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blood_wingedTitle: Football Is Serious Business
Genre: Romance.. sort of?
Pairing/s: GermanyxEngland
Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Drunk!England, cussing, violent sex.
Summary: Kink-meme de-anon. Pre-match, Germany and England are having a drink together. England once again overestimates his alcohol tolerance. Shenanigans ensue.
England’s low alcohol tolerance was something which was spoken of occasionally between nations when the man was not present, though it was something which had only been witnessed by a select few. Ludwig had never thought he would be one of them, and as he sat watching the shorter blonde swaying in his seat, holding his fourth pint of good German beer in a lax grip, he was no doubt wishing that had remained the case.
It had been an act of good will on both their parts, this meeting, and it had gone better than either of them would have thought up until this point. There had been no references to past unpleasantness, the most serious thing spoken of being the dire situation on the far side of the Mediterranean, and surprisingly, the football game which was to take place in only two day’s time had not been mentioned. They had traded idle anecdotes of happier times, made several scathing remarks about Francis which were received in good humour on both sides, and had discovered an almost comforting similarity in the things that made the two of them laugh. That, however, had been before Arthur had found that he quite liked the beer in this country and had started drinking, quickly becoming inebriated.
It wasn’t long after that, that the German decided Arthur had had more than enough, and he all but dragged the smaller man out of the pub under a barrage of protests. They were hardly matched in physical strength, however, and it was an easy task to get the Englishman out onto the street, where the fresh air only added to his condition and had him clinging to Ludwig’s arm in an effort to stay upright.
“England, where is your hotel..?” he asked, the response the one he had been dreading as Arthur let out a half-stifled snort and staggered slightly over a crack in the pavement. He shut his eyes, and let out a patient sigh, hesitating for a moment before wrapping arm firmly around the Englishman’s waist, rolling his eyes skywards and setting off. Even Gilbert had never caused him this much trouble.
“Y-y’ know… y’… What?” Arthur was mumbling as he stumbled along beside the taller man. “Not so… Y’re walkin’ too fast… Ger… Germany…” He started to giggle, and Ludwig bit the inside of his cheek, half in annoyance and half in embarrassment for the man. Tasting blood as a wolf-whistle from further up the street reached him, he turned sharply down a side street, almost throwing his companion off balance and spurring another round of loose-tongued complaints.
“If… if yer footballers are as ‘eavy-‘anded as you… Germany… my boys are gonna kick their arses all t’ way back ter… ter that place… wi’ t’ doughnuts… Y’know… pfff… Y’know, Germany…”
“Berlin.” Ludwig replied through gritted teeth, immediately regretting making the connection as Arthur dissolved into further laughter. “Ich glaubs ja nicht…” he muttered, shaking his head and hauling the other man along while he continued to talk to himself in various strong English dialects until he suddenly fell silent and looked up, his eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown.
“Y’r lan... langw… tha’ thing y’ speak… ‘s really weird, Ger… Ge- Ludwig… I can call y’ tha’, right..?”
“I believe you will whether I give permission or not, England…”
“’S right, I will!”
Arthur was still sniggering to himself as he was pulled up the path to Ludwig’s front door, and there was an awkward shuffling as Ludwig attempted to pull his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, and with that achieved, the Englishman was unceremoniously heaved indoors, where he almost fell face-first onto the carpet, only stopped by Ludwig’s tight grip on his upper arm. While he hissed and tried to prise the man’s fingers off him, he was all but frog-marched through the house and seated in the front room while his reluctant host walked through to the kitchen to find something to sober him up.
Swaying from side to side, Arthur needed several moments to realise that there was someone else in the room with him.
“Y’r broth’r is an eejit…” he said, the sharp sound of a cup hitting the kitchen counter letting him know that Ludwig had heard him. “I mean… look at ‘im… lyin’ there… bloody eejit.” The man in question was asleep, or perhaps unconscious, on the sofa wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with an empty bottle held loosely in one hand. “’E was always shite at football… An’ y’know, Ludwig, I dunno why you let ‘im get away with ‘is… ‘is freeloadin’ off o’ y’…’Cause I mean, look at ‘im… don’ y’… don’ y’ get sick of ‘ow ‘e is? ‘E’s such a feckin’ too-”
“Drink this.”
A cup was shoved into Arthur’s hands and he blinked down at it, tilting it from side to side as if trying to figure out if the shifting surface of the water within was an illusion or not while Ludwig stood and tapped one foot impatiently, casting irritated glances between his sleeping brother and the intoxicated Englishman. Several moments passed while Arthur made an attempt to get the cup to his lips, finally managing it only to seemingly forget how to swallow and choking, coughing harshly. If nothing else, it seemed to sober him up slightly and he shook his head, managing another mouthful of water. With Ludwig’s grudging assistance he finished the rest, and was once again pulled to his feet.
“Where we goin’ now?” he complained, grabbing a handful of Ludwig’s jacket and tripping over his own feet as he was led towards the stairs. “Why can’ y’ jus’ lemme stay ‘ere? ‘S comfy… I don’ mind sleepin’ on the couch…”
“My brother is on the couch,” Ludwig reminded him as he helped the smaller man negotiate the first step.
“I know that…” Arthur replied, grinning inanely.
Ludwig bit his lip to hold back a curse, pulling Arthur up the stairs while the man giggled and clung to him, ripping the top pocket of the man’s shirt in the process. Cursing under his breath, he struggled to hold Arthur when the two of them staggered, the Englishman losing his footing on the thick carpet of the landing.
He fell against the taller man, shutting his eyes, and instinctively the German wrapped both arms around him, at a loss of where to go and what to do with the drunken Englishman using him as a crutch. Arthur hiccupped, and wrinkled his nose.
“Y’know, y’r food ‘s ter… terri… bad. I can… I can still taste tha’ thing I ‘ad fer… fer dinner. ‘S like… bleh… Ludwig…” Slowly, Arthur lifted his head, his eyes focussed but slightly hazed as they met Ludwig’s. He smiled dopily, then grinned.
“What?”
“Jus’ wond’rin’… ‘f you taste like your food does,” Arthur said, his eyes half-lidded, a light slur in his voice that he was trying to suppress as he grabbed hold of Ludwig’s shoulders and pulled himself up to press a messy kiss to the other man’s mouth. Ludwig stiffened, his hands hovering over Arthur’s arms, lips solid as the smaller blonde made a sound of something like disappointment before pulling away, a slight frown on his face.
“You don’t,” he muttered.
“I-I’m sorry?” Ludwig stammered, eyes a little wide while Arthur continued to grin up at him. His hands finally closed around Arthur’s shoulders, holding him still. The Englishman frowned again, then snorted quietly, squirming out of his grasp.
“Can’ say I didn’ ‘spect it…” he said as he half collapsed against the wall and felt his way along it, Ludwig following uncertainly, wary of touching him again. “You should be more like your br’ther… ‘E always knew ‘ow ter ‘ave a good time…” Arthur sniggered, glancing lazily over to the German, who was bristling slightly.
“I think that is enough, England.”
“Pff… Not even started… Always had you pegged as the frigid sort, y’know…”
“Enough, Arthur.” His tone sharpened, and he took a rough hold of the Englishman’s arm, intent upon escorting him to the nearest bed.
“Shudda known… Your sex is prob’ly as borin’ as your beer.”
The next noise from Arthur was a half-strangled sound of pain and surprise as the back of his head smacked against the wall, Ludwig’s hand pressed up against his throat. A thrill burned through him at the fire in the German’s eyes before now pliant lips were crushed to his and he was kissed with an intensity that took his breath away. He gasped when Ludwig tore away, glaring fiercely down at him. Arthur’s tongue darted out to lick at the blood beading on his lower lip, and he curled his fingers into the front of the other man’s shirt and pulled him down, a low sound rising in his throat as Ludwig pressed him back, pinning him between the wall and the hard plane of his chest, kissing him again harder, more demanding.
Arthur moved his arms up from their place locked between them to wrap both around the taller man’s neck, arching to him, not thinking to question his actions through the alcohol-induced haze in his mind. Ludwig was tense but his resolve was weakening, and when Arthur groaned softly into his mouth and slowly rolled his hips against him, his will broke and he half pulled the Englishman up with one strong hand behind a slim leg.
“We should stop,” he said, even as Arthur began to near-feverishly tug his shirt out of his trousers. He shook his head.
“No. We shouldn’t,” was the breathless response as the shirt was freed and nails dragged up the skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. Ludwig swore under his breath, biting back a quiet noise of his own. Unsure of where to put his hands, Ludwig’s hesitance drew a sound of annoyance and the German was pulled forwards into another bruising kiss. He clasped the smaller man’s arms and dug his nails in, and Arthur shuddered against him, biting gently down on his lip, slipping his fingers into the top of Ludwig’s trousers.
Arthur’s gaze was sharper this time as he looked up, almost smirking.
“Not bad, Kraut,” he said. “Still a lil’ flat.”
“Flat, is it?”
“I ‘spected a lil’ more bite.”
For a long moment Ludwig simply stared at him. Arthur already looked half-fucked, his cheeks faintly flushed and hair mussed. Without warning, the German jerked the man’s head back with one hand tangled in his hair, and bit down on the curve of his neck, leaving a deep purple mark. The Englishman moaned loudly, and Ludwig pressed him back against the wall, growling quietly.
“Quiet.”
“Make me.”
“You are drunk.”
“Obv’ously… Wouldn’ be touchin’ you otherwise. Rather go after your brother… ‘less you think you can do better…” Arthur smirked again. “Betcha can’t.”
The green-eyed blonde gasped and arched against the wall, gripping Ludwig’s shoulders as he was lifted from the floor. Ludwig’s touch was still wary, but his lips were not and they moved hotly against Arthur’s. Tugging at the German’s shirt, Arthur succeeded in unfastening half the buttons and removing the other half in his haste, smoothing his hands over Ludwig’s chest and shoulders. Ludwig swore again, setting Arthur back on his feet and leading him brusquely by the wrist to the nearest open door. Giggling like a schoolgirl, Arthur bounced as he landed on the bed, falling back.
He pulled his shirt off and shut his eyes as Ludwig slid over his chest and stomach. Muscles fluttering under calloused fingers, Arthur made a low sound of pleasure, hands straying to unbuckle Ludwig’s belt. The taller man batted his hands away and pushed them up, looping the belt around his wrists and securing them to the headrail.
“H-hey, this wasn’t part of the… uh…”
“Would you just be quiet?” Ludwig snapped, locking his gaze to Arthur’s, the Englishman finally falling silent. “You have driven me to this. I hope you are satisfied.”
“Not yet…”
The German gritted his teeth and shook his head as if to clear it, stripping the rest of the smaller man’s clothes. In the dark they could barely see each other, but Ludwig could make out the slender musculature of the Englishman’s frame, and the faint shine of his eyes as they watched him remove his boots and trousers, folding the latter much to Arthur’s amusement. His sniggering was cut short when Ludwig pulled off his briefs and for a moment he only stared.
“What.”
“You could put Francis to shame,” Arthur told him wryly. “You’ve been keeping that one secret, Ludwig.”
Red to the tops of his ears and muttering under his breath, Ludwig pressed a hard kiss to the man’s lips, forcing one of his knees up to what must have been an uncomfortable height, pushing inside him in one smooth stroke. Eyes wide, Arthur stared up at him with rosy lips parted in shock, every muscle pulled taut and trembling as Ludwig looked down, panting hard.
“… Ow…”
“Shut up.”
“Hn…” Arthur fell silent, fingers curled tightly around the belt securing them, head falling to one side as pain throbbed through his pelvis. The German drew back with a deliberate slowness, and Arthur’s hips followed the movement, a soft whimper passing the smaller man’s lips.
“You were saying, England?” Ludwig growled, punctuating the final word with a short, sharp thrust. Gasping harshly, Arthur jerked, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes open and glazed. There was a kind of satisfaction in seeing the man come undone beneath him, hearing the soft, broken cries spilling from his white throat marked with bruises.
“G-Germany… Mmh… Ludwig…” Arthur’s hands were twisting, wrists chafing against the tight leather. He swallowed, drawing in several heavy breaths before whispering on an exhale.
“T-they think it’s all over…” He let out a breathless little giggle that ended on a loud moan as another sharp thrust half lifted his hips from the bed and hit a spot inside him that sent a spike of pleasure through the slowly fading discomfort.
“Extra time,” the German hissed, and Arthur laughed again, eyes rolling back as his head tipped and his panting faltered.
“Not… not fair,” he choked out, tasting salt on his lips. “Y-you always get me on the – ah! – p-penalties…”
“Poor defence, England.”
“Nngh!” His back arched, arms tugging at the belt, a high whine rising in his throat as his body twisted in protest of the rough treatment. “Ludwig… Ludwig… Hh… Harder!”
Rather than doing as the Englishman demanded, the German stopped, gazing down silently, eyes flinty and narrowed on the wide green ones focussed on him. Arthur was panting, his erection – which had not faded throughout the pain – pressed up against Ludwig’s stomach. The smaller blonde rocked up, heels trying to gain more purchase on the bed as a shudder ran the length of his body. He let out a long, low sound and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly and managing another smirk as he spoke.
“Five – one.”
“Never again.” The taller man drove in deep, and Arthur choked on a scream, eyes flying open as heat rushed through him. “I am not going to lose to you again. Not again.”
Arthur whimpered, the full realisation of just how helpless he was hitting him full force. He moaned and cried out, throwing his head back and wailing brokenly as he climaxed, clamping down around the German who groaned, rutting against him, his grip tight on the Englishman’s hips as he peaked with a bone-deep shudder. A dull tearing sound announced the ripping of the belt, though it stayed securely around Arthur’s wrists as the man panted weakly, legs trembling.
Without a word, Ludwig dropped his head, resting his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder, his skin damp. After a moment he moved, pulling away, freezing a moment when the Englishman moaned quietly, almost plaintively. In the dim light filtering in through the door he saw Arthur roll his head to one side and close his eyes, and he backed up, sitting on the edge of the bed. As an afterthought, he released the man’s wrists, resting his arms over his stomach and gathering up his own clothes, leaving the room silently.
Arthur didn’t say a word between waking and leaving the next morning, the only evidence of their activity being the slight limp and the blush of mortification on the Englishman’s cheeks as he fled, Gilbert grinning from ear to ear in the kitchen as he heard the front door slam.
The Prussian looked over to his brother, who was sitting drinking coffee sullenly and avoiding his eyes as best he could.
“Lively little thing, isn’t he?” Gilbert said, almost purring, resting his chin on his hand as Ludwig’s shoulders tensed.
“No comment.”
“Did you tie him up? I bet you did.”
“Shut up.”
“What did you do to make him scream like that?”
“Gilbert!”
Genre: Romance.. sort of?
Pairing/s: GermanyxEngland
Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Drunk!England, cussing, violent sex.
Summary: Kink-meme de-anon. Pre-match, Germany and England are having a drink together. England once again overestimates his alcohol tolerance. Shenanigans ensue.
*****
England’s low alcohol tolerance was something which was spoken of occasionally between nations when the man was not present, though it was something which had only been witnessed by a select few. Ludwig had never thought he would be one of them, and as he sat watching the shorter blonde swaying in his seat, holding his fourth pint of good German beer in a lax grip, he was no doubt wishing that had remained the case.
It had been an act of good will on both their parts, this meeting, and it had gone better than either of them would have thought up until this point. There had been no references to past unpleasantness, the most serious thing spoken of being the dire situation on the far side of the Mediterranean, and surprisingly, the football game which was to take place in only two day’s time had not been mentioned. They had traded idle anecdotes of happier times, made several scathing remarks about Francis which were received in good humour on both sides, and had discovered an almost comforting similarity in the things that made the two of them laugh. That, however, had been before Arthur had found that he quite liked the beer in this country and had started drinking, quickly becoming inebriated.
It wasn’t long after that, that the German decided Arthur had had more than enough, and he all but dragged the smaller man out of the pub under a barrage of protests. They were hardly matched in physical strength, however, and it was an easy task to get the Englishman out onto the street, where the fresh air only added to his condition and had him clinging to Ludwig’s arm in an effort to stay upright.
“England, where is your hotel..?” he asked, the response the one he had been dreading as Arthur let out a half-stifled snort and staggered slightly over a crack in the pavement. He shut his eyes, and let out a patient sigh, hesitating for a moment before wrapping arm firmly around the Englishman’s waist, rolling his eyes skywards and setting off. Even Gilbert had never caused him this much trouble.
“Y-y’ know… y’… What?” Arthur was mumbling as he stumbled along beside the taller man. “Not so… Y’re walkin’ too fast… Ger… Germany…” He started to giggle, and Ludwig bit the inside of his cheek, half in annoyance and half in embarrassment for the man. Tasting blood as a wolf-whistle from further up the street reached him, he turned sharply down a side street, almost throwing his companion off balance and spurring another round of loose-tongued complaints.
“If… if yer footballers are as ‘eavy-‘anded as you… Germany… my boys are gonna kick their arses all t’ way back ter… ter that place… wi’ t’ doughnuts… Y’know… pfff… Y’know, Germany…”
“Berlin.” Ludwig replied through gritted teeth, immediately regretting making the connection as Arthur dissolved into further laughter. “Ich glaubs ja nicht…” he muttered, shaking his head and hauling the other man along while he continued to talk to himself in various strong English dialects until he suddenly fell silent and looked up, his eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown.
“Y’r lan... langw… tha’ thing y’ speak… ‘s really weird, Ger… Ge- Ludwig… I can call y’ tha’, right..?”
“I believe you will whether I give permission or not, England…”
“’S right, I will!”
Arthur was still sniggering to himself as he was pulled up the path to Ludwig’s front door, and there was an awkward shuffling as Ludwig attempted to pull his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, and with that achieved, the Englishman was unceremoniously heaved indoors, where he almost fell face-first onto the carpet, only stopped by Ludwig’s tight grip on his upper arm. While he hissed and tried to prise the man’s fingers off him, he was all but frog-marched through the house and seated in the front room while his reluctant host walked through to the kitchen to find something to sober him up.
Swaying from side to side, Arthur needed several moments to realise that there was someone else in the room with him.
“Y’r broth’r is an eejit…” he said, the sharp sound of a cup hitting the kitchen counter letting him know that Ludwig had heard him. “I mean… look at ‘im… lyin’ there… bloody eejit.” The man in question was asleep, or perhaps unconscious, on the sofa wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with an empty bottle held loosely in one hand. “’E was always shite at football… An’ y’know, Ludwig, I dunno why you let ‘im get away with ‘is… ‘is freeloadin’ off o’ y’…’Cause I mean, look at ‘im… don’ y’… don’ y’ get sick of ‘ow ‘e is? ‘E’s such a feckin’ too-”
“Drink this.”
A cup was shoved into Arthur’s hands and he blinked down at it, tilting it from side to side as if trying to figure out if the shifting surface of the water within was an illusion or not while Ludwig stood and tapped one foot impatiently, casting irritated glances between his sleeping brother and the intoxicated Englishman. Several moments passed while Arthur made an attempt to get the cup to his lips, finally managing it only to seemingly forget how to swallow and choking, coughing harshly. If nothing else, it seemed to sober him up slightly and he shook his head, managing another mouthful of water. With Ludwig’s grudging assistance he finished the rest, and was once again pulled to his feet.
“Where we goin’ now?” he complained, grabbing a handful of Ludwig’s jacket and tripping over his own feet as he was led towards the stairs. “Why can’ y’ jus’ lemme stay ‘ere? ‘S comfy… I don’ mind sleepin’ on the couch…”
“My brother is on the couch,” Ludwig reminded him as he helped the smaller man negotiate the first step.
“I know that…” Arthur replied, grinning inanely.
Ludwig bit his lip to hold back a curse, pulling Arthur up the stairs while the man giggled and clung to him, ripping the top pocket of the man’s shirt in the process. Cursing under his breath, he struggled to hold Arthur when the two of them staggered, the Englishman losing his footing on the thick carpet of the landing.
He fell against the taller man, shutting his eyes, and instinctively the German wrapped both arms around him, at a loss of where to go and what to do with the drunken Englishman using him as a crutch. Arthur hiccupped, and wrinkled his nose.
“Y’know, y’r food ‘s ter… terri… bad. I can… I can still taste tha’ thing I ‘ad fer… fer dinner. ‘S like… bleh… Ludwig…” Slowly, Arthur lifted his head, his eyes focussed but slightly hazed as they met Ludwig’s. He smiled dopily, then grinned.
“What?”
“Jus’ wond’rin’… ‘f you taste like your food does,” Arthur said, his eyes half-lidded, a light slur in his voice that he was trying to suppress as he grabbed hold of Ludwig’s shoulders and pulled himself up to press a messy kiss to the other man’s mouth. Ludwig stiffened, his hands hovering over Arthur’s arms, lips solid as the smaller blonde made a sound of something like disappointment before pulling away, a slight frown on his face.
“You don’t,” he muttered.
“I-I’m sorry?” Ludwig stammered, eyes a little wide while Arthur continued to grin up at him. His hands finally closed around Arthur’s shoulders, holding him still. The Englishman frowned again, then snorted quietly, squirming out of his grasp.
“Can’ say I didn’ ‘spect it…” he said as he half collapsed against the wall and felt his way along it, Ludwig following uncertainly, wary of touching him again. “You should be more like your br’ther… ‘E always knew ‘ow ter ‘ave a good time…” Arthur sniggered, glancing lazily over to the German, who was bristling slightly.
“I think that is enough, England.”
“Pff… Not even started… Always had you pegged as the frigid sort, y’know…”
“Enough, Arthur.” His tone sharpened, and he took a rough hold of the Englishman’s arm, intent upon escorting him to the nearest bed.
“Shudda known… Your sex is prob’ly as borin’ as your beer.”
The next noise from Arthur was a half-strangled sound of pain and surprise as the back of his head smacked against the wall, Ludwig’s hand pressed up against his throat. A thrill burned through him at the fire in the German’s eyes before now pliant lips were crushed to his and he was kissed with an intensity that took his breath away. He gasped when Ludwig tore away, glaring fiercely down at him. Arthur’s tongue darted out to lick at the blood beading on his lower lip, and he curled his fingers into the front of the other man’s shirt and pulled him down, a low sound rising in his throat as Ludwig pressed him back, pinning him between the wall and the hard plane of his chest, kissing him again harder, more demanding.
Arthur moved his arms up from their place locked between them to wrap both around the taller man’s neck, arching to him, not thinking to question his actions through the alcohol-induced haze in his mind. Ludwig was tense but his resolve was weakening, and when Arthur groaned softly into his mouth and slowly rolled his hips against him, his will broke and he half pulled the Englishman up with one strong hand behind a slim leg.
“We should stop,” he said, even as Arthur began to near-feverishly tug his shirt out of his trousers. He shook his head.
“No. We shouldn’t,” was the breathless response as the shirt was freed and nails dragged up the skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. Ludwig swore under his breath, biting back a quiet noise of his own. Unsure of where to put his hands, Ludwig’s hesitance drew a sound of annoyance and the German was pulled forwards into another bruising kiss. He clasped the smaller man’s arms and dug his nails in, and Arthur shuddered against him, biting gently down on his lip, slipping his fingers into the top of Ludwig’s trousers.
Arthur’s gaze was sharper this time as he looked up, almost smirking.
“Not bad, Kraut,” he said. “Still a lil’ flat.”
“Flat, is it?”
“I ‘spected a lil’ more bite.”
For a long moment Ludwig simply stared at him. Arthur already looked half-fucked, his cheeks faintly flushed and hair mussed. Without warning, the German jerked the man’s head back with one hand tangled in his hair, and bit down on the curve of his neck, leaving a deep purple mark. The Englishman moaned loudly, and Ludwig pressed him back against the wall, growling quietly.
“Quiet.”
“Make me.”
“You are drunk.”
“Obv’ously… Wouldn’ be touchin’ you otherwise. Rather go after your brother… ‘less you think you can do better…” Arthur smirked again. “Betcha can’t.”
The green-eyed blonde gasped and arched against the wall, gripping Ludwig’s shoulders as he was lifted from the floor. Ludwig’s touch was still wary, but his lips were not and they moved hotly against Arthur’s. Tugging at the German’s shirt, Arthur succeeded in unfastening half the buttons and removing the other half in his haste, smoothing his hands over Ludwig’s chest and shoulders. Ludwig swore again, setting Arthur back on his feet and leading him brusquely by the wrist to the nearest open door. Giggling like a schoolgirl, Arthur bounced as he landed on the bed, falling back.
He pulled his shirt off and shut his eyes as Ludwig slid over his chest and stomach. Muscles fluttering under calloused fingers, Arthur made a low sound of pleasure, hands straying to unbuckle Ludwig’s belt. The taller man batted his hands away and pushed them up, looping the belt around his wrists and securing them to the headrail.
“H-hey, this wasn’t part of the… uh…”
“Would you just be quiet?” Ludwig snapped, locking his gaze to Arthur’s, the Englishman finally falling silent. “You have driven me to this. I hope you are satisfied.”
“Not yet…”
The German gritted his teeth and shook his head as if to clear it, stripping the rest of the smaller man’s clothes. In the dark they could barely see each other, but Ludwig could make out the slender musculature of the Englishman’s frame, and the faint shine of his eyes as they watched him remove his boots and trousers, folding the latter much to Arthur’s amusement. His sniggering was cut short when Ludwig pulled off his briefs and for a moment he only stared.
“What.”
“You could put Francis to shame,” Arthur told him wryly. “You’ve been keeping that one secret, Ludwig.”
Red to the tops of his ears and muttering under his breath, Ludwig pressed a hard kiss to the man’s lips, forcing one of his knees up to what must have been an uncomfortable height, pushing inside him in one smooth stroke. Eyes wide, Arthur stared up at him with rosy lips parted in shock, every muscle pulled taut and trembling as Ludwig looked down, panting hard.
“… Ow…”
“Shut up.”
“Hn…” Arthur fell silent, fingers curled tightly around the belt securing them, head falling to one side as pain throbbed through his pelvis. The German drew back with a deliberate slowness, and Arthur’s hips followed the movement, a soft whimper passing the smaller man’s lips.
“You were saying, England?” Ludwig growled, punctuating the final word with a short, sharp thrust. Gasping harshly, Arthur jerked, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes open and glazed. There was a kind of satisfaction in seeing the man come undone beneath him, hearing the soft, broken cries spilling from his white throat marked with bruises.
“G-Germany… Mmh… Ludwig…” Arthur’s hands were twisting, wrists chafing against the tight leather. He swallowed, drawing in several heavy breaths before whispering on an exhale.
“T-they think it’s all over…” He let out a breathless little giggle that ended on a loud moan as another sharp thrust half lifted his hips from the bed and hit a spot inside him that sent a spike of pleasure through the slowly fading discomfort.
“Extra time,” the German hissed, and Arthur laughed again, eyes rolling back as his head tipped and his panting faltered.
“Not… not fair,” he choked out, tasting salt on his lips. “Y-you always get me on the – ah! – p-penalties…”
“Poor defence, England.”
“Nngh!” His back arched, arms tugging at the belt, a high whine rising in his throat as his body twisted in protest of the rough treatment. “Ludwig… Ludwig… Hh… Harder!”
Rather than doing as the Englishman demanded, the German stopped, gazing down silently, eyes flinty and narrowed on the wide green ones focussed on him. Arthur was panting, his erection – which had not faded throughout the pain – pressed up against Ludwig’s stomach. The smaller blonde rocked up, heels trying to gain more purchase on the bed as a shudder ran the length of his body. He let out a long, low sound and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly and managing another smirk as he spoke.
“Five – one.”
“Never again.” The taller man drove in deep, and Arthur choked on a scream, eyes flying open as heat rushed through him. “I am not going to lose to you again. Not again.”
Arthur whimpered, the full realisation of just how helpless he was hitting him full force. He moaned and cried out, throwing his head back and wailing brokenly as he climaxed, clamping down around the German who groaned, rutting against him, his grip tight on the Englishman’s hips as he peaked with a bone-deep shudder. A dull tearing sound announced the ripping of the belt, though it stayed securely around Arthur’s wrists as the man panted weakly, legs trembling.
Without a word, Ludwig dropped his head, resting his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder, his skin damp. After a moment he moved, pulling away, freezing a moment when the Englishman moaned quietly, almost plaintively. In the dim light filtering in through the door he saw Arthur roll his head to one side and close his eyes, and he backed up, sitting on the edge of the bed. As an afterthought, he released the man’s wrists, resting his arms over his stomach and gathering up his own clothes, leaving the room silently.
Arthur didn’t say a word between waking and leaving the next morning, the only evidence of their activity being the slight limp and the blush of mortification on the Englishman’s cheeks as he fled, Gilbert grinning from ear to ear in the kitchen as he heard the front door slam.
The Prussian looked over to his brother, who was sitting drinking coffee sullenly and avoiding his eyes as best he could.
“Lively little thing, isn’t he?” Gilbert said, almost purring, resting his chin on his hand as Ludwig’s shoulders tensed.
“No comment.”
“Did you tie him up? I bet you did.”
“Shut up.”
“What did you do to make him scream like that?”
“Gilbert!”
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O_O! <3
Date: 2010-07-21 09:01 am (UTC)Arthur's drunken dialogue is just wonderful, especially how you manged to make it sound so authentically drunk with all the slurring and his inability to pronounce certain words.
Then there was the porn. *melts* Iggy really had that one coming though. I'm not gonna complain though. Ludwig's fit of German manliness was pretty darn sexy. lol
And the PrussiaxEngland hints you threw in..yes. I can almost hear the rest of the brother's coversation. "Yeesh. You don't have to yell too. I was just askin'...you know there was this one time I tied him up and-" "GILBERT! D8<" Prussia would totally share stories with his brother. XD
And before I spam up this comment box with more silly scenes, good job and keep up the awesome work.
Re: O_O! <3
Date: 2010-07-21 02:39 pm (UTC)-secret Prussia/England shipper-