[Fanfic] Progression
It began with a kiss, reaching over a table covered with spilt water glistening under the electrical lights of the large meeting room. The papers begin to sink, blending with the wood, darkening from a brilliant white to despondent gray. And the water soon spilled over the sides, on their expensive leather shoes and the expensive Persian rug.
But the kisser didn’t care, holding the man’s tie roughly in weathered hands. He forces his tongue into territories he did not understand, did not comprehend. He stands shakily on the tips of his toes, his victim much taller than he. And as he pulls back, he breathes heavily, hands shaking from gripping too hard, veins pushing through his skin on the back of his hands.
He lets go, the tie crumpled in an indistinguishable mess, as much of a mess as his hair. He turns, eyes wide, staring at the intricate patterns of the rug. “…Sorry about that.” Is all he can say, smoothing back his hair hastily. “Sorry, Germany.”
Ludwig’s hands are attached to the edge of the table, face frozen from shock. He takes a couple steps back, the bottoms of his shoes squishing into the wet rug, water seeping up and back down into the fibers. He touches his bruised lips, runs a tongue across the roof of his mouth. The sensation of the foreign tongue lingers on his teeth.
“God, look at this mess.” He coughs, gathering the wet papers together carefully. Suddenly, a document rips under his touch and he roughly swears. “Bloody hell.” He hisses, balling all the wet papers together into one large mass. “I’ll just have my assistant print it again.” He slaps his hands on the wet table, the water rising, splashing against his face. “We’ll meet again.”
Ludwig returns to reality, realizing the meaning behind those words. He first looks at the ball of wet paper, and then at his partner across the table. “Again? England?”
Arthur walks over to the corner of the table with the wet mass in hand, picking up a small wastebasket and dropping it on the table. He gathers the wet papers and drops them into the bucket, a wet drop resonates in the silent room. “Again.” He looks up sharply. “Get over here.”
Ludwig purses his lips, fists balling at his sides. “It’s getting late, I better get out of here.”
“Get. Over. Here.”
Ludwig stares at Arthur, who looks as if he will jump over the table if Ludwig does not comply. So the German slowly walks around the long table, each step noisily sinking into the rug, and he stops, as he stands tall before Arthur.
Arthur looks up, raises an ugly eyebrow, and grab’s Ludwig’s tie once more. “A shame. It looks like an expensive tie.” He grabs Ludwig’s hips and draws the larger man near, pulling his head further down so he can capture cherry reds.
It’s not gentle, only rougher.
*********
“You fuck like a ninny.” Arthur runs a hand over Ludwig’s chest. “Like some half-witted virgin. No passion whatsoever.”
Ludwig glowers at him, “You’re one to talk.” He wants to say, but instead he turns to his side. “I’m not even sure how I got here.” He mumbles under his breath, pulling the covers over his head, almost ashamed of his situation.
“You’re fairly quiet for a German.” Arthur laughs haughtily, staring at the lump under the sheets. “I fucking hate you for being big.”
“Can we stop talking about this? You’re starting to sound like France.”
“Don’t compare me to that pervert. He fucks whatever moves.” Arthur draws closer to Ludwig, wrapping his arms around Ludwig underneath the sheets. “I choose my lovers carefully. Don’t we all?”
Ludwig thinks back to his first time. “Yes.” He sighs. It was like a nightmare. Horrible. “Doesn’t mean they all end well.”
Arthur then pulls back the sheets, gently, resting his head on Ludwig’s neck. “That’s the past. We can’t dwell on the past.”
“And yet we do.” Ludwig pulls away, sitting up on the bed. His feet tangle in the clothes on the floor. Ludwig does not remember when they came off, when his skin was bare to the cold air and his head resting on his pillow. He pulls up his pants, securing them tightly around his waist and turns.
Arthur looks vulnerable, for just a moment. Something like lost flashes over his eyes before it melts into frustration. “You’re not fun at all.”
“We’re all not fun.” Ludwig replies, thinking back to a time he was passionate, lovingly so. “Not after…” Determination kills his mood. The red, black, and white, all shaped into that obscene flag causes him to grit his teeth. Lost, all lost.
Arthur narrows his eyes. “You leave, this will be the last time we see each other.”
Ludwig lazily covers his shoulders with his white shirt, grabbing his suitcase on the way out of the room. “Sure.”
*********
Love is a misconception.
Yet.
Ludwig bites his lips. This feeling seems so foreign, so unusual in a way. His hands are placed gently on Arthur’s body, caressing when needed, fondling, touching, creating ecstasy. He breathes heavily, heat all around him causing him to sweat. His hair is freed from their bonds, lightly brushing against his brow.
Arthur opens his eyes slightly, watching Ludwig through the haze of his mind. He looks so determined, almost as if to make a statement of sorts, to prove himself worthy. “What happened…to…f-fucking like a ninny-AH.” Arthur gasps as he climaxes, pressing his abdomen further into Ludwig before collapsing back onto the bed.
Ludwig gasps for air as well as he pulls back, eyes wide with a sort of horror striking them. He’s done it, whatever he was meaning to do.
“Where…are you going?”
“Shower…”
Arthur lies exhausted on the bed, last moments striking up his spine before his body relaxes. He stares up at the wall, his chest still heaving for some breathe. “It’s nothing,” he whispers, “It’s nothing like that at all.” Nothing like those feelings he threw away long ago, nothing like palpitating organs and churning pits. Nothing.
Ludwig turns on the cold water and nearly screams as the icy water blasts onto his back. He relaxes as he becomes comfortable under the cold, and began turning on the warm. The water grows hot, his skin becoming pink and red. He holds out his hands, the hands that held Arthur in that way and wonders why, just why.
Why does this all feel so wrong?
*********
They go out for breakfast on an early misty morning.
It is a small private diner near Arthur’s home, well known for its delicious hot drinks and surprise breakfasts.
Ludwig looks at the plate before him. He recognizes eggs, and what seems to be a type of meat. However, the black links he did not recognize, nor did he care to come to realize what they are. He eats everything but the mysterious meat, and relishes on a hot cup of black tea. It is bitter, but soothing.
Arthur eats everything on his plate, and places two cubes of sugar in his tea. He stirs the liquid and sugar together with a small spoon, taping the small utensil on the side of the chinaware and places it on the side. He lifts the teacup, letting the steam heat his nose, taking in the aroma of the bitter drink, and takes a careful sip. “FFF-I burned my tongue.”
Ludwig looks up from his tea, amusement glittering in his eyes. He coughs, hot tea bubbling down his throat, his lack of attention causing his throat to not understand the command “swallow”.
They cough together for a while, the waitress bringing them cold water and the other early patrons laughing quietly to themselves over the two men.
“So,” Arthur finally speaks as they gain composure. “Did you enjoy your breakfast? I hope it is not too different from what you normally eat.”
Ludwig smiles politely, “No, I enjoyed it.” At the very least, it wasn’t Arthur’s cooking.
Arthur looks up from his cup of tea, his eyebrows furrowing in a look of dissatisfaction. “Stop smiling like that. So fake, you…” He refrains himself from swearing in public.
Ludwig folds the cloth napkin from his lap and onto the table. He reaches to his back pocket, taking out his black leather wallet and checking to see if he has enough Pounds to pay for the meal. “I’ll pay.”
“No, no, a guest should never pay.” Arthur waves his hands in protest. He immediately takes out a bit of cash, rushing over to the diner owner and paying right then and there.
Ludwig blinks, putting the wallet back into his back pocket and sighs, leaning back in his chair. He looks around the diner.
The diner is dimly lit, depending mostly on the morning’s dim white light to spill over the tables and chairs. Condiments (sugar, salt, pepper, and such) are arranged carefully on the edge of each table. People begin to fill the diner little by little, and the small place becomes louder with time.
Ludwig closes his eyes halfway, the diner becoming a scene from a dream. It is blurry, misty, as if he is part of this dream, part of this mysterious place and wonder. He closes his eyes, thinking of many things, among them being Arthur.
“Oh my God, stop embarrassing me and get up from your stupor.”
Ludwig blinks and looks up to find Arthur standing above him, crossing his arms angrily. “We need to get back now and continue what we started before.”
“Right. Of course.”
*********
Ludwig flips his phone close, ending the conversation. He looks at the time on his phone, finding it to be too late, and sighs tiredly. He leans back on his chair, eyes closed, hands rubbing them roughly.
Behind him he hears the door open to the room he is currently residing in. He is still in Arthur’s home, still here, still here.
Arthur comes in with a tray of tea and simple cookies. “I heard you talking for almost two hours now.” He closes the door behind him and walks over with the tray. “Corn tea I discovered from the East. Smells and tastes like cereal.” Arthur places the tray on the small desk in front of Ludwig.
The room is quaint, not small, but not immensely large. A small desk where Ludwig works resides not too far from the full size bed. An armoire and set of drawers decorate the rest of the walls, along with a walk-in closet and television. The bathroom is nearly hidden, resting beside the bed, its door small and old in comparison to the rest of the room.
“Thank you.” Ludwig nods to Arthur, taking off his reading glasses and placing them carefully on the desk. “There are always problems at home, around the world. I feel so overwhelmed.”
“That’s what vacations are for.” Arthur smirks, pouring tea into two cups. The tea set is intricately decorated with light blue designs, vines and floral patterns twisting around the curvatures of the porcelain surface.
The smell of corn wafts from the teacups, the heat of the drink condensing on Ludwig’s skin. He picks up a cup and sips it carefully, testing the temperature, and takes a gratuitous sip. “Just like corn.”
“Of course.” Arthur nibbles on a cookie, “It is corn tea, after all.”
Ludwig nods, setting the teacup down on the small desk. He leans back on the large office chair, resting his head back on the soft padding. His body relaxes into the crevices of the leather, eyes closing, head nodding slightly to the right.
Arthur watches him quietly, drinking the rest of his tea. He sets his finished cup on the tray, taking another cookie in his mouth and chewing it slowly. “Are you really sleeping?” He asks. No response.
And then he realizes, though it is just a passing thought, that he has never seen Ludwig asleep. He studies the finer features of the German man’s face; light blonde eyelashes curve up from the edges of his eyelids, nearly transparent in the light of the room, in contrast to the lightness of his skin. Lips curve above a sharp chin, slender jaw line, defined neck and collarbone. His is unmistakingly a beautiful man.
“Nothing like that, nothing at all, just curious.” He thinks to himself, his thin hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Just curious, curiosity, curiosity didn’t kill the cat.” He laughs to himself quietly, leaning over Ludwig’s sleeping figure.
He breathes in slowly, his chest rising with each second. His lips are partially open, dry, chapped, and hungry. His right hand reaches over and grabs the corner above Ludwig’s left shoulder so the chair would not move in retaliation. He leans closer, his shadow swallowing Ludwig whole as he hovers carefully over Ludwig’s peaceful face.
The sight is almost like a ravenous lion descending over an innocent German Shepard. The aura though, is much more different.
Arthur finds himself falling into Ludwig so many times, too many times. And he continues to think so as his lips descend and gently suckle Ludwig’s, face bright red for once in their relationship.
Ludwig’s blond eyelashes flutter, and he stares, first surprised, and then calm. He rolls away an inch, watching a disturbed Arthur realize the circumstances of this encounter.
But before Arthur could mutter a word, Ludwig reaches over, slightly pulling away from the back of his chair and pulls at Arthur’s shirt. The touch looks menacing, but the pressure is light, gentle, well-meaning.
Arthur complies and slowly leans over Ludwig, arms resting on the headrest above. His face is close, his fists balling into tight ghostly white flesh. His ears are bright red, his stomach churning painfully, and his chest squeezing through his ribs.
Ludwig watches Arthur through half-closed eyes, drinking in the atmosphere like cold water. He closes his eyes, tugging at Arthur’s shirt gently, and sighs contently.
*********
A love story must have an end, whether be it heartbreak or death. There is a limit to everything, even the sky, the blue disappearing with continuing altitude.
But this love story is like the stars, endless, always dying, always breathing life. With life there is a gentle calm beauty; with death, an explosion of amazingly beautiful colors and hope.
With them death begins, and a gentle star is born. It shines dimly, but is always there.
Sex is not refused, and even if Ludwig would deny it initially Arthur would always somehow entice the German into bed, into a shower, against the wall.
But this time it is different. This time there is no reluctant fear.
Ludwig wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulders carefully, his body wet from his hot shower, and whispers, “Again, I’ll do it again, this time right.” A towel is wrapped loosely around his thin waist.
Arthur gulps, his chest beating heavily, his ears deep red. He suddenly starts thinking of his own body, how much it contrasts with Ludwig’s, how he is not as well endowed, and all such unneeded thought. “I-I don’t want to be fucked by some…” He doesn’t finish, as he feels a hand glide down his back gently.
He arches at the touch, leaning back onto Ludwig’s chest. He looks up to see Ludwig still as nervous as ever, but something like a need in those blue eyes.
Every time before, there was a lack of satisfaction, a nasty feeling left in their choice of place. After their showers Arthur would feel despondent over wet floors, against the wall dirtied wallpaper, in bed dirtied sheets.
Here he could feel, not think. Never think; it becomes almost impossible to second guess.
Ludwig is kneeling on the bed, his knees sinking into the soft mattress. He gently guides Arthur onto the bed, the Englishman once sitting now lying looking up.
He is beautiful as he sinks into the bed sheets, into the soft mattress. Glazed over eyes are unseen as his head lulls back towards the headboard, hands gripping roughly onto toned shoulders.
Like a work of art.
*********
They would meet in a local bar, almost always filled with sports fans of all kinds. It was soccer season, the many men old and young gathered excitedly to the television.
Ludwig and Arthur sat with their drinks near the back of the bar, drinking in silence.
“I remember a beautiful woman with brilliant blonde hair, wonderful blue eyes, and a grace that’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Ludwig broods over his empty beer mug, “I first saw her on the street, hair fluttering like wind, and a yellow star on her coat. She was married to a handsome Jewish man who owned a successful tailor shop. And because of that she had to leave, die, it was a normal cycle for them at the time. I cried after the train left, a trail of black smoke, and I was given a slap for being so weak. I was, after all, the Third Reich.”
He had brilliance around him, something like repentance, regret-something more like an understanding.
Arthur would not sleep the night after their drink. In his mind he saw the scarred Ludwig gripping his mug near the point of shattering, eyes hazy with mist, folding into himself like a scared child.
“I know you are still bitter, this is why I ask for your company.” Ludwig would lift his head, look at Arthur straight in the eye emotionally. Nothing like desperation, nothing like seeking for forgiveness, “I really am sorry, truly. I will never forget. Never.”
Arthur had looked at him calmly, choosing between disbelief and compassion. He had raised a hand, looking as if he would choke the former Third Reich, and instead patted it gently on Ludwig’s back. “I know. I know.” He repeated his words twice. “At the very least, I know.”
The sounds of soccer fans cheering around them would drown out unforgettable tears, as Arthur felt Ludwig tremble underneath his touch.
*********
Their first time is in that same room with the long table, the wooden furniture still soaked in water.
Clothes barely cling to their limbs, slipping off with each movement and pace.
Arthur pushes down on Ludwig’s chest forcefully, the other’s right leg slung on Arthur’s shoulder. He kisses Ludwig roughly, pushing forward, deeper.
Ludwig clings to the table; pain and pleasure crawling up his spine, blossoming like a flower. He feels water, sweat, and semen covering his skin and he gasps deeply, quietly.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Arthur speaks on Ludwig’s lips, feeling his breath collide with his lover’s. “Always in that pristine suit of yours, those stupid glasses on your face, hanging around that incompetent Italian.” He can barely speak the words as he catches his breath, his lips moving lazily on Ludwig’s, his speech slurring and almost incomprehensible. “You always tried to be a perfectionist when you weren’t anywhere near one. Always failing, always…” His lone, empty shoulder feels cold and bare. He grabs Ludwig’s arm and clamps it tightly on his shoulder, breathing in deeply and breathing out a shallow shaky breath as he continues.
Ludwig’s hair is tousled, hovering, clinging onto his forehead and the nape of his neck. Having lost the support of one arm, he shifts all his weight onto the other, not wanting to fall back on the table.
He thinks back, not remembering the last time he felt so close. Not in terms of friendship, kinship, rather a wholesome relationship where he finds himself so entranced and almost in love.
His last time in almost half a century is with France.
“They may sign with ink, but we sign with something much more…breathtaking, if you will.”
And he admits that Francis is as great as a lover as her brags. He knew how to handle every situation, as nervous as Ludwig was as he had nearly committed to celibacy in those years after those darker years. He was gentle and giving, and Ludwig had never felt rushed. Francis guided him, whispered, never yelled, kissed him in sensitivity and lust. Delightfully memorable.
Arthur…not so much.
He is rough, acting almost inexperienced. His tongue always on his, hands always gripping, yelling commands when he could, abhorrently loud. At times he was confused, pulling back prematurely, staying too long, always wanting to try again just to prove himself.
Ludwig slid his arm off Arthur’s shoulder and pressed his palm to Arthur’s face. He glides his fingers long the man’s jaw until his thumb touching the tip of Arthur’s chin. Ludwig kisses him gently, almost not a kiss, a brush of the lips, and pulls away completely. “Enough.”
Arthur feels rejected, and he pulls away cold, but not humiliated. Pulling his pants up properly around his waist, he stares at the mess around them; stares at everything but Ludwig.
Ludwig adjusts his white dress shirt properly onto his shoulders and slides off the table. He looks at his shirt and notices the back is completely transparent. He sighs sadly, looking for the garments Arthur so willingly pulled off.
“I’m not like that, not like that at all.” Arthur finally speaks, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “I…I didn’t…” Mean to make you feel so uncomfortable, mean to make you feel so inferior, so alone, so isolated from me. “I didn’t mean to give you such a bad time.” Arthur laughs, crossing his arms. “N-Next time it’ll be better.”
Ludwig looks up as he finds his pants. “Next time?”
“Next time.”
Ludwig stares at Arthur, mouth slightly agape.
Arthur stares back. “What? Want a penis in your mouth? Mouths only open for food, communication, and sex, now close it.” He hisses, blushing furiously.
Ludwig continues to stare at Arthur in disbelief, feeling overwhelmed.
But not burdened.
Not burdened at all.
I-I DON’T KNOW WHERE THIS WENT, BUT IT’S DONE.
France and Germany signed a treaty/alliance/some document of sorts (I’m such an ass, wiki it) despite protests from countries like the US and UK. Now they’re both pretty much dominating the EU scene.
So yeah, GerxEng. It’s not in chronological order if you’re wondering (It becomes obvious after a while). I just felt this need to write something after not being able to due to school.