?
God, the poor guy.

"Oh, yeah. I'll start getting ready in a minute." I answer distractedly, as I make my way over to the closet where my outfits are kept. Then I ask, as casually as I can, "Did you...did you have any plans for tonight?"

He looks at me confused. "Not really. Just another regular night in watching TV."

I can't believe he's doing nothing to celebrate his birthday.
In fact I'm about to mention that to him, possibly even try to cajole him into meeting up for drinks later, so he won't spend the evening alone, when a crazy thought enters my head.

Perhaps I can do something to lighten his mood. Something he'll remember for years to come, and who knows? It might even put a smile on his face.
I can't let him getting beaten up be the only thing that happened on his birthday.

Arthur finishes his coffee, gathers up his belongings then bids me a good evening and leaves.

I start getting changed into my outfit.
For tonight's party the customer has booked a 'sexy cop' which consists of tight trousers, low-cut shirt, hat and handcuffs.

But my mind is on other things, and I can't wait to get this job over with so I can put my skills to better use.

                                                                                >>------------------------------------>>

It's 10:30pm and I'm exiting the elevator in a run-down apartment building in downtown Gotham.

The walls in the hallway are shabby, covered in cracking plaster and graffiti.
My own little apartment on the other side of town is small but a palace compared to this place.

It's dreadful that people have to live like this, in these dilapidated buildings, in a city overflowing with garbage.
There's so little for anyone to look forward to.
Unemployment is a huge problem and the cost of living is too high.
The rising crime rate is a major issue, and there's been budget cuts right across the board.

Now I find myself outside apartment B33.
Arthur's home.

I take a deep breath and knock the door then wait.
Several minutes pass and then I hear the sound of the door being unlocked.

And then he's standing there, casual in loose sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt.
His hair is damp and combed back off his face. He smells clean like scented soap as if he's just freshly showered.

There's a long awkward pause as he stares at me in disbelief, like he isn't convinced that I exist.

Being brave I chance a small smile. "Hey Artie."

Dark brows draw together in confusion over those piercing green eyes. "(y/n)! What are you....what are you doing here?"

"I was just wondering if you fancied some company. And I wanted to check you were okay after what happened today."

"Um...." He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Sure, that'd be great. But....I do live with my mom. I uh, I take care of her."

My heart melts. Though it does scupper my plan quite a lot.

"Aw, that's so sweet, Arthur. Not many guys would give up their active social lives to care for their mom."

He plays awkwardly with the sleeves of his sweater. "Yeah, I guess."

He's such a precious little bean. But I'm seriously starting to rethink my plan now. It doesn't seem appropriate.

"Well, I guess I should be heading home then, as long as you're okay. I don't want to impose--"

"No, you're not imposing. She's sleeping."

I look at him, unsure. "Yeah but I'd hate to disturb her."

He shakes his head. "You won't. She takes pills to help her sleep."

Hm. Maybe I could just go in and have a drink with him, and leave it at that.
There's no harm in just having a drink.

Resignedly, I shrug. "Okay then. As long as you're sure."

He stands aside and holds the door open for me, a goofy grin now firmly in place. And it's so good seeing him smile.

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Detective work." I smirk. "I looked it up in Hoyt's staff book."

I step inside and make my way into the slightly cluttered living room.
It's homely and has a warmth to it that's comfortable.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asks, following close behind.

"Already got it covered!" I say, producing a bottle of liquor from my purse. "All we need is two glasses."

"Coming right up." He beams, striding off into the kitchen.

I've never seen him look so animated before. There's a spring in his step and his smile practically lights up the room.

We sit down on the worn couch together and share a drink, me clinking my glass against his.

"Happy birthday, sweetie!"

He blinks. "You...you remembered?"

I nod. "Yeah, that's why I'm really here. I couldn't let your day end on such a bum note."

"Wow." He blurts. "You really care about me?"

Taking a sip of my drink I give another little shrug.

He's making it sound so much more personal, which leads me to believe that he's lonely. Affection-starved maybe. Otherwise he wouldn't be looking at me so adoringly, like I've just given him the world.

"Sure I care. We're buddies, right?" I deliberately play it down and the light in his eyes seems to dim.

He's disappointed but he quickly recovers, forcing a tight smile.

"Y-yeah. Buddies. That's...that's nice."

We share the bottle of liquor until the bottle is drained. As we drink we chat, and the alcohol relaxes his nervous disposition. The conversation flows easily, there's no stilted silences or awkwardness. We learn more about each other, Arthur tells me about his dreams of wanting to pursue a career in standup comedy. I share my own dreams with him, and he encourages me to not give up.

"You'll be a star one day." He proclaims.

Yeah. I think he might be a little tipsy. As am I.

"That's kind of you, sweetie. But you've never even heard me sing." I giggle.

He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I have faith in you. I bet you're great."

"Arthur, I sing happy birthday to drunken old men practically every weekend. That's about all I get to sing in front of a captive audience."

Impulsively he reaches over and gently touches my arm. "But it won't be for the rest of your life. Don't give up on your dreams (y/n)."

His head is resting back against the couch, so I do the same so that I'm level with his eye line.

"Thanks Arthur. That means a lot to me."

For the first time that evening a loaded silence settles over us. The room is quiet, and it's just me and him enjoying the tranquility of the moment, staring into each other's eyes.

Arthur suddenly coughs, clearing his throat. "Anyway....I bet you do the best rendition of happy birthday."

He chuckles softly and I laugh. "You wanna hear it? I can sing it quietly so I don't wake your mom."

"You'll sing it for me?" His eyes sparkle. "I'd love that."

"You would?" I bite my lip and smile secretively. "Well it's funny you should say that, because that's what I originally had in mind."

He raises his eyebrows. "You mean you planned to sing for me?"

"Yeah. I was going to do my whole routine. Thought it would cheer you up. But with your mom living here it didn't seem right somehow--"

"Wait, you were going to do your act? For...for me?" He sits forward, his eyes almost standing out from his head.

To my confusion I feel my face flush hot.

"It was going to be like a birthday surprise. Plus you'd have something to throw in Randall's annoying face when he gives you shit."

He nods his head slightly, a slow smile creeping uncertainly across his lips.

"What about your costume?" He asks.

"It's under here." I gesture to my trench coat, which I've kept fastened and belted at my waist, hiding my cringe-worthy outfit.

"You mean you're..." He swallows hard. "....you're wearing the full get-up and everything?" His eyes go to my coat, and his gaze is so heated it feels like he's stripping me bare.

"I am." My throat has gone incredibly dry, so I take another huge gulp of my drink before asking the question I already know the answer to. "You want me to do it? The whole kissogram thing?"

Without saying a word he gives a barely perceptible nod of the head, as he slips a cigarette from the pack.

Placing my glass down on the table, I stand in the middle of the room in front of the couch. There isn't much space, so I'm already pretty close to him.

I've changed out of the sexy cop outfit, and now I fleetingly wonder if I've made the right choice.

For Arthur I picked out the 'sexy nurse' costume.
Schoolgirl and secretary didn't seem right, but with the nurse costume I thought I could try to make him laugh.
After all, I did check his injuries earlier.
Hopefully he'll see the funny side.

Arthur's just about to take a hit on his cigarette when I slip off my coat.
He freezes, his hand poised mid-way to his mouth, which is literally hanging open.

"Ta-da!" I giggle, giving a little twirl.

"Oh my god." He exhales shakily. "(y/n) you look amazing."

Bashfully I thank him, then I begin singing 'Happy Birthday' in the sultry style of Marilyn Monroe.

"Happy birthday to you..." I slink forwards, tossing my (y/h/c) hair.

"....happy birthday...to you..." I run my hands over the outline of my body, tracing each curve provocatively.

Arthur's eyes are all pupil, as he follows each movement I make.

"....happy birthday, dear Arthur..." I stand directly in front of him, and ever so slowly pull down the zipper on the tiny faux-nurses dress.

The two sides come apart revealing my cleavage, the white lace basque underneath, and then the lacy panties and the tops of my white silk stockings.

".....happy birthday...to....you." I end the song with a little swivel of the hips, so the dress falls to the floor around my feet.

He's completely silent and unable to look away. I feel his eyes roving over my body, taking-in the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, and everything else in between. But unlike any of the sleazy guys I've done this routine for, with Arthur it feels totally different. I feel wired and strangely nervous.
Excitement pulses through my veins, making me feel daring and sexy.
I've never had a reaction like this before.
He isn't a pervert like all the rest. He genuinely seems to...to want me.

"So Mister Fleck..or shall I call you birthday boy?" Resting a hand on my hip, I say in the most seductive tone I can muster, "I'm here to look after you. I know you got into a scrape earlier."

The hint of a smile curls his lips. "I did."

Stepping out of the dress, I take him by surprise by boldly placing my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back so I can sit in his lap.

As I drape my arms around his neck he turns as red as a beet. His body goes tense, and the heat is just radiating off his body, as he becomes all hot and flustered.

"You gonna let nurse (y/n) kiss it better?" I jokingly flutter my eyelashes at him.

I hear the breath catch in his throat, and he's literally trembling. "Y-yea." He gasps.

Leaning in, I gently place a kiss on his cheek. "D'you feel better now, hm?"

"I do. Thanks to you." He smiles. "(y/n)....you're so beautiful. This is the best birthday I've ever had."

"Thank you, sweetie. I'm so glad."

Our faces are so close. There's something intoxicating about the way he seems so captivated by me. So in awe and mesmerised, that it gives me a sinful thrill. It makes me feel powerful and desirable.
No man has ever looked at me with such hunger, such concentrated focus.
Such need.

And I like it a lot.

His eyes drop to my lips briefly, before scaling back up my face. There's a questioning look in his gaze.
He wants more.
Without hesitation I answer the question with the simple action of tilting my head slightly, so that our lips are aligned.
It comes as a complete shock to me, but I want more too.

He takes that as all the invitation he needs, and gently brushes his mouth against mine, ever so lightly at first. Then he does it again, and again. Ghosting my lips with teasing, soft, delicate kisses, as light as butterfly wings.

I return the same playful, sensual, feathery kisses. He's breathing heavily, and all I hear is the frantic thudding of my heart in my ears as my pulse gathers speed.

His lips now become more demanding and the kisses deepen, turning from sugary sweetness to something more desperate, erotic and carnal.

We kiss and kiss like it's the end of the world. Like two lonely people who are starving, ravenous, for a connection. To feel wanted and desired.

I wind my hands through his wavy brown hair, tracing little circles on his scalp with the tips of my fingers.

He groans low in his throat, and the salacious sound has an overwhelming affect on me, making me quiver against him.

Precious, gentle, lovely Arthur is also excessively masculine it seems. His hands are strong, and he suddenly feels so dominant, powerful and in control, as he takes my face in his hands, holding me in place so he can explore my mouth, his hot, velvety tongue feverishly sliding against mine.

Finally we are forced to pull apart with ragged breath, desperately in need of air. We're also both processing what has just happened.

I gaze at him, feeling a bit dazed.
His eyes are dark. His mop of hair is pleasingly tousled, his lips kiss-swollen and his face flushed.

He looks ludicrously handsome.
He also looks like someone who has been well and truly kissed senseless.
I know I have.

His breath is coming out in slow pants, and I'm fighting to steady my own breathing. So it takes enormous effort for me to say,

"Happy birthday, Arthur."