[Fanfic] The Pursuit of Happiness
Mar. 7th, 2010 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: The Pursuit of Happiness
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: US, UK, Canada.
Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Sex, angst (not necessarily in that order).
Summary: De-anon from the kink-meme. In the strip about America’s birthday, England mentions his symptoms every time the 4th of July comes around: can’t sleep, feels sick, can’t eat, can’t work, has nightmares, can’t concentrate, etc. Everybody else has to deal with this, and when, finally, Arthur is ordered to go straight to America to sort out their differences, things go a little (a lot) better than he ever could have planned.
- with added content~!
Oh God I suck at summaries OTL
‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’
The day had not begun well.
Arthur had fallen out of bed with a yelp at five AM, and had lay there, his face pressed against the thick weave of the carpet until the sensation of blood and grime and pounding rain had faded from his skin. Then, and only then had he heaved himself up from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, fighting the inevitable waves of nausea. He didn’t even have to look at the calendar to know the date.
“Buggering hell...” he grumbled, walking through the dimly lit house to the kitchen and turning on the light, turning it off again just as quickly. “Fuck.”
His head was pounding. It had taken hours for him to doze off only to be rudely woken by a nightmare of that day. The pale dawn light made the room feel colder than it was, and Arthur got half-way through making a cup of tea before he realised that he didn’t really want it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Food was a definite no-go. From past experience he knew he’d only end up regretting anything he ate, but this was ridiculous... America was even affecting his ability to drink tea now.
The kettle had begun whistling before he realised that he’d been standing, spaced out, at the counter for well over five minutes. Arthur shook himself and scuffed one hand roughly through his hair.
“Pull yourself together,” he growled to no-one in particular, turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to get ready for work.
Things did not get better. After being stuck in traffic from Notting Hill to Westminster, Arthur was late and already tearing his hair out. If anybody had had a mind to stop him as he marched towards his office like a man possessed, they quickly did an about-turn and scurried away as quickly as they could. The Englishman kicked the door of his office closed with such ferocity that a picture frame fell from the wall, and it took several attempts to put it back up before Arthur simply threw the offending decoration across the room and heard the glass smash.
“Mr. Kirkland, sir..?” His secretary, Penny, was peeking timidly around the door as he dropped into his chair and let out a curse in a dialect that no one had spoken for well over a thousand years.
“What is it?” he snapped, watching her with narrowed eyes as she entered, crept over to his desk, placed a file on it and then fled. Muttering to himself he drew it towards him, flicked it open, turned on his computer and stared blankly at the white screen. His thoughts drifted.
‘That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.’
“Agh, get out of my head!” Arthur pushed both hands into his hair and leaned forwards, his forehead bumping against the desk. People came and went, and he ignored all of them, until one had the audacity to tap the top of his head with one finger. He looked up, glaring, not even caring when he came face-to-face with the Prime Minister.
“Go away,” he muttered, dropping his head back to the polished wood.
Arthur’s boss was used to this. It was one of those things, the ‘warning’ that was passed unfailingly down from PM to PM, that on July the fourth of every year, Arthur Kirkland would become absolutely impossible to work with. There had been a time when they would suggest he stay home, and one had even tried to put him under house arrest to prevent him doing any harm to the mental stability of anybody that he came into contact with, but it never worked. Arthur would always come in, shut himself away in his office and act like a bear with a sore head towards anyone who dared try to speak to him. It was something that they had all learned to cope with, but it was beginning to become somewhat absurd.
The Prime Minister, however, did go away. It was well over an hour later before someone else walked in, and Arthur felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. This time, he didn’t need to be prompted to look up, and when he did, the person he saw made him instantly start to his feet.
“Y-your highness!” he spluttered. The young man in front of him laughed.
“I think we can dispense with the formalities, Mr. Kirkland. I know who you are. Call me William.”
“A-Arthur,” Arthur replied, suddenly flustered. These days, he didn’t have much occasion to visit the royal family, and the last time he had seen Prince William, the young heir to the throne had been little more than a child. He sat down again, and William took a seat across from him, scooting the chair close to the desk and resting his arms on it.
“This really must stop, Arthur,” William told him frankly. For a moment, through the niggling discomfort in his stomach and the sleep-deprived fuzziness in his mind, Arthur felt a twinge of guilt.
“Stop? I-I don’t-”
The prince was looking at him, the phrase ‘do you think I’m stupid?’ written all over his face, and Arthur trailed off weakly, mumbling something about feeling ill. He felt pinned to the back of his chair. The monarchy had always had this kind of power over him and while he couldn’t say he liked it, it was familiar, and comforting for it.
“Go and see America,” the young man told him.
“America?” Arthur fidgeted and moved a few things on his desk. “Is there something that you need me to do there? I can get a flight to D.C. in the-”
“No, no... Arthur. Go and see America.”
‘Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.’
Alfred.
William meant for him to go and see Alfred. Arthur gulped. He felt a faint blush work its way across his face and he didn’t enjoy the sensation. He knew. Arthur knew how unbearable he could be on this day (in particular), but nobody thus far had dared to suggest that he place himself anywhere near the very nation which was the cause of his current temperament.
“Why would I-”
“It’s quite obvious,” said William, and Arthur wondered briefly if all the royals these days had this habit of butting in. “That what happened between yourself and Mr. Jones is not something which is going to ease with time. You have had enough time, Arthur. I want you to get on the first flight you can to wherever he is and speak to him about this. Clear the air. Anything that means you won’t be completely useless for one day out of every year.”
“Is... is this an order?” Arthur looked at him, and couldn’t imagine feeling any smaller in that moment. The young prince smiled in amusement, and got to his feet.
“It is.”
“... Very well.”
William left, and Arthur sat, bewildered, for several long minutes before he picked up the phone and dialled a number that he had committed to memory.
“’Ello?” The voice from the other end of the line twisted Arthur’s already protesting stomach into uncomfortable knots. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. “Arts, I know it’s you. I have caller ID.”
Bollocks.
“Um... yeah... Alfred, it’s me.”
“Yo, Arthur~ You didn’t send me a card! It’s my birthday!”
“I never send you a card...” Arthur mumbled, resting his forehead on his palm and closing his eyes.
“Well you should! It’s my birthday, Artie. I expect cards. And presents. I like chocolate, you know.”
“I know...”
Pause.
“So... um... Arts? What do you want? I know you’re not calling to wish me happy birthday or whatever.”
“I, uh, I wanted to ask you something.” Damnit, why was this so difficult? Arthur suddenly felt ridiculous, acting like some schoolgirl with a crush, barely able to speak without stammering. “I...”
“Aw, do you want to come to my birthday party?”
Stop.
Wait.
Arthur’s heart almost punched a hole in his chest. His throat felt tight. There had been something most definitely mocking in the younger man’s voice. He didn’t expect Arthur to say ‘yes’, he was just asking because he was a complete and utter idiot and never took Arthur’s feelings into account. The Englishman felt his face heat, clutching the telephone so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
“Yes,” he said eventually, listening with almost smug gratification to the stunned silence that his response gained.
“Eh? Really? You do?”
“Well, yeah, sure... I mean... If you-”
“Heck yeah! Get your butt over here! I can show you the decorations and you can help me with stuff, it’ll be fun!”
“Fun... yeah...”
“Of course it will be. I’ve always wanted you to come to one of my parties.”
“You-”
“Let me know when you land, I’ll come get you! See you soon, Arthur!”
Click.
Arthur stared at the phone in his hand. He swallowed. That had been far too easy. He left the building, in a daze as he hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him back home. It was only as he climbed back into the car with a bag that a detail of the conversation hit him, and one hand flew to his lips.
“He called me Arthur...”
***
He couldn’t explain his anxiety. It was only Alfred, after all... The great dopey idiot who had unknowingly captured his heart and held it for longer than Arthur wanted to remember. Arthur had been able to hop on a flight at the very last minute thanks to a no-show passenger and had spent the entire eight hour flight muttering to himself about how cramped economy class was, broken only by vain attempts to sleep and the dark glares he would cast to the brat behind him who kept kicking the back of his seat. By the time the plane landed he was beginning to seriously regret his decision, the knots in his stomach tying themselves in knots as he headed for the arrivals exit, immediately ambushed by a giddy American.
“Happy birthday to me~” Alfred sang, completely failing to notice the way that Arthur’s shoulders tensed and the faint blush that briefly rose to his cheeks.
“Agh, sodding Yank, get off me,” Arthur growled, though no amount of shrugging could remove the enthusiastic arm around him and he gave in, huffing quietly, allowing himself to be led out to Alfred’s car.
Alfred chattered away animatedly, about food, fireworks, how many presents he had waiting at home and how he hoped none of them were the same because he hated taking things back to the store and having to ask for receipts from the people who’d given him gifts, not because it was rude or anything but because it was a hassle and-
“Did you get me a present?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?” He really expected a gift from Arthur on one of the worst days in the Englishman’s life? What a tosser.
“I guess that makes you my present,” Alfred said then, and Arthur thanked whoever was watching over him that Alfred was keeping his eyes on the road, because there was no way to hide the dark blush that reached high enough to heat his ears.
“Don’t be such an idiot,” he muttered.
The American just laughed at him, which didn’t help, and a little while later they pulled into the driveway of Alfred’s Virginia house, the gravel crunching under the tyres. The sense of nausea in the pit of Arthur’s stomach had been growing steadily worse and now, being faced with this house, it was all he could do not to throw up in the hedges. Alfred was still babbling on – something about his flag, Arthur wasn’t really listening – but after a moment he paused, and gave the man a strange look.
“Arts? Arthur? Oi, are you feeling alright?” He waved one hand in front of his companion’s face, unused to the state of mind that Arthur found himself in on this particular day, and tilted his head to one side in confusion when Arthur cast him a rather blank look. “Uh... right. Okay! Come on, come inside.”
Arthur followed him mutely, and began to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would wake up from this. Maybe it was another one of those cruel nightmares that he would sometimes have and he would wake up with ‘July 4th’ on the calendar and would have to go through this day yet again. Alfred was whistling tunelessly as he opened the door and poked Arthur in the back to make him go inside, and instantly the sounds and smells of what was undeniably a party hit him like a brick wall.
“I shouldn’t be here.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Alfred had to grab his arm to keep him from backing out of the door.
“Eh? Of course you should! Come on, I want you to be here.” He sounded so earnest, so sincere, as if this had been something he’d been waiting for.
“What? Why? The entire thing wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Exactly!” Alfred put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a little shake, his nose wrinkling as he adjusted the position of Texas in a way that Arthur found oddly cute (though he quickly pushed that thought to one side in favour of scowling up at his former charge). “I wouldn’t have this awesome day to have a big party if it wasn’t for you.”
Was that really how he saw it? A day that Arthur usually spent completely miserable, unable to work, with intermittent nausea and a thumping headache had translated, to Alfred, into a day that he enjoyed? A day that he thought both of them should enjoy? Alfred was looking at him, his eyes wide and oh so very blue, and Arthur felt a twinge in his stomach that had nothing to do with how ill he felt. He jerked himself sharply out of the man’s grip and huffed, brow furrowing, and he was sure that he heard Alfred sigh.
“Can you at least pretend not to be a complete grouch while you’re here? And don’t get drunk. You always yell at me when you’re drunk. It’s my birthday, so you’re not allowed to yell at me.”
His tone, more than his words were what stung, and Arthur frowned. ‘Clear the air’, William had told him... how was he supposed to do that with Alfred being so insufferable? The prince had really picked a fine day to tell – no, order him to sort out his issues, and Arthur found himself resenting it. He didn’t want to be here. He would happily sit in the depths of Hell for the day if it meant that he didn’t have to be here, but orders were orders, and if he was good at nothing else he was good at following those.
“Fine, I won’t get drunk,” he said, though he made no promises about the ‘grouch’ comment, and allowed himself to be steered further into the house, into the front room, to find a number of people smaller than he had expected. Alfred’s boss was there, talking with somebody else who Arthur recognised, and several nations who all registered surprise at seeing him.
“Arthur!”
“Agh! Don’t do that!”
Matthew grinned sheepishly. A consequence of his strange ‘invisibility effect’ meant that he would always seem to pop up out of nowhere, but at least Arthur remembered his name.
“Look, Matt! Arthur came for my birthday!” Alfred gushed. The Canadian looked almost awkward for a moment, and patted the man on the shoulder. “Hey, isn’t it your birthday soon?”
“... My birthday was three days ago,” Matthew replied with the patient tone of one who was used to explaining the same thing over and over. Briefly, the American seemed confused, but he shrugged it off and grinned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I- You know, nevermind...” Matthew pushed his thumb and forefinger under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes for a moment. “You forget every year. Thanks for sending me a card though, Arthur.” He smiled, and Arthur managed a small smile in response. Alfred pouted.
“That’s mean, Arts. You send Matt a card and not me? Harsh, dude.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know why that is,” Arthur made a slight gesture as if to excuse Matthew from their presence and turned to Alfred, a flinty glint in his eyes, keeping his voice low enough as to not be overheard. “I don’t want to remember your birthday, you big lout, but it’s just unavoidable, isn’t it? You make it unavoidable. I don’t even want to be here, I was ordered here.”
“I-I just...” Alfred stammered. He looked upset, and suddenly, Arthur felt bad. His rising temper was effectively extinguished and he looked down, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. After a short, painful silence, Alfred cleared his throat. “You were ordered?”
“Mm.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him but he couldn’t look up. “Prince William is of the opinion that it’s about time you and I... sorted our differences.”
“Oh...”
When he thought about it logically, putting his hurt and anger aside, he knew that it made sense. Alfred seemed to have gotten over it, so why couldn’t he? In his heart he knew the answer to that question, but no matter how many times he tried to say it, the words would catch in his throat, then somebody would walk in or something would happen, and the moment would be lost.
“Do you... want to talk, then? We could, um, go in the kitchen. It’s quiet.”
The Englishman nodded mutely, and Alfred excused himself, leading the man through to the kitchen and leaning against the counter, looking at him expectantly. Arthur made several false starts and then fell silent, the so called ‘superior linguistic skills’ that he was supposed to possess failing him quite spectacularly.
“Um...” Alfred took his glasses off to rub his eye. “You could start by telling me what all this is about.”
“Right.” Pause. Compose yourself. “It’s about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Arthur took a deep breath. “... Every year, on this day... I... I can’t function. I just... I can’t. I feel ill, I can’t sleep...”
“And... this is because of me?” Alfred was quicker on the uptake than Arthur had thought he would be, but it didn’t make this any easier. “Ig- Arthur, dude, you need to move on. I mean... yeah... it was a hard time, for both of us, but you have to make something good out of it. I dunno, celebrate it as the day you finally got rid of me or something.”
“Why would I want to do that?” The volume of Arthur’s voice startled both himself and Alfred, who slipped his glasses back on and folded his arms loosely. “I... I never wanted to be rid of you.” The last few words came out as a mumble but Alfred heard it, and he blinked rapidly, several conflicting emotions passing over his face in a matter of seconds. Arthur’s face felt hot, and he flinched as the American stepped closer to him, staring in something like shock as his hand was clasped in both of Alfred’s, slightly roughened fingertips rubbing over his knuckles.
“I’ve waited a long time to hear you say that,” the younger man said, meeting Arthur’s eyes as they lifted to his. “But... it’s not been so bad, has it? If I hadn’t... done what I did, I wouldn’t be the person that I am. If I’d stayed with you... I might be just as invisible as Matt and the world doesn’t need two nations like that.”
Despite the clumsiness of Alfred’s attempt to comfort him, Arthur let out a laugh, even as he blinked back the haze threatening the corners of his vision. “Yeah... I suppose you’re right.”
“I spent so long... looking up to you, wanting to be like you... but, when it came right down to it... all I wanted was to be your equal, so I could... so I could be with you.”
Arthur didn’t breathe. Any moment, he expected to wake up. His dreams were being incredibly cruel to him tonight. He shut his eyes and pinched himself, and when he opened them again Alfred was still looking at him, now appearing faintly amused with one eyebrow slightly quirked.
“I... I guess it didn’t really work out how I planned, huh...”
“No... Stupid America...” Arthur rubbed his eyes and ducked his head, only to have his chin gently caught and pulled back up.
“I’ve never been very good with plans.”
One moment, Arthur was looking into the American’s blue eyes, and the next, soft lips were on his, and he was being kissed. He placed a hand on Alfred’s chest and felt his heart racing, and realised that Alfred had been just as terrified as he had.
“You’re my birthday present, right?” Alfred murmured against his lips.
“R-right...”
“When do I get to unwrap you?”
Arthur went scarlet. “I-isn’t it a bit soon for that?” he asked in a quavering voice. Alfred chuckled.
“I thought you knew how impulsive I was, Arthur.” He kissed Arthur’s nose, and the Englishman shut his eyes, loving how natural it felt. It was another beat before he realised that he didn’t feel ill anymore. “Will you come celebrate my birthday with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Later, after the firework display was over and the guests had gone home or to hotels, Arthur dropped down onto the sofa and made a quiet ‘phew’ sound, kicking off his shoes. It hadn’t been that bad, if he was entirely honest. Though the memory still stung, it was just that – a memory – and with a little time perhaps it could be, if not forgotten, forgiven. Alfred had been hovering around him all night, picking on him and teasing him like he always did, but then he’d held Arthur’s hand during the fireworks, his eyes unreadable behind the showers of light reflecting off his glasses. It had amused him to see that Alfred’s stomach was as bottomless as it had always been, and there was some bickering between he and Matthew over who would get the last slice of birthday cake, with Matthew protesting that he hadn’t had any and Alfred claiming that nobody would know if he had or not.
“Arthur~” Alfred sidled in and sat beside him, letting out a soft ‘oof’ and using the slight bounce as an excuse to lift his arm and wrap it around the Englishman, tugging him close.
“Happy birthday, Alfred.”
“Thank you.” The smaller blonde looked up, hesitating, then shifted closer, closing his eyes as the kiss was met eagerly, clasping one hand over the fingers that were pushed into his hair and pushing his shy awkwardness aside as he moved to straddle Alfred’s lap. Alfred gave a mischievous little chuckle and scooped him up, whisking him upstairs despite his sputtered protests and dumping him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Really romantic, Alfred.”
“I know, I’m fantastic.”
“And so modest.”
“Ha!” Alfred grinned and moved onto the bed. “Do I get to unwrap you now?” he asked, almost predatory in the way he pressed Arthur onto his back and crawled up over him, looking him up and down. Arthur would have blushed at that, but the blood-flow was being rather promptly diverted to somewhere else and all that he managed was a quiet squeak that Alfred took for an affirmative answer. He grasped the American’s wrists weakly, not enough to keep him from moving his hands as his shirt was unbuttoned and the cloth parted. A kiss was pressed to his solar plexus and he whimpered before he could stop himself. Alfred paused, resting his forehead against Arthur’s chest.
“Wow... Just... Wow, Arthur, I can’t even...”
Another kiss, purely to stop himself babbling, and he sat up to remove Texas and place it down carefully. Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, though he quickly fell back as he was kissed again and he wrapped one arm around the American’s shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling, jerking as the sensitive points on his chest and stomach were found and teased with soft bites and a wicked tongue.
“Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do this..?” he breathed. Alfred only smiled, and pressed a line of warm kisses down the middle of Arthur’s stomach, before tugging his pants down a little and kissing the faintly jutting bone of his hip. Arthur twitched, grabbing a handful of bed sheet and holding onto it like a lifeline, doing his best to calm his heart as Alfred unfastened the button and zipper, humming quietly, drawing the man’s pants down, hooking his socks on the way and pulling them off. Arthur couldn’t help it – he giggled, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Alfred stared at him, then grinned, then he laughed.
“This does feel kind of weird, doesn’t it?”
“You got that right,” Arthur replied, settling himself as comfortably as he could. Alfred made a thoughtful sound and ran one fingernail over the very obvious bulge in Arthur’s boxers, prompting another squeak.
“You know, I never saw you as a boxers kind of guy,” he said, pulling his own shirt off and moving close enough to allow Arthur to unfasten his belt. He nuzzled the American’s neck, finally working his belt free and starting on his pants, though he needed Alfred’s help to finally remove them. They were dropped, along with their shirts, and Arthur’s pants and socks, onto the floor, and Alfred parted Arthur’s legs with little effort, settling himself between them.
“Best birthday present ever,” he murmured then, rocking his hips down, and for a moment, Arthur’s world went white. A low moan broke from his throat and Alfred froze, staring at him, a look of awe on his face.
“W-what..?” Arthur mumbled, blushing.
“You’re just...”
“Ah...”
The tormenting kisses continued until even the loose fabric of his underwear felt constricting, but he couldn’t stop himself from tensing when Alfred’s fingers caught the top of his boxers and started to pull them down. Alfred kissed his stomach, and slowly, Arthur released his death-grip on the other man’s wrists, his ears burning as he was finally laid bare in front of him. Alfred swallowed as he let his eyes wander, and finally, with a shyness that Arthur hadn’t foreseen, wriggled out of his own underwear and met Arthur’s lips in a heated kiss.
It still felt like a dream, the warmth rushing through his body, the gentle, comforting weight of the other man above him, the very thought that he had gone all of this time without knowing, without thinking to ask, and all that time, Alfred had felt the same. Evidently, Alfred wasn’t the only one who was an idiot, and he smiled at the thought, the expression catching Alfred’s eye and mirrored with a grin as he left a mark on the smaller man’s neck.
“Oi!” Arthur poked at the bruise, and Alfred chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it... You own a scarf, right?” While Arthur spluttered and protested about having to hide the livid red mark, Alfred moved to reach over him and pulled a pot of something out of the top drawer of his bedside cabinet, concealing it in his hand as he shifted back and kissed Arthur again. A quiet ‘thunk’ as something hit the carpet was barely a distraction at all when compared to the sensation of one slicked finger running over his entrance. He squeaked and squirmed, and Alfred stopped, earning a whine for his trouble.
“This is okay, right?” the American asked, his eyes slightly too wide, hair a little wild, a blush high on his cheeks, his breath a little faster than normal. The two of them shared a long, intense look, then Arthur nodded, and Alfred slowly eased one finger inside.
It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this, and Arthur gritted his teeth.
“Hnn...” he shuddered, then opened his eyes as if to reassure Alfred that he was alright, the American taking courage from the slightly glazed look in the smaller man’s eyes. He drew that one finger back, Arthur’s hips rocking to follow it, and pressed another in beside it, hearing a low grunt and a hiss as Arthur held tightly to the bed sheets, his eyes screwed shut. His body was already shaking, every inch of skin pricking and over-sensitised, and then Alfred curled his fingers and the Englishman’s spine arched up, a half-strangled cry passing his lips.
“A-ah! Hnn... ahnn... nng...” He shook his head as if in denial but the steady rolling of his hips told another story, lips parted as he panted heavily.
“You get this bad, just from this...?” That awe crept back into Alfred’s voice as he pushed against that spot again, gently rubbing over it and watching Arthur’s body spasm and jerk with the addition of a third finger.
“Nn... o-of course I do, i-idiot... d-don’t you even- aah... sodding git...”
“Is this enough?”
“Yes!” Arthur couldn’t have sounded any more desperate and Alfred muttered a quiet ‘alright, alright’ as he drew his fingers away and grabbed his shirt from the floor to quickly wipe them clean so he could clasp Arthur’s hand, positioning himself and pushing inside. They groaned in unison, Alfred for the pressure and tight heat of Arthur’s body, and Arthur for the sheer feeling of finally.
He wrapped his arms tight around Alfred’s shoulders and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, rocking his hips up and taking him in as deeply as he possibly could. Alfred moved, the first thrust slow, the second faster, the third deeper as he fell into an easy rhythm. Arthur dug his nails into the American’s shoulders and pressed as close as he could get, their kisses turning clumsy, messy and hurried until they stopped altogether, broken for the sake of needing to breathe. He panted hard, occasionally pressing his lips to Alfred’s neck, a low whine turning into a broken, needy moan as he approached his peak. Alfred groaned, the rocking of his hips becoming steadily more erratic, one hand groping back to pull one of Arthur’s legs higher, pressing deeper, gritting his teeth and driving in hard as Arthur cried out and tightened around him.
Arthur’s hips jerked, a long, low whine the only sound he could make as Alfred spilled inside him, every muscle pulled tight and trembling for what felt like an eternity before something snapped and the Englishman collapsed limply back onto the bed.
“Ah... haa... mm...” He turned his head to one side, eyes half closed, and Alfred brushed his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his throat.
“Would you say...” he murmured, nuzzling the smaller man’s temple. “That we have worked out our differences..?”
“Mm...” Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, fixing on Alfred’s with some difficulty. “That was your fault... Impulsive wan-”
He was silenced with a kiss, which he accepted happily, stroking his fingers through Alfred’s hair. Letting out a quiet sigh, he didn’t finish his insult when they parted, taking several slow, deep breaths.
“Guess what,” Alfred murmured, nosing along his jaw and kissing his neck.
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, Artie.”
*
“Arthur? Is that you?”
Arthur was groggy when he answered his phone the next morning. The jet-lag had hit him hard and he propped himself up on one elbow, needing several seconds to recognise the voice of the young prince.
“William, good morning, yes, it’s me.”
“I hope the both of you managed to work out your differences.”
A warm arm slipped around Arthur’s waist, his bed-mate drowsily nuzzling his shoulder and mumbling at him to go back to sleep. Arthur turned over, wincing at the faint discomfort in his lower back, and pressed his lips to the other’s blonde head, hearing a quiet, happy sound as he did.
“You could say that,” he replied as his hand slid gently over warm skin.
“Marvellous!”
Alfred moved, pushing Arthur onto his back and leaning over him, that trademark mischievous grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss Arthur, and the older man placed one fingertip lightly against his lips. The American giggled, and Arthur shushed him before he replied.
“I have to agree with you.”
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Mm... both of us,” Arthur said with a quiet yawn.
“Both- Oh. Oh.” The prince laughed, a little awkwardly, and Arthur’s lips tilted in an idle smile as Alfred gave up trying to kiss him and instead fell to nibbling on the fingers holding the phone. “I will be sure to let it be known that you shan’t be home this week.”
“Ah, thank you, William... That’s very kind of you.”
“So, it won’t be happening again?”
“’It’? Oh... no, it won’t be happening again.”
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: US, UK, Canada.
Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Sex, angst (not necessarily in that order).
Summary: De-anon from the kink-meme. In the strip about America’s birthday, England mentions his symptoms every time the 4th of July comes around: can’t sleep, feels sick, can’t eat, can’t work, has nightmares, can’t concentrate, etc. Everybody else has to deal with this, and when, finally, Arthur is ordered to go straight to America to sort out their differences, things go a little (a lot) better than he ever could have planned.
- with added content~!
Oh God I suck at summaries OTL
***
‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’
The day had not begun well.
Arthur had fallen out of bed with a yelp at five AM, and had lay there, his face pressed against the thick weave of the carpet until the sensation of blood and grime and pounding rain had faded from his skin. Then, and only then had he heaved himself up from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, fighting the inevitable waves of nausea. He didn’t even have to look at the calendar to know the date.
“Buggering hell...” he grumbled, walking through the dimly lit house to the kitchen and turning on the light, turning it off again just as quickly. “Fuck.”
His head was pounding. It had taken hours for him to doze off only to be rudely woken by a nightmare of that day. The pale dawn light made the room feel colder than it was, and Arthur got half-way through making a cup of tea before he realised that he didn’t really want it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Food was a definite no-go. From past experience he knew he’d only end up regretting anything he ate, but this was ridiculous... America was even affecting his ability to drink tea now.
The kettle had begun whistling before he realised that he’d been standing, spaced out, at the counter for well over five minutes. Arthur shook himself and scuffed one hand roughly through his hair.
“Pull yourself together,” he growled to no-one in particular, turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to get ready for work.
Things did not get better. After being stuck in traffic from Notting Hill to Westminster, Arthur was late and already tearing his hair out. If anybody had had a mind to stop him as he marched towards his office like a man possessed, they quickly did an about-turn and scurried away as quickly as they could. The Englishman kicked the door of his office closed with such ferocity that a picture frame fell from the wall, and it took several attempts to put it back up before Arthur simply threw the offending decoration across the room and heard the glass smash.
“Mr. Kirkland, sir..?” His secretary, Penny, was peeking timidly around the door as he dropped into his chair and let out a curse in a dialect that no one had spoken for well over a thousand years.
“What is it?” he snapped, watching her with narrowed eyes as she entered, crept over to his desk, placed a file on it and then fled. Muttering to himself he drew it towards him, flicked it open, turned on his computer and stared blankly at the white screen. His thoughts drifted.
‘That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.’
“Agh, get out of my head!” Arthur pushed both hands into his hair and leaned forwards, his forehead bumping against the desk. People came and went, and he ignored all of them, until one had the audacity to tap the top of his head with one finger. He looked up, glaring, not even caring when he came face-to-face with the Prime Minister.
“Go away,” he muttered, dropping his head back to the polished wood.
Arthur’s boss was used to this. It was one of those things, the ‘warning’ that was passed unfailingly down from PM to PM, that on July the fourth of every year, Arthur Kirkland would become absolutely impossible to work with. There had been a time when they would suggest he stay home, and one had even tried to put him under house arrest to prevent him doing any harm to the mental stability of anybody that he came into contact with, but it never worked. Arthur would always come in, shut himself away in his office and act like a bear with a sore head towards anyone who dared try to speak to him. It was something that they had all learned to cope with, but it was beginning to become somewhat absurd.
The Prime Minister, however, did go away. It was well over an hour later before someone else walked in, and Arthur felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. This time, he didn’t need to be prompted to look up, and when he did, the person he saw made him instantly start to his feet.
“Y-your highness!” he spluttered. The young man in front of him laughed.
“I think we can dispense with the formalities, Mr. Kirkland. I know who you are. Call me William.”
“A-Arthur,” Arthur replied, suddenly flustered. These days, he didn’t have much occasion to visit the royal family, and the last time he had seen Prince William, the young heir to the throne had been little more than a child. He sat down again, and William took a seat across from him, scooting the chair close to the desk and resting his arms on it.
“This really must stop, Arthur,” William told him frankly. For a moment, through the niggling discomfort in his stomach and the sleep-deprived fuzziness in his mind, Arthur felt a twinge of guilt.
“Stop? I-I don’t-”
The prince was looking at him, the phrase ‘do you think I’m stupid?’ written all over his face, and Arthur trailed off weakly, mumbling something about feeling ill. He felt pinned to the back of his chair. The monarchy had always had this kind of power over him and while he couldn’t say he liked it, it was familiar, and comforting for it.
“Go and see America,” the young man told him.
“America?” Arthur fidgeted and moved a few things on his desk. “Is there something that you need me to do there? I can get a flight to D.C. in the-”
“No, no... Arthur. Go and see America.”
‘Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.’
Alfred.
William meant for him to go and see Alfred. Arthur gulped. He felt a faint blush work its way across his face and he didn’t enjoy the sensation. He knew. Arthur knew how unbearable he could be on this day (in particular), but nobody thus far had dared to suggest that he place himself anywhere near the very nation which was the cause of his current temperament.
“Why would I-”
“It’s quite obvious,” said William, and Arthur wondered briefly if all the royals these days had this habit of butting in. “That what happened between yourself and Mr. Jones is not something which is going to ease with time. You have had enough time, Arthur. I want you to get on the first flight you can to wherever he is and speak to him about this. Clear the air. Anything that means you won’t be completely useless for one day out of every year.”
“Is... is this an order?” Arthur looked at him, and couldn’t imagine feeling any smaller in that moment. The young prince smiled in amusement, and got to his feet.
“It is.”
“... Very well.”
William left, and Arthur sat, bewildered, for several long minutes before he picked up the phone and dialled a number that he had committed to memory.
“’Ello?” The voice from the other end of the line twisted Arthur’s already protesting stomach into uncomfortable knots. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. “Arts, I know it’s you. I have caller ID.”
Bollocks.
“Um... yeah... Alfred, it’s me.”
“Yo, Arthur~ You didn’t send me a card! It’s my birthday!”
“I never send you a card...” Arthur mumbled, resting his forehead on his palm and closing his eyes.
“Well you should! It’s my birthday, Artie. I expect cards. And presents. I like chocolate, you know.”
“I know...”
Pause.
“So... um... Arts? What do you want? I know you’re not calling to wish me happy birthday or whatever.”
“I, uh, I wanted to ask you something.” Damnit, why was this so difficult? Arthur suddenly felt ridiculous, acting like some schoolgirl with a crush, barely able to speak without stammering. “I...”
“Aw, do you want to come to my birthday party?”
Stop.
Wait.
Arthur’s heart almost punched a hole in his chest. His throat felt tight. There had been something most definitely mocking in the younger man’s voice. He didn’t expect Arthur to say ‘yes’, he was just asking because he was a complete and utter idiot and never took Arthur’s feelings into account. The Englishman felt his face heat, clutching the telephone so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
“Yes,” he said eventually, listening with almost smug gratification to the stunned silence that his response gained.
“Eh? Really? You do?”
“Well, yeah, sure... I mean... If you-”
“Heck yeah! Get your butt over here! I can show you the decorations and you can help me with stuff, it’ll be fun!”
“Fun... yeah...”
“Of course it will be. I’ve always wanted you to come to one of my parties.”
“You-”
“Let me know when you land, I’ll come get you! See you soon, Arthur!”
Click.
Arthur stared at the phone in his hand. He swallowed. That had been far too easy. He left the building, in a daze as he hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him back home. It was only as he climbed back into the car with a bag that a detail of the conversation hit him, and one hand flew to his lips.
“He called me Arthur...”
***
He couldn’t explain his anxiety. It was only Alfred, after all... The great dopey idiot who had unknowingly captured his heart and held it for longer than Arthur wanted to remember. Arthur had been able to hop on a flight at the very last minute thanks to a no-show passenger and had spent the entire eight hour flight muttering to himself about how cramped economy class was, broken only by vain attempts to sleep and the dark glares he would cast to the brat behind him who kept kicking the back of his seat. By the time the plane landed he was beginning to seriously regret his decision, the knots in his stomach tying themselves in knots as he headed for the arrivals exit, immediately ambushed by a giddy American.
“Happy birthday to me~” Alfred sang, completely failing to notice the way that Arthur’s shoulders tensed and the faint blush that briefly rose to his cheeks.
“Agh, sodding Yank, get off me,” Arthur growled, though no amount of shrugging could remove the enthusiastic arm around him and he gave in, huffing quietly, allowing himself to be led out to Alfred’s car.
Alfred chattered away animatedly, about food, fireworks, how many presents he had waiting at home and how he hoped none of them were the same because he hated taking things back to the store and having to ask for receipts from the people who’d given him gifts, not because it was rude or anything but because it was a hassle and-
“Did you get me a present?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?” He really expected a gift from Arthur on one of the worst days in the Englishman’s life? What a tosser.
“I guess that makes you my present,” Alfred said then, and Arthur thanked whoever was watching over him that Alfred was keeping his eyes on the road, because there was no way to hide the dark blush that reached high enough to heat his ears.
“Don’t be such an idiot,” he muttered.
The American just laughed at him, which didn’t help, and a little while later they pulled into the driveway of Alfred’s Virginia house, the gravel crunching under the tyres. The sense of nausea in the pit of Arthur’s stomach had been growing steadily worse and now, being faced with this house, it was all he could do not to throw up in the hedges. Alfred was still babbling on – something about his flag, Arthur wasn’t really listening – but after a moment he paused, and gave the man a strange look.
“Arts? Arthur? Oi, are you feeling alright?” He waved one hand in front of his companion’s face, unused to the state of mind that Arthur found himself in on this particular day, and tilted his head to one side in confusion when Arthur cast him a rather blank look. “Uh... right. Okay! Come on, come inside.”
Arthur followed him mutely, and began to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would wake up from this. Maybe it was another one of those cruel nightmares that he would sometimes have and he would wake up with ‘July 4th’ on the calendar and would have to go through this day yet again. Alfred was whistling tunelessly as he opened the door and poked Arthur in the back to make him go inside, and instantly the sounds and smells of what was undeniably a party hit him like a brick wall.
“I shouldn’t be here.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Alfred had to grab his arm to keep him from backing out of the door.
“Eh? Of course you should! Come on, I want you to be here.” He sounded so earnest, so sincere, as if this had been something he’d been waiting for.
“What? Why? The entire thing wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Exactly!” Alfred put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a little shake, his nose wrinkling as he adjusted the position of Texas in a way that Arthur found oddly cute (though he quickly pushed that thought to one side in favour of scowling up at his former charge). “I wouldn’t have this awesome day to have a big party if it wasn’t for you.”
Was that really how he saw it? A day that Arthur usually spent completely miserable, unable to work, with intermittent nausea and a thumping headache had translated, to Alfred, into a day that he enjoyed? A day that he thought both of them should enjoy? Alfred was looking at him, his eyes wide and oh so very blue, and Arthur felt a twinge in his stomach that had nothing to do with how ill he felt. He jerked himself sharply out of the man’s grip and huffed, brow furrowing, and he was sure that he heard Alfred sigh.
“Can you at least pretend not to be a complete grouch while you’re here? And don’t get drunk. You always yell at me when you’re drunk. It’s my birthday, so you’re not allowed to yell at me.”
His tone, more than his words were what stung, and Arthur frowned. ‘Clear the air’, William had told him... how was he supposed to do that with Alfred being so insufferable? The prince had really picked a fine day to tell – no, order him to sort out his issues, and Arthur found himself resenting it. He didn’t want to be here. He would happily sit in the depths of Hell for the day if it meant that he didn’t have to be here, but orders were orders, and if he was good at nothing else he was good at following those.
“Fine, I won’t get drunk,” he said, though he made no promises about the ‘grouch’ comment, and allowed himself to be steered further into the house, into the front room, to find a number of people smaller than he had expected. Alfred’s boss was there, talking with somebody else who Arthur recognised, and several nations who all registered surprise at seeing him.
“Arthur!”
“Agh! Don’t do that!”
Matthew grinned sheepishly. A consequence of his strange ‘invisibility effect’ meant that he would always seem to pop up out of nowhere, but at least Arthur remembered his name.
“Look, Matt! Arthur came for my birthday!” Alfred gushed. The Canadian looked almost awkward for a moment, and patted the man on the shoulder. “Hey, isn’t it your birthday soon?”
“... My birthday was three days ago,” Matthew replied with the patient tone of one who was used to explaining the same thing over and over. Briefly, the American seemed confused, but he shrugged it off and grinned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I- You know, nevermind...” Matthew pushed his thumb and forefinger under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes for a moment. “You forget every year. Thanks for sending me a card though, Arthur.” He smiled, and Arthur managed a small smile in response. Alfred pouted.
“That’s mean, Arts. You send Matt a card and not me? Harsh, dude.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know why that is,” Arthur made a slight gesture as if to excuse Matthew from their presence and turned to Alfred, a flinty glint in his eyes, keeping his voice low enough as to not be overheard. “I don’t want to remember your birthday, you big lout, but it’s just unavoidable, isn’t it? You make it unavoidable. I don’t even want to be here, I was ordered here.”
“I-I just...” Alfred stammered. He looked upset, and suddenly, Arthur felt bad. His rising temper was effectively extinguished and he looked down, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. After a short, painful silence, Alfred cleared his throat. “You were ordered?”
“Mm.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him but he couldn’t look up. “Prince William is of the opinion that it’s about time you and I... sorted our differences.”
“Oh...”
When he thought about it logically, putting his hurt and anger aside, he knew that it made sense. Alfred seemed to have gotten over it, so why couldn’t he? In his heart he knew the answer to that question, but no matter how many times he tried to say it, the words would catch in his throat, then somebody would walk in or something would happen, and the moment would be lost.
“Do you... want to talk, then? We could, um, go in the kitchen. It’s quiet.”
The Englishman nodded mutely, and Alfred excused himself, leading the man through to the kitchen and leaning against the counter, looking at him expectantly. Arthur made several false starts and then fell silent, the so called ‘superior linguistic skills’ that he was supposed to possess failing him quite spectacularly.
“Um...” Alfred took his glasses off to rub his eye. “You could start by telling me what all this is about.”
“Right.” Pause. Compose yourself. “It’s about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Arthur took a deep breath. “... Every year, on this day... I... I can’t function. I just... I can’t. I feel ill, I can’t sleep...”
“And... this is because of me?” Alfred was quicker on the uptake than Arthur had thought he would be, but it didn’t make this any easier. “Ig- Arthur, dude, you need to move on. I mean... yeah... it was a hard time, for both of us, but you have to make something good out of it. I dunno, celebrate it as the day you finally got rid of me or something.”
“Why would I want to do that?” The volume of Arthur’s voice startled both himself and Alfred, who slipped his glasses back on and folded his arms loosely. “I... I never wanted to be rid of you.” The last few words came out as a mumble but Alfred heard it, and he blinked rapidly, several conflicting emotions passing over his face in a matter of seconds. Arthur’s face felt hot, and he flinched as the American stepped closer to him, staring in something like shock as his hand was clasped in both of Alfred’s, slightly roughened fingertips rubbing over his knuckles.
“I’ve waited a long time to hear you say that,” the younger man said, meeting Arthur’s eyes as they lifted to his. “But... it’s not been so bad, has it? If I hadn’t... done what I did, I wouldn’t be the person that I am. If I’d stayed with you... I might be just as invisible as Matt and the world doesn’t need two nations like that.”
Despite the clumsiness of Alfred’s attempt to comfort him, Arthur let out a laugh, even as he blinked back the haze threatening the corners of his vision. “Yeah... I suppose you’re right.”
“I spent so long... looking up to you, wanting to be like you... but, when it came right down to it... all I wanted was to be your equal, so I could... so I could be with you.”
Arthur didn’t breathe. Any moment, he expected to wake up. His dreams were being incredibly cruel to him tonight. He shut his eyes and pinched himself, and when he opened them again Alfred was still looking at him, now appearing faintly amused with one eyebrow slightly quirked.
“I... I guess it didn’t really work out how I planned, huh...”
“No... Stupid America...” Arthur rubbed his eyes and ducked his head, only to have his chin gently caught and pulled back up.
“I’ve never been very good with plans.”
One moment, Arthur was looking into the American’s blue eyes, and the next, soft lips were on his, and he was being kissed. He placed a hand on Alfred’s chest and felt his heart racing, and realised that Alfred had been just as terrified as he had.
“You’re my birthday present, right?” Alfred murmured against his lips.
“R-right...”
“When do I get to unwrap you?”
Arthur went scarlet. “I-isn’t it a bit soon for that?” he asked in a quavering voice. Alfred chuckled.
“I thought you knew how impulsive I was, Arthur.” He kissed Arthur’s nose, and the Englishman shut his eyes, loving how natural it felt. It was another beat before he realised that he didn’t feel ill anymore. “Will you come celebrate my birthday with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Later, after the firework display was over and the guests had gone home or to hotels, Arthur dropped down onto the sofa and made a quiet ‘phew’ sound, kicking off his shoes. It hadn’t been that bad, if he was entirely honest. Though the memory still stung, it was just that – a memory – and with a little time perhaps it could be, if not forgotten, forgiven. Alfred had been hovering around him all night, picking on him and teasing him like he always did, but then he’d held Arthur’s hand during the fireworks, his eyes unreadable behind the showers of light reflecting off his glasses. It had amused him to see that Alfred’s stomach was as bottomless as it had always been, and there was some bickering between he and Matthew over who would get the last slice of birthday cake, with Matthew protesting that he hadn’t had any and Alfred claiming that nobody would know if he had or not.
“Arthur~” Alfred sidled in and sat beside him, letting out a soft ‘oof’ and using the slight bounce as an excuse to lift his arm and wrap it around the Englishman, tugging him close.
“Happy birthday, Alfred.”
“Thank you.” The smaller blonde looked up, hesitating, then shifted closer, closing his eyes as the kiss was met eagerly, clasping one hand over the fingers that were pushed into his hair and pushing his shy awkwardness aside as he moved to straddle Alfred’s lap. Alfred gave a mischievous little chuckle and scooped him up, whisking him upstairs despite his sputtered protests and dumping him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Really romantic, Alfred.”
“I know, I’m fantastic.”
“And so modest.”
“Ha!” Alfred grinned and moved onto the bed. “Do I get to unwrap you now?” he asked, almost predatory in the way he pressed Arthur onto his back and crawled up over him, looking him up and down. Arthur would have blushed at that, but the blood-flow was being rather promptly diverted to somewhere else and all that he managed was a quiet squeak that Alfred took for an affirmative answer. He grasped the American’s wrists weakly, not enough to keep him from moving his hands as his shirt was unbuttoned and the cloth parted. A kiss was pressed to his solar plexus and he whimpered before he could stop himself. Alfred paused, resting his forehead against Arthur’s chest.
“Wow... Just... Wow, Arthur, I can’t even...”
Another kiss, purely to stop himself babbling, and he sat up to remove Texas and place it down carefully. Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, though he quickly fell back as he was kissed again and he wrapped one arm around the American’s shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling, jerking as the sensitive points on his chest and stomach were found and teased with soft bites and a wicked tongue.
“Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do this..?” he breathed. Alfred only smiled, and pressed a line of warm kisses down the middle of Arthur’s stomach, before tugging his pants down a little and kissing the faintly jutting bone of his hip. Arthur twitched, grabbing a handful of bed sheet and holding onto it like a lifeline, doing his best to calm his heart as Alfred unfastened the button and zipper, humming quietly, drawing the man’s pants down, hooking his socks on the way and pulling them off. Arthur couldn’t help it – he giggled, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Alfred stared at him, then grinned, then he laughed.
“This does feel kind of weird, doesn’t it?”
“You got that right,” Arthur replied, settling himself as comfortably as he could. Alfred made a thoughtful sound and ran one fingernail over the very obvious bulge in Arthur’s boxers, prompting another squeak.
“You know, I never saw you as a boxers kind of guy,” he said, pulling his own shirt off and moving close enough to allow Arthur to unfasten his belt. He nuzzled the American’s neck, finally working his belt free and starting on his pants, though he needed Alfred’s help to finally remove them. They were dropped, along with their shirts, and Arthur’s pants and socks, onto the floor, and Alfred parted Arthur’s legs with little effort, settling himself between them.
“Best birthday present ever,” he murmured then, rocking his hips down, and for a moment, Arthur’s world went white. A low moan broke from his throat and Alfred froze, staring at him, a look of awe on his face.
“W-what..?” Arthur mumbled, blushing.
“You’re just...”
“Ah...”
The tormenting kisses continued until even the loose fabric of his underwear felt constricting, but he couldn’t stop himself from tensing when Alfred’s fingers caught the top of his boxers and started to pull them down. Alfred kissed his stomach, and slowly, Arthur released his death-grip on the other man’s wrists, his ears burning as he was finally laid bare in front of him. Alfred swallowed as he let his eyes wander, and finally, with a shyness that Arthur hadn’t foreseen, wriggled out of his own underwear and met Arthur’s lips in a heated kiss.
It still felt like a dream, the warmth rushing through his body, the gentle, comforting weight of the other man above him, the very thought that he had gone all of this time without knowing, without thinking to ask, and all that time, Alfred had felt the same. Evidently, Alfred wasn’t the only one who was an idiot, and he smiled at the thought, the expression catching Alfred’s eye and mirrored with a grin as he left a mark on the smaller man’s neck.
“Oi!” Arthur poked at the bruise, and Alfred chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it... You own a scarf, right?” While Arthur spluttered and protested about having to hide the livid red mark, Alfred moved to reach over him and pulled a pot of something out of the top drawer of his bedside cabinet, concealing it in his hand as he shifted back and kissed Arthur again. A quiet ‘thunk’ as something hit the carpet was barely a distraction at all when compared to the sensation of one slicked finger running over his entrance. He squeaked and squirmed, and Alfred stopped, earning a whine for his trouble.
“This is okay, right?” the American asked, his eyes slightly too wide, hair a little wild, a blush high on his cheeks, his breath a little faster than normal. The two of them shared a long, intense look, then Arthur nodded, and Alfred slowly eased one finger inside.
It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this, and Arthur gritted his teeth.
“Hnn...” he shuddered, then opened his eyes as if to reassure Alfred that he was alright, the American taking courage from the slightly glazed look in the smaller man’s eyes. He drew that one finger back, Arthur’s hips rocking to follow it, and pressed another in beside it, hearing a low grunt and a hiss as Arthur held tightly to the bed sheets, his eyes screwed shut. His body was already shaking, every inch of skin pricking and over-sensitised, and then Alfred curled his fingers and the Englishman’s spine arched up, a half-strangled cry passing his lips.
“A-ah! Hnn... ahnn... nng...” He shook his head as if in denial but the steady rolling of his hips told another story, lips parted as he panted heavily.
“You get this bad, just from this...?” That awe crept back into Alfred’s voice as he pushed against that spot again, gently rubbing over it and watching Arthur’s body spasm and jerk with the addition of a third finger.
“Nn... o-of course I do, i-idiot... d-don’t you even- aah... sodding git...”
“Is this enough?”
“Yes!” Arthur couldn’t have sounded any more desperate and Alfred muttered a quiet ‘alright, alright’ as he drew his fingers away and grabbed his shirt from the floor to quickly wipe them clean so he could clasp Arthur’s hand, positioning himself and pushing inside. They groaned in unison, Alfred for the pressure and tight heat of Arthur’s body, and Arthur for the sheer feeling of finally.
He wrapped his arms tight around Alfred’s shoulders and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, rocking his hips up and taking him in as deeply as he possibly could. Alfred moved, the first thrust slow, the second faster, the third deeper as he fell into an easy rhythm. Arthur dug his nails into the American’s shoulders and pressed as close as he could get, their kisses turning clumsy, messy and hurried until they stopped altogether, broken for the sake of needing to breathe. He panted hard, occasionally pressing his lips to Alfred’s neck, a low whine turning into a broken, needy moan as he approached his peak. Alfred groaned, the rocking of his hips becoming steadily more erratic, one hand groping back to pull one of Arthur’s legs higher, pressing deeper, gritting his teeth and driving in hard as Arthur cried out and tightened around him.
Arthur’s hips jerked, a long, low whine the only sound he could make as Alfred spilled inside him, every muscle pulled tight and trembling for what felt like an eternity before something snapped and the Englishman collapsed limply back onto the bed.
“Ah... haa... mm...” He turned his head to one side, eyes half closed, and Alfred brushed his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his throat.
“Would you say...” he murmured, nuzzling the smaller man’s temple. “That we have worked out our differences..?”
“Mm...” Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, fixing on Alfred’s with some difficulty. “That was your fault... Impulsive wan-”
He was silenced with a kiss, which he accepted happily, stroking his fingers through Alfred’s hair. Letting out a quiet sigh, he didn’t finish his insult when they parted, taking several slow, deep breaths.
“Guess what,” Alfred murmured, nosing along his jaw and kissing his neck.
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, Artie.”
*
“Arthur? Is that you?”
Arthur was groggy when he answered his phone the next morning. The jet-lag had hit him hard and he propped himself up on one elbow, needing several seconds to recognise the voice of the young prince.
“William, good morning, yes, it’s me.”
“I hope the both of you managed to work out your differences.”
A warm arm slipped around Arthur’s waist, his bed-mate drowsily nuzzling his shoulder and mumbling at him to go back to sleep. Arthur turned over, wincing at the faint discomfort in his lower back, and pressed his lips to the other’s blonde head, hearing a quiet, happy sound as he did.
“You could say that,” he replied as his hand slid gently over warm skin.
“Marvellous!”
Alfred moved, pushing Arthur onto his back and leaning over him, that trademark mischievous grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss Arthur, and the older man placed one fingertip lightly against his lips. The American giggled, and Arthur shushed him before he replied.
“I have to agree with you.”
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Mm... both of us,” Arthur said with a quiet yawn.
“Both- Oh. Oh.” The prince laughed, a little awkwardly, and Arthur’s lips tilted in an idle smile as Alfred gave up trying to kiss him and instead fell to nibbling on the fingers holding the phone. “I will be sure to let it be known that you shan’t be home this week.”
“Ah, thank you, William... That’s very kind of you.”
“So, it won’t be happening again?”
“’It’? Oh... no, it won’t be happening again.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 12:08 am (UTC)Though, everything you write is awesome. I don't think I've ever commented on a story and told you that. Yes, well, it is pretty damn awesome.
*goes back to be a silent fan*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 12:19 am (UTC)Thanks ^^ <33
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 12:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 12:33 am (UTC)Welcome! X3 Thanks for reading~
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Date: 2010-03-08 12:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 12:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 01:01 am (UTC)You write such an adorable Matthew, you know <3 And I liked Alfred's idea of Arthur being his 'gift' 8D Of course, the 'unwrapping' was great 8Db
...poor William xDDDD
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Date: 2010-03-08 01:04 am (UTC)8Dd
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Date: 2010-03-08 03:13 am (UTC)oh gosh, SMUT *A* -brain malfunctions- -brain ceases to function normally-
wha......what was I going to say? oh yeah, I remember naoz...PRINCE WILLIAM >8D I wantz moar Prince William from you. HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! >8D
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Date: 2010-03-08 03:14 am (UTC)Calm down, dear, it's only fanfiction. -pat-
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Date: 2010-03-08 03:15 am (UTC)8D
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Date: 2010-03-08 05:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 11:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 06:28 am (UTC)Arthur and Alfred were fantastic in this, and I loved the whole progression from start to finish. And their sex is so lovely and awkward and caring.
I love it, just like everything you write!
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Date: 2010-03-08 06:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 07:36 am (UTC)Prince William=<3. Seriously.
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Date: 2010-03-08 05:31 pm (UTC)Haha. I hope I did him justice. He always seems so nice on TV =)
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Date: 2010-03-08 07:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 05:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-09 07:28 pm (UTC)And to see Prince William interact with England was amazing! I loved it!
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Date: 2010-03-09 07:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-12 05:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-12 05:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-25 10:19 am (UTC)aaaaand i love it! gosh i love all of your fics!!/////
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Date: 2010-04-25 05:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-16 06:08 pm (UTC)Great job
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Date: 2010-09-16 06:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-15 12:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-15 12:48 am (UTC)