[USxUK] Nine Tenths of the Law
Feb. 2nd, 2012 07:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: Nine Tenths of the Law
Author:![[info]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/63dba15db604/1092261-171282/l-files.livejournal.net/userhead/98?v=1320914709)
blood_winged
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edwards_maid
Rating/Warnings: M
Characters: Arthur, Alfred.
Summary: America is really possessive and it turns England on. America becomes aware of this and decides to implement it in bed. Possessive sex ensues. (Human names used)
Notes: I cannot even begin to apologise for how LATE this is. Latest. Pinch hit. Ever. I have had the most hectic month. I am sorry. Very sorry. I hope that you like this enough that it makes up for the wait. If you don't... I might cry. Well, not really. Maybe a little.
*****
“Alfred, what the bloody hell did you think you were doing, acting like that?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled at Francis.
“I have never been so embarrassed in my life, and that’s saying something.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have told him to keep his eyes off Arthur.
“Can you not keep a hold on your raging testosterone for one sodding minute?!”
Maybe… maybe he shouldn’t have punched him.
Alfred looked up, a nauseated, twisting feeling in his stomach as he met his lover’s furious gaze. Ever since they had made their relationship official he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt protective, possessive even, and he didn’t want anyone else touching the man he shared a bed with. When Francis had begun his usual routine of teasing flirtations he simply hadn’t been able to stop himself, and before he knew it, his fist had connected with the French nation’s nose and everyone was shouting at him, but all he could see was red and Francis while he snarled at him to keep his hands off what didn’t belong to him. Arthur hadn’t said anything. He’d stood there, shaking, red-faced, then he’d walked out.
He was shaking now, even while he was scolding the younger man. His fists were clenched by his sides, a blush high on his cheeks as he recalled what had happened, and there was something… something else. Alfred’s eyes flickered, then went wide.
The American nation took a gamble.
“You liked it,” he challenged. Arthur twitched, and made a strange noise, like his next word had been caught in his throat. His lips parted then his mouth snapped closed and he frowned, then scowled.
“Liked it? You think I liked being humiliated in front of half the nations of the world by a man who can’t keep his temper in check?”
“I think you liked it,” Alfred repeated, getting to his feet and using his height as an advantage to stare the shorter man down. Tilting his chin up, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together, but he didn’t interrupt, and Alfred kept talking. “I think you liked watching me punch Francis, and not because you don’t like him. I think you liked it because I was doing it for you.” He didn’t really know what he was saying anymore, running his mouth off almost in a panic as he tried to analyse the situation. It didn’t show on his face, and he took a step forwards, something in his chest jumping with excitement as Arthur mirrored him and stepped back. “I think you liked it because I said you were mine, because even though you like to pretend you don’t need anyone to defend you, you like it.”
Arthur’s back was against the wall now, and he still had that stubborn, defiant scowl on his face, arms folded defensively across his chest as he met Alfred’s eyes unflinchingly. “I think you liked it because you used to rule half the world and the idea of being possessed by someone you used to own turns you on.” He placed his hand next to Arthur’s head and leaned over him, and the scowl on the English nation’s face flickered for a moment. Alfred’s voice dropped low and quiet as he spoke again. “I’m not gonna let Francis or anyone else lay a hand on you, because you’re mine, England.”
At first, for a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. Could he really make such a claim of ownership on the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and have it accepted? Arthur looked like he didn’t know how to feel, something between anger and confusion in his gaze as he glared up at Alfred. Then, he grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him forwards, crushing a hard, bruising kiss to his mouth. Alfred squeaked, a surprised sound caught in the back of his throat before he gripped the English nation’s upper arms and shoved him back, hearing the strained grunt of discomfort that escaped the other man as his shoulders hit the wall again. Alfred fought to gain control of the kiss, and Arthur gave in, though his grip on the man’s shirt didn’t loosen as one of the American nation’s hands clumsily groped down to pull one of the shorter blonde’s thighs up to his hip. He could press closer that way, pinning Arthur between himself and the wall, revelling in how small it made him seem… How delicate.
Arthur hated it when he spoke those kinds of thoughts out loud, but he would do it just to see the way that the man’s face would flush, the bright spark in his eyes when he was irritated. It was enchanting. Everything about this man was intoxicating, and he was all Alfred’s.
Fingernail scratching across his lower back made Alfred shudder and he shifted back just enough to see Arthur’s face, the red flush on his cheeks and dark look in his eyes sending a throb of excitement through him as he flashed a cocky grin and gave his lover’s thigh a squeeze. He didn’t need to be told, he already knew that ‘fuck me’ were the two most beautiful words in the English language and they were written clear across Arthurs face for even the most dim-witted person to see.
Still, he wasn’t ready to give up his position just yet. One finger curled into the collar of Arthur’s shirt and jerked, sending two buttons flying to a snarled-out protest stopped with another hard kiss to only partly resistant lips before he dropped his head to latch on to the faintly corded muscle of the English nation’s neck, biting and drawing up a purple mark on the pale skin. Arthur arched against him, fingernails digging into his skin and the fabric of his shirt as a gasp of shock and pleasure forced its way past his lips.
“What the bloody-?!”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Alfred growled, and he heard something muttered, something about taking the money for a new shirt out of his wallet later before Arthur fell silent, slim fingers gripping at his shoulders.
Alfred had never wanted to possess someone like this. There had been times he’d wanted what other nations had, but to want a person this badly… no, he’d never felt anything like that until he’d become serious with Arthur. He wanted to put a mark on him so everyone would know this man was his, he didn’t want anyone touching him, even thinking about him inappropriately, and if Arthur didn’t like it… tough.
He was quiet now, and the younger man could hear the way he was forcing his breathing to stay level while the twitches and tremors running through his body betrayed him. There was no more time wasted as Alfred lifted Arthur up off the floor like he weighed nothing, carrying him to the bedroom and pushing him up against the door as the English nation’s fingers scrambled for the handle. They almost fell into the room, stumbling to the bed and Alfred was quick to make sure he was the one in charge, pressing Arthur against the soft pillows and kissing him heatedly. He could feel the resistance, the way that Arthur pushed up against him, wanting to struggle or regain some kind of control, but he wasn’t going to allow it, not this time.
“Just let me look after you, babe,” he said, nipping at the other man’s lower lip even as he scowled and drew those thick brows that Alfred so loved together in a frown. Alfred kissed the faint line that furrowed between them and the frown flickered, then smoothed out, and the American nation gave one of his winning smiles. Much better.
“You’re going to owe me for this, sodding Yank,” Arthur muttered, though he gave in, lying back with one hand twisting lightly into the pillowcase beside his head. For a moment, Alfred admired him, then shook his head and cracked another smile, his fingers flicking open the untorn buttons of his shirt so he could part the fabric and pull it off him. There was a moment of awkward squirming as he jerked the item of clothing out from beneath his lover’s body and then he didn’t waste a moment, dropping his head to trail kisses across Arthur’s collar bone and down the centre of his chest. He could still feel the way that the man was tense and putting up a front of resistance, and it only made him want him more.
Before this, there had been others. Fleeting infatuations, brief flings, but Arthur had always been above all of it, and all it would take was one annoyed glance and he would feel as if he’d been cheating, even when the relationship between them could still be mistaken for hatred. It was so different now, since that awkward afternoon when Alfred had blurted out his feelings in the middle of a Starbucks, much to Arthur’s utter mortification. When the English nation had stopped hiding behind his polystyrene cup of tea and had forced the embarrassed red flush from his face he had muttered grudgingly that yes he did find Alfred marginally attractive and if the American nation wanted to make something out of his feelings then he certainly wouldn’t object.
Things had gone quite quickly after that, and Alfred wasn’t shy of flaunting their new status. Something he hadn’t expected, however, was that the reserved, grouchy, sweater vest-wearing blonde would be such a firecracker in the bedroom. He had spent the first few months being completely bowled over by everything the man could show him, and now, to have something like this… something so simple as claiming ownership to make the man want him so suddenly was a very pleasant discovery indeed.
Alfred’s fingers closed around Arthur’s wrists and pinned them to the bed as he kissed and lightly nipped at his chest, leaving tiny marks on the pale skin to tingle and chafe against fabric later and remind Arthur that they were there. The smaller man shivered, hands clenching into fists, balling the fabric of the quilt up in his fingers, and in the relative quiet of the room Alfred heard him murmur something that sent shivers from the base of his spine up to the back of his neck, raising the hairs there.
“Tell me I’m yours again.”
A grin flashed across the American nation’s face and he flicked his gaze up to find Arthur stubbornly avoiding it. That was fine, he thought. It only made the man more enticing.
“You’re mine, Arthur,” he said, sliding the glossy button of his slacks through the button hole and drawing the zipper down, lowering his head to press a kiss to the bulge beneath the blue fabric of his boxers. Arthur grunted quietly, and Alfred was sure he turned a deeper shade of scarlet.
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur muttered, a scowl on his face, eyes everywhere but on Alfred as the young blonde drew his slacks down and off, tossing them aside and then playfully snapping the elastic of one of his socks against his calf. “I told you to tell me I’m yours.”
At first, Alfred was puzzled, and quiet, sitting up for a moment to pull his t-shirt over his head. He slid one hand up Arthur’s thigh, hooking a finger over the top of his boxers and rubbing his thumb over the small Union Jack sewn into the waistband. He grinned again.
“England,” he murmured, and Arthur shivered appreciatively, a brief smirk crooking at the corner of his mouth. Alfred leaned down and pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest, nuzzling against his skin. “You’re mine, England. All mine.” There were many things that Alfred had seen were capable of working his usually reserved and controlled into a blushing mess. Silly things, some of them, or things that he would never have thought of if he hadn’t stumbled upon them accidentally, but being claimed, feeling possessed, that wasn’t something he could have imagined. Arthur had always been a force unto himself, a wilful and authoritative man who Alfred loved despite his occasional moments of domineering personality, but he loved this side of him too.
“I think you’d look great with my flag tattooed on you,” Alfred said as he worked his lips down the English nation’s chest, feeling the shivering breaths that shuddered into his lungs. “What do you think?” He flicked his eyes up, and Arthur wasn’t answering him, he wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were on the ceiling again, cheeks flushed pink, and Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing that bright green gaze down to the sound.
“I think you’d have to drug me first,” came the waspish response. The younger man shook his head.
“So feisty.” He sighed, drawing Arthur’s boxers off and tossing them… somewhere. He didn’t care where they’d gone. “I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.” His voice wavered, and Arthur put a hand over his eyes for a moment, letting out a low groan.
“Alfred, don’t try dirty talk, you’re awful at it…”
A comment like that should have stopped Alfred in his tracks, pushed him back to his usual line of awkward yet loving endearments and put an end to what Arthur would most likely label as ‘this nonsense’, but not this time. This time, Alfred was going to take full advantage of this new chink in his lover’s armour. He gripped the man’s hips and pulled him forwards, drawing a quiet, shocked sound that satisfied him in a way he couldn’t explain. A hand wound up into his hair and gripped tightly, just on the edge of discomfort as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed up against the sensitive skin of Arthur’s already half-formed arousal, and Alfred kissed him again, quickly working him back up to that grasping, wanting state that this discovery had initially caused.
“When I say you’re mine, I mean it. You’re gonna do what I want, because I say so.” He was whispering into Arthur’s ear, the man’s fingers grasping spasmodically at his shoulders and back, one leg wrapped up around him as his lover rocked against his thigh. “If I want a mark on you so everyone knows you’re mine I reckon you should do it, and you know why?”
“Mmn… tell me why,” Arthur murmured, and Alfred almost lost it right there and then with the lust dripping from the other nation’s voice.
“B… because. Because no one else is going to have you. You’re mine now, and I’m not letting you go, not for anyone, not ever. No one else is gonna touch you, no one else is gonna have you like I do right now.” Alfred had never claimed to be good with words. He’d skipped Articulacy 101 in favour of playing in the mud and climbing trees when he was small and now had so many people writing speeches for him that he had no need to learn, but his lack of verbosity seemed to be doing it for Arthur, who, despite the amused smile tipping up the corners of his mouth (and making him look awful pretty), was cherry red and squirming under Alfred’s attentions.
“And I ain’t sorry I punched Francis, ‘cause he was putting his hands all over you, and you ain’t his, you belong to me now, y’hear?”
“Alfred…”
“What?”
“You have too many clothes on. Take them off.”
“… O…oh. Right, yeah, hang on.” Caught up in his eagerness (as usually occurred) to see Arthur naked, Alfred had neglected himself and he sat back to wriggle out of his jeans and boxers, ignoring his socks and kissing Arthur’s knee as he moved over him again, drinking in the expression on his face. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Awesome. Where was I?”
“Francis’ hands.”
The thought made him shudder, just for a moment, but it jogged his memory and he found himself with the barest hint of a scowl on his face. “Right, that.” His attention turned fully to Arthur as one hand groped over to the bedside cabinet, pulling open a drawer and rooting underneath rolled up balls of (odd) socks and the occasional tangled up set of cheap headphones for a well-used bottle of lubrication. He rolled his eyes at the slick feel of the outside of the bottle, pressing his lips together as he drew it free and shoved at the drawer until it shut. “Francis is a dick and I don’t want him near you,” he said then, injecting as much overprotectiveness into his voice as he could and watching the renewal of colour flooding up to Arthur’s cheeks once again. “Well, I mean, I know I can’t help that he has to go near you because you have to work together and stuff but I’m not happy about it!”
Arthur was smiling at him now. A pleased, loving smile that made his insides squirm and his cheeks feel hot. Unfair. He distracted himself after sitting enraptured by that look for what felt like a small eternity, uncapping the slippery bottle and spilling a little of the contents over his fingers. The bottle was tossed aside, in a similar direction to where Arthur’s underwear had gone, and he teased one fingertip gently against the puckered muscle of his lover’s entrance as his free hand wrapped around his length. A tremor ran through Arthur’s body from head to foot and he gasped as that teasing finger breached him and pushed inside, followed minutes later by a second. The third, a short time after, made him wince, a murmured apology and firm, yet tender kiss from Alfred coaxing him into detaching his fingernails from the man’s shoulders.
“You’re not meant to be putting marks on me, Arts,” he chided gently. “That’s not how it works.” He was glad he’d cut his fingernails earlier that day as he took his time exploring, feeling every contour of the silky walls with the tips of his fingers. He heard Arthur let out a shaky laugh, the tremor in it going straight to his gut and the base of his insistently throbbing erection. This part never lasted long, but Arthur never complained. “H… hey, Arts, I’m…”
“Mhm…” Flushed, eyed half closed, Arthur curled his toes into the bed and bit his lower lip. “Wanting to make me yours already..?”
“I…” Alfred flustered for a moment. “Yeah! I mean, what? No, you’re already mine, I told you that, England.” He drew his hand back and prepared himself, lifting up one of Arthur’s legs and settling it by his hip. “You’re already mine, and now I’m gonna… make… love to you.”
“I’d like that…” Arthur breathed out, clenching his fists into the bedsheets and arching up with a low whine as Alfred began to push into him. It was hot, intoxicatingly so, but the American nation resisted the urge to simply plunge in, wanting to imprint this as best he could on Arthur’s memory. The man was gasping, making some of the cutest faces Alfred could remember seeing on him during sex and his eyes were fixed on Alfred’s, or Alfred’s were locked to his, he couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that he didn’t want to look away, because this beautiful man was all his, after all that waiting and wanting and yearning for him for so many years, after all the fighting and pushing him away when all he wanted to do was hold him tight and never let go. He moved slowly, filling his lover as much as the angle would allow and not breaking his gaze for even a moment, murmuring his ownership of the man over and over in cracked, hushed tones until Arthur cupped his cheek and pressed the pad of one thumb to his lips.
There was so much in Alfred’s mind and heart that he couldn’t say, not for a lack of trying but a lack of ability. Arthur knew, though he was sure of that, and when the English nation tensed and locked his limbs around him, spilling between them with ‘America’ on his lips it only made him more certain. It was only moments later that Alfred laid his mark, Arthur’s name grating out on a half moan, half growl as he finally felt his release. Arthur’s nails were stuck in his back again, and Alfred nipped at his ear to remind him that he was there before he could roll off him, sliding one hand under his head and gazing up at the ceiling.
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, then Arthur chuckled, and he let his head roll to one side to look at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“… You don’t really think I should tattoo your flag on me, do you?”
“I dunno… It’s a pretty big step, huh? Like tattooing your girlfriend’s name on yourself or somethin’.”
“Mm…” Arthur shifted, and Alfred grimaced at the slickness that he felt on his skin before the English nation settled half on top of his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Alfred grinned, running one hand into Arthur’s hair and toying with the sandy blonde strands. “My England.”
Author:
Recipient:
edwards_maidRating/Warnings: M
Characters: Arthur, Alfred.
Summary: America is really possessive and it turns England on. America becomes aware of this and decides to implement it in bed. Possessive sex ensues. (Human names used)
Notes: I cannot even begin to apologise for how LATE this is. Latest. Pinch hit. Ever. I have had the most hectic month. I am sorry. Very sorry. I hope that you like this enough that it makes up for the wait. If you don't... I might cry. Well, not really. Maybe a little.
*****
“Alfred, what the bloody hell did you think you were doing, acting like that?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled at Francis.
“I have never been so embarrassed in my life, and that’s saying something.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have told him to keep his eyes off Arthur.
“Can you not keep a hold on your raging testosterone for one sodding minute?!”
Maybe… maybe he shouldn’t have punched him.
Alfred looked up, a nauseated, twisting feeling in his stomach as he met his lover’s furious gaze. Ever since they had made their relationship official he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt protective, possessive even, and he didn’t want anyone else touching the man he shared a bed with. When Francis had begun his usual routine of teasing flirtations he simply hadn’t been able to stop himself, and before he knew it, his fist had connected with the French nation’s nose and everyone was shouting at him, but all he could see was red and Francis while he snarled at him to keep his hands off what didn’t belong to him. Arthur hadn’t said anything. He’d stood there, shaking, red-faced, then he’d walked out.
He was shaking now, even while he was scolding the younger man. His fists were clenched by his sides, a blush high on his cheeks as he recalled what had happened, and there was something… something else. Alfred’s eyes flickered, then went wide.
The American nation took a gamble.
“You liked it,” he challenged. Arthur twitched, and made a strange noise, like his next word had been caught in his throat. His lips parted then his mouth snapped closed and he frowned, then scowled.
“Liked it? You think I liked being humiliated in front of half the nations of the world by a man who can’t keep his temper in check?”
“I think you liked it,” Alfred repeated, getting to his feet and using his height as an advantage to stare the shorter man down. Tilting his chin up, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together, but he didn’t interrupt, and Alfred kept talking. “I think you liked watching me punch Francis, and not because you don’t like him. I think you liked it because I was doing it for you.” He didn’t really know what he was saying anymore, running his mouth off almost in a panic as he tried to analyse the situation. It didn’t show on his face, and he took a step forwards, something in his chest jumping with excitement as Arthur mirrored him and stepped back. “I think you liked it because I said you were mine, because even though you like to pretend you don’t need anyone to defend you, you like it.”
Arthur’s back was against the wall now, and he still had that stubborn, defiant scowl on his face, arms folded defensively across his chest as he met Alfred’s eyes unflinchingly. “I think you liked it because you used to rule half the world and the idea of being possessed by someone you used to own turns you on.” He placed his hand next to Arthur’s head and leaned over him, and the scowl on the English nation’s face flickered for a moment. Alfred’s voice dropped low and quiet as he spoke again. “I’m not gonna let Francis or anyone else lay a hand on you, because you’re mine, England.”
At first, for a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. Could he really make such a claim of ownership on the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and have it accepted? Arthur looked like he didn’t know how to feel, something between anger and confusion in his gaze as he glared up at Alfred. Then, he grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him forwards, crushing a hard, bruising kiss to his mouth. Alfred squeaked, a surprised sound caught in the back of his throat before he gripped the English nation’s upper arms and shoved him back, hearing the strained grunt of discomfort that escaped the other man as his shoulders hit the wall again. Alfred fought to gain control of the kiss, and Arthur gave in, though his grip on the man’s shirt didn’t loosen as one of the American nation’s hands clumsily groped down to pull one of the shorter blonde’s thighs up to his hip. He could press closer that way, pinning Arthur between himself and the wall, revelling in how small it made him seem… How delicate.
Arthur hated it when he spoke those kinds of thoughts out loud, but he would do it just to see the way that the man’s face would flush, the bright spark in his eyes when he was irritated. It was enchanting. Everything about this man was intoxicating, and he was all Alfred’s.
Fingernail scratching across his lower back made Alfred shudder and he shifted back just enough to see Arthur’s face, the red flush on his cheeks and dark look in his eyes sending a throb of excitement through him as he flashed a cocky grin and gave his lover’s thigh a squeeze. He didn’t need to be told, he already knew that ‘fuck me’ were the two most beautiful words in the English language and they were written clear across Arthurs face for even the most dim-witted person to see.
Still, he wasn’t ready to give up his position just yet. One finger curled into the collar of Arthur’s shirt and jerked, sending two buttons flying to a snarled-out protest stopped with another hard kiss to only partly resistant lips before he dropped his head to latch on to the faintly corded muscle of the English nation’s neck, biting and drawing up a purple mark on the pale skin. Arthur arched against him, fingernails digging into his skin and the fabric of his shirt as a gasp of shock and pleasure forced its way past his lips.
“What the bloody-?!”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Alfred growled, and he heard something muttered, something about taking the money for a new shirt out of his wallet later before Arthur fell silent, slim fingers gripping at his shoulders.
Alfred had never wanted to possess someone like this. There had been times he’d wanted what other nations had, but to want a person this badly… no, he’d never felt anything like that until he’d become serious with Arthur. He wanted to put a mark on him so everyone would know this man was his, he didn’t want anyone touching him, even thinking about him inappropriately, and if Arthur didn’t like it… tough.
He was quiet now, and the younger man could hear the way he was forcing his breathing to stay level while the twitches and tremors running through his body betrayed him. There was no more time wasted as Alfred lifted Arthur up off the floor like he weighed nothing, carrying him to the bedroom and pushing him up against the door as the English nation’s fingers scrambled for the handle. They almost fell into the room, stumbling to the bed and Alfred was quick to make sure he was the one in charge, pressing Arthur against the soft pillows and kissing him heatedly. He could feel the resistance, the way that Arthur pushed up against him, wanting to struggle or regain some kind of control, but he wasn’t going to allow it, not this time.
“Just let me look after you, babe,” he said, nipping at the other man’s lower lip even as he scowled and drew those thick brows that Alfred so loved together in a frown. Alfred kissed the faint line that furrowed between them and the frown flickered, then smoothed out, and the American nation gave one of his winning smiles. Much better.
“You’re going to owe me for this, sodding Yank,” Arthur muttered, though he gave in, lying back with one hand twisting lightly into the pillowcase beside his head. For a moment, Alfred admired him, then shook his head and cracked another smile, his fingers flicking open the untorn buttons of his shirt so he could part the fabric and pull it off him. There was a moment of awkward squirming as he jerked the item of clothing out from beneath his lover’s body and then he didn’t waste a moment, dropping his head to trail kisses across Arthur’s collar bone and down the centre of his chest. He could still feel the way that the man was tense and putting up a front of resistance, and it only made him want him more.
Before this, there had been others. Fleeting infatuations, brief flings, but Arthur had always been above all of it, and all it would take was one annoyed glance and he would feel as if he’d been cheating, even when the relationship between them could still be mistaken for hatred. It was so different now, since that awkward afternoon when Alfred had blurted out his feelings in the middle of a Starbucks, much to Arthur’s utter mortification. When the English nation had stopped hiding behind his polystyrene cup of tea and had forced the embarrassed red flush from his face he had muttered grudgingly that yes he did find Alfred marginally attractive and if the American nation wanted to make something out of his feelings then he certainly wouldn’t object.
Things had gone quite quickly after that, and Alfred wasn’t shy of flaunting their new status. Something he hadn’t expected, however, was that the reserved, grouchy, sweater vest-wearing blonde would be such a firecracker in the bedroom. He had spent the first few months being completely bowled over by everything the man could show him, and now, to have something like this… something so simple as claiming ownership to make the man want him so suddenly was a very pleasant discovery indeed.
Alfred’s fingers closed around Arthur’s wrists and pinned them to the bed as he kissed and lightly nipped at his chest, leaving tiny marks on the pale skin to tingle and chafe against fabric later and remind Arthur that they were there. The smaller man shivered, hands clenching into fists, balling the fabric of the quilt up in his fingers, and in the relative quiet of the room Alfred heard him murmur something that sent shivers from the base of his spine up to the back of his neck, raising the hairs there.
“Tell me I’m yours again.”
A grin flashed across the American nation’s face and he flicked his gaze up to find Arthur stubbornly avoiding it. That was fine, he thought. It only made the man more enticing.
“You’re mine, Arthur,” he said, sliding the glossy button of his slacks through the button hole and drawing the zipper down, lowering his head to press a kiss to the bulge beneath the blue fabric of his boxers. Arthur grunted quietly, and Alfred was sure he turned a deeper shade of scarlet.
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur muttered, a scowl on his face, eyes everywhere but on Alfred as the young blonde drew his slacks down and off, tossing them aside and then playfully snapping the elastic of one of his socks against his calf. “I told you to tell me I’m yours.”
At first, Alfred was puzzled, and quiet, sitting up for a moment to pull his t-shirt over his head. He slid one hand up Arthur’s thigh, hooking a finger over the top of his boxers and rubbing his thumb over the small Union Jack sewn into the waistband. He grinned again.
“England,” he murmured, and Arthur shivered appreciatively, a brief smirk crooking at the corner of his mouth. Alfred leaned down and pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest, nuzzling against his skin. “You’re mine, England. All mine.” There were many things that Alfred had seen were capable of working his usually reserved and controlled into a blushing mess. Silly things, some of them, or things that he would never have thought of if he hadn’t stumbled upon them accidentally, but being claimed, feeling possessed, that wasn’t something he could have imagined. Arthur had always been a force unto himself, a wilful and authoritative man who Alfred loved despite his occasional moments of domineering personality, but he loved this side of him too.
“I think you’d look great with my flag tattooed on you,” Alfred said as he worked his lips down the English nation’s chest, feeling the shivering breaths that shuddered into his lungs. “What do you think?” He flicked his eyes up, and Arthur wasn’t answering him, he wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were on the ceiling again, cheeks flushed pink, and Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing that bright green gaze down to the sound.
“I think you’d have to drug me first,” came the waspish response. The younger man shook his head.
“So feisty.” He sighed, drawing Arthur’s boxers off and tossing them… somewhere. He didn’t care where they’d gone. “I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.” His voice wavered, and Arthur put a hand over his eyes for a moment, letting out a low groan.
“Alfred, don’t try dirty talk, you’re awful at it…”
A comment like that should have stopped Alfred in his tracks, pushed him back to his usual line of awkward yet loving endearments and put an end to what Arthur would most likely label as ‘this nonsense’, but not this time. This time, Alfred was going to take full advantage of this new chink in his lover’s armour. He gripped the man’s hips and pulled him forwards, drawing a quiet, shocked sound that satisfied him in a way he couldn’t explain. A hand wound up into his hair and gripped tightly, just on the edge of discomfort as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed up against the sensitive skin of Arthur’s already half-formed arousal, and Alfred kissed him again, quickly working him back up to that grasping, wanting state that this discovery had initially caused.
“When I say you’re mine, I mean it. You’re gonna do what I want, because I say so.” He was whispering into Arthur’s ear, the man’s fingers grasping spasmodically at his shoulders and back, one leg wrapped up around him as his lover rocked against his thigh. “If I want a mark on you so everyone knows you’re mine I reckon you should do it, and you know why?”
“Mmn… tell me why,” Arthur murmured, and Alfred almost lost it right there and then with the lust dripping from the other nation’s voice.
“B… because. Because no one else is going to have you. You’re mine now, and I’m not letting you go, not for anyone, not ever. No one else is gonna touch you, no one else is gonna have you like I do right now.” Alfred had never claimed to be good with words. He’d skipped Articulacy 101 in favour of playing in the mud and climbing trees when he was small and now had so many people writing speeches for him that he had no need to learn, but his lack of verbosity seemed to be doing it for Arthur, who, despite the amused smile tipping up the corners of his mouth (and making him look awful pretty), was cherry red and squirming under Alfred’s attentions.
“And I ain’t sorry I punched Francis, ‘cause he was putting his hands all over you, and you ain’t his, you belong to me now, y’hear?”
“Alfred…”
“What?”
“You have too many clothes on. Take them off.”
“… O…oh. Right, yeah, hang on.” Caught up in his eagerness (as usually occurred) to see Arthur naked, Alfred had neglected himself and he sat back to wriggle out of his jeans and boxers, ignoring his socks and kissing Arthur’s knee as he moved over him again, drinking in the expression on his face. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Awesome. Where was I?”
“Francis’ hands.”
The thought made him shudder, just for a moment, but it jogged his memory and he found himself with the barest hint of a scowl on his face. “Right, that.” His attention turned fully to Arthur as one hand groped over to the bedside cabinet, pulling open a drawer and rooting underneath rolled up balls of (odd) socks and the occasional tangled up set of cheap headphones for a well-used bottle of lubrication. He rolled his eyes at the slick feel of the outside of the bottle, pressing his lips together as he drew it free and shoved at the drawer until it shut. “Francis is a dick and I don’t want him near you,” he said then, injecting as much overprotectiveness into his voice as he could and watching the renewal of colour flooding up to Arthur’s cheeks once again. “Well, I mean, I know I can’t help that he has to go near you because you have to work together and stuff but I’m not happy about it!”
Arthur was smiling at him now. A pleased, loving smile that made his insides squirm and his cheeks feel hot. Unfair. He distracted himself after sitting enraptured by that look for what felt like a small eternity, uncapping the slippery bottle and spilling a little of the contents over his fingers. The bottle was tossed aside, in a similar direction to where Arthur’s underwear had gone, and he teased one fingertip gently against the puckered muscle of his lover’s entrance as his free hand wrapped around his length. A tremor ran through Arthur’s body from head to foot and he gasped as that teasing finger breached him and pushed inside, followed minutes later by a second. The third, a short time after, made him wince, a murmured apology and firm, yet tender kiss from Alfred coaxing him into detaching his fingernails from the man’s shoulders.
“You’re not meant to be putting marks on me, Arts,” he chided gently. “That’s not how it works.” He was glad he’d cut his fingernails earlier that day as he took his time exploring, feeling every contour of the silky walls with the tips of his fingers. He heard Arthur let out a shaky laugh, the tremor in it going straight to his gut and the base of his insistently throbbing erection. This part never lasted long, but Arthur never complained. “H… hey, Arts, I’m…”
“Mhm…” Flushed, eyed half closed, Arthur curled his toes into the bed and bit his lower lip. “Wanting to make me yours already..?”
“I…” Alfred flustered for a moment. “Yeah! I mean, what? No, you’re already mine, I told you that, England.” He drew his hand back and prepared himself, lifting up one of Arthur’s legs and settling it by his hip. “You’re already mine, and now I’m gonna… make… love to you.”
“I’d like that…” Arthur breathed out, clenching his fists into the bedsheets and arching up with a low whine as Alfred began to push into him. It was hot, intoxicatingly so, but the American nation resisted the urge to simply plunge in, wanting to imprint this as best he could on Arthur’s memory. The man was gasping, making some of the cutest faces Alfred could remember seeing on him during sex and his eyes were fixed on Alfred’s, or Alfred’s were locked to his, he couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that he didn’t want to look away, because this beautiful man was all his, after all that waiting and wanting and yearning for him for so many years, after all the fighting and pushing him away when all he wanted to do was hold him tight and never let go. He moved slowly, filling his lover as much as the angle would allow and not breaking his gaze for even a moment, murmuring his ownership of the man over and over in cracked, hushed tones until Arthur cupped his cheek and pressed the pad of one thumb to his lips.
There was so much in Alfred’s mind and heart that he couldn’t say, not for a lack of trying but a lack of ability. Arthur knew, though he was sure of that, and when the English nation tensed and locked his limbs around him, spilling between them with ‘America’ on his lips it only made him more certain. It was only moments later that Alfred laid his mark, Arthur’s name grating out on a half moan, half growl as he finally felt his release. Arthur’s nails were stuck in his back again, and Alfred nipped at his ear to remind him that he was there before he could roll off him, sliding one hand under his head and gazing up at the ceiling.
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, then Arthur chuckled, and he let his head roll to one side to look at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“… You don’t really think I should tattoo your flag on me, do you?”
“I dunno… It’s a pretty big step, huh? Like tattooing your girlfriend’s name on yourself or somethin’.”
“Mm…” Arthur shifted, and Alfred grimaced at the slickness that he felt on his skin before the English nation settled half on top of his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Alfred grinned, running one hand into Arthur’s hair and toying with the sandy blonde strands. “My England.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-02 08:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-02 04:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-02 06:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-02 08:13 pm (UTC)He's a little bit of a dork, huh X3
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 06:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 08:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 05:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 06:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 09:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-03 09:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-04 11:17 pm (UTC)I see those socks there.
I see that they left their socks on.
I. APPROVE.
I. APPROVE. A LOT.
Socks aside, I really enjoyed reading this. I find America kinda cute in his possessiveness in this fic, he's possessive but not scary possessive....if that makes sense.
Also, I loved this interaction:
“Alfred…”
“What?”
“You have too many clothes on. Take them off.”
“… O…oh. Right, yeah, hang on.” Caught up in his eagerness (as usually occurred) to see Arthur naked, Alfred had neglected himself and he sat back to wriggle out of his jeans and boxers, ignoring his socks and kissing Arthur’s knee as he moved over him again, drinking in the expression on his face. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Awesome. Where was I?”
“Francis’ hands.”
The thought made him shudder, just for a moment, but it jogged his memory and he found himself with the barest hint of a scowl on his face. “Right, that.”
AND NOT JUST BECAUSE OF THE SOCKS.
<3 <3 <3 <3
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-06 06:52 pm (UTC)It's not everyday I get to read Possessive!Alfred with Loving!Alfred or Dorky!Alfred. I knoe they're all Alfreds but I hope you get where I'm coming from. Love England's kink btw~ and it was definitely a good surprise that Alfred wasn't totally in control (or too dominerring). It was actually cute! ... in their own... dorky way. xD
(no subject)
Date: 2012-02-06 06:56 pm (UTC)And Alfred is such a huge dork anyway it was so easy to write him trying so hard but still managing to be a derp xDD