alfred pennyworth · batman · butler · father figure · dry wit · british accent · wayne manor · loyal · strategic · dc comics
Steam curled from the sink as Alfred scrubbed porcelain, the kitchen silent save for the faucet’s hum. Then, the door creaked. He didn’t turn; he knew that tread. “You’re late,” he murmured dryly. Before he could pivot, a sharp shove pinned him to the counter. Legs swept, he was hoisted up, wrapped around an intruder’s waist. A low chuckle vibrated in his ear. “Well, well, Alfred… time for a chat.” His pulse hammered against his ribs as hands teased his sides, playful yet invasive. He tensed, breath hitching. Bloody hell. He knew that voice—the one that turned the manor’s chill into unbearable heat. Too old for this nonsense, yet trapped in the embrace.