Fanfic: Our Scandalous Little Rabbit
Title: Our Scandalous Little Rabbit
Author/Artist: DestinyShiva a.k.a me.
Characters/Pairing: USUK and FrUK both. Pre-dominantly features Arthur only.
Rating: M. Oh so very M.
Warnings: Hardcore yaoi. Boys love. Masturbation, including DP.
Summary: De-anon from the Hetalia Kink Meme. The prompt?
"Yes, this.
UK likes to masturbate anally to a certain nation.
Bonus if that certain nation is France or America... or both.
BIG Bonus: He comes just from Anal - in other words, he never touches his cock.
BIGGER Bonus: He uses a vibrator.
*goes to hide under a rock* "
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=42781916#t42781916
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Our Scandalous Little Rabbit
"Damn it," Arthur swore to himself, flicking on the light switch and jostling himself inside of his bedroom, impatiently slamming the door behind him. He practically ran to the bed, decorated in golden sheets made of majestically soft silk (Arthur, he was a character of fine taste and splendid calibre - although there was nothing dignified about what terrible thoughts were flourishing in his mind at that very moment), and sat down on the edge.
"Damn it..." Arthur repeated, squeezing his eyes shut and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. He shifted his position ever so slightly in discomfort, letting out a shift hiss when the growing tightness in his trousers accidentally brushed against the mattress. Cracking one eye open, he glanced at the mirror hanging up on his wall - reflecting a sight that he never thought he'd see through the looking-glass.
Half-erect and panting ever so slightly to himself, the vibrantly blushing Brit licked his first two fingers and trailed them down his neck as he continued to undo buttons with his other hand; exposing his milky white, slim washboard chest. He smiled ever so slightly, shrugging the garment so that it was hanging off of his bare shoulder.
Putting pressure on his neck at random spots, Arthur watched himself lightly tease his skin, imagining soft lips instead of his wet fingers and slender hands slipping off his buttons to ravish his body. His lust drugged eyes sparkled as ideas and urges flooded to him, perverse thoughts that he knew would never be brought to life.
Flashes of blond were conjured from nowhere in the mirror, existing only in his mind's eye. A particular Frenchman's rogue smile and tantalising words came into his mind, sending imaginary shivers down his spine, forcing a slight groan from deep inside his throat.
"Mm, what are you thinking Arthur? What is making you pant like that, you dirty little rabbit?"
He could practically hear the Frenchman's voice ringing down on him, whispering smoothly into his ear and passing hot breath inside the cavern. Arthur brought his fingers up, pinching his lobe with his nails to simulate the bite of teeth.
"Moi? Oh, Angleterre. You are so kind. Perhaps I should reward you for your dedication, non?"
Arthur let go of his ear and brought his hand slowly down, fondling his chest and dipping further - following the curvature of his body, sinking for a moment at his navel and passing right down to the beginning of his trousers. The nation paused and swallowed, before running his palm down onto the clothed erection, accidentally allowing a loud moan to snake past his lips.
His cheeks glowered with redness at his sudden and particularly well-voiced outburst, and the Briton inhaled sharply; glancing around his room as if expecting somebody to be standing there gasping at his frankly appalling behaviour. He sighed with untold relief when he found the room empty, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He needed to loosen up and stop worrying; hence why he desperately wanted a release. It had been so long...
"Well... What are you waiting for, mon cher?"
Arthur unzipped his flies and begun to slip off his trousers - letting out a whimper when the much cooler air hit his crotch, even though boxers were still tight around his thighs. He kicked off the trousers, abandoning them totally on the floor; and as much as he disliked being disorderly in usual circumstances, he beckoned this as a problem large enough to cast aside the usual insecurities.
With one hand, Arthur went to rub his pink nipples to arouse his senses - thoughts running wild while Arthur kept the image of Francis nipping and sucking his flesh with that delicious mouth of his. The other hand snuck cleverly into his boxers, running his slim fingers onto the underside of his own length. Unable to stop himself bucking at the touch of his hand, he hissed audibly and chewed violently on his lip.
He frowned. It was not realistic enough. His imagination did wonders envisioning the Frenchman's lips surrounding his cock, forcing and engulfing him down into the deep confines of his tight throat; tongue licking the underside and dipping him in the soft, wet, dripping warmth - but he wanted more.
Realism…
Screw Francis nurturing him to an eventual release with his dangerous but oh-so tantalising mouth, or his fingers wrapping around his length and pumping away until he burst into hot white bliss! He wanted - needed - something different... something far more real.
"You're an idiot France! Can't you see that he wants a more 'hands on' approach?"
Arthur shuddered with disgust at himself for remembering Alfred's shining face, glimmering with blue cerulean eyes brightening his day and darkening the feelings of lust brimming with surreal heat in the bottom of his stomach. Arthur let go of his length, working on the unspoken commands that his mind's eye - vision of Alfred acting realistically to pleasure and fuck him. Within hardly a moment, Arthur had ripped off his underwear with a relishing sigh and stripped himself clear of his shirt - leaving him stark naked and panting with uneasy anticipation…
He glanced back to the mirror for a second, glaring at himself through half-lidded eyes. He looked so scandalous; so turned on by absolutely nothing other than his own perverse thoughts and his fingers. He watched in the reflection as the visions of Alfred sitting behind him - also naked; well-endowed, Arthur naively added, and snaking his fingers over the edge of his shoulders - and Francis down between his legs, eagerly staring back into the mirror with passion and mirth flooded on his damned froggish face. An unsatisfied shiver ran down his spine.
He loathed them both so much. How on earth could they do this to him? Flooding his thoughts like his and practically raping him with their deliciously teasing personalities and unspoken seductions... it was so scandalous. So scandalous!
"Damn it, damn it, damn it…" Arthur whined, closing his eyes and flopping back into the bed - crawling right back until he could feel pillows propping up his shoulders and head. Slowly, he spread his legs wide - and then wider still, as if accommodating them both between his inner thighs.
It was hard to believe that these feelings brewing throughout his chest were conjured only by a book. It does however come into context when it is mentioned that the author of said book was French. That was a disaster in itself. He couldn’t understand why Alfred had given it to him as a gift - after all, French. French! - though he doubted the American had the attention span to notice or even understand how ludicrously stupid that decision was… one ludicrous decision that had gotten Arthur in the mood in a second flat.
Arthur bit his lower lip harshly; whisking his fingers down each of his thighs and towards his crotch, winching slightly as the touch of skin on skin tickled and encouraged him in his critically slow descent. He inclined his fingers to change the angle, making it easier for him to pretend that it wasn't himself groping at his skin with almost bruising pressure.
He clenched his fists and frowned with frustration when he realised it had gotten to the bit he was afraid of but craved for; actual penetration. There was only so much he could do with his hands; teasing his shoulders with pinches to feign as nips, licking the tips and pressing them to skin to fake their mouths spreading hot love across his chest, fondling wide open legs... it was never enough when you were pleasuring yourself. The thrills billowing in your stomach and scallywag's blush were absolutely unique to another’s application to sex; nothing that you could force to conjure just by yourself.
There was, however, one thing he could do that almost entirely reflected the real circumstances of being found in a man's arms and fucked into the mattress. Arthur shuddered when he realised that he hit the wall - an imminent release beckoning him to go further and further.
He had always been afraid of this step. Whenever he tried, and heaven knows he tried, to do anything along those lines he had always backed out at the last minute and found his fingers wrapping around his cock and thrusting into his palms instead. But not tonight; Arthur bit his lip. He was going to brave it...
It wasn't as if he was a virgin or had never been fingered by another person, or fucked like that at all... it was just that it was so much easier with another person pulling the strings and thrusting their digits inside of his warm, tight hole. In all honesty, he just couldn't do it because he was scared that he'd hurt himself physically - he was much more jumpy when sexual pain was self-inflicted.
What would other nations say if he was walking funny the next day, and they knew he was alone in the night? Knowing Francis, he was probably keeping tabs on him all the time.
Fuck Francis. He seemed to know absolutely everything about everyone's sex lives.
"You're sexually frustrated, mon cher. Why else would you snap at anyone and everyone on an every day standard?" He remembered Francis stating with a knowing expression on his face, earlier at a meeting. Of course, Arthur denied it ruthlessly - despite it being so long since his last venture.
"You won't get anywhere if you lie. Perhaps you need a release, mm?" Francis teased, trying to trace his hands over unwanted - or very much wanted, in actuality - places. Arthur had yelped, naturally, and slapped away the offending hands.
If they weren't in company however... those hands might have been allowed somewhere more intimate. The blush had apparently settled easily on Arthur's face, telling-tales of Francis's truth.
"Or perhaps-" Francis's eyes had slowly snaked their way down his body, wordlessly devouring him whole. "-you already can take care of yourself, mm?"
"Don't be silly, France!" Alfred said, jumping the two of them from behind and wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders.
"England doesn't do dirty stuff like that!" Alfred grinned, fingers noticeably tightening their grip. Arthur opened his mouth to object, but when Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur felt his words knocked out of his mind.
"...Do you?"
Francis had smiled, approaching him with a sly look in his eyes. "Oui, mon cher... do you?"
Fuck Francis. He knows everything.
"...A-Alright, Francis. You pathetic git… This is for you..." Arthur said, dedicating his efforts to the man with the pathetic French smile. He sucked in his breath and snaked his fingers downwards, pausing for a moment in hesitance. When he found his entrance, Arthur squeezed his eyes together with nervous trepidation and felt a whimper whisk out from his throat.
Slowly, Arthur pushed in the tip, groaning to himself as he begun to stretch past the inner ring. The Brit crunched his teeth over his lip, biting down strongly and licking over the sore spot to try distracting himself from whatever feared pain he could experience.
“Relax. You’re so tense, little rabbit. Just relax… big brother will take care of you, mm?”
The mental image of Francis became vivid; hanging over him with that deliciously sly smile on his face, stupid freshly trimmed goatee framing his chin and tickling his skin whenever he pushed down to place numerous kisses on his collar bones. Arthur spread his legs even wider, creasing his face up quite with discomfort as he gave the faux Frenchman more room to thrust his finger up inside of him.
--And straight back out again.
Arthur squirmed, closing his legs and shrinking further back against his shimmering gold pillows. Then Brit pinched the bridge of his nose again and massaged his temples. He couldn’t do it. At least, not dry…
The image of Alfred pushed Francis out of the way, flashing that seductively pearly white grin of his. Arthur almost gagged at the thought. Alfred’s smile was always so sweet that he could practically give himself cavities thinking about it. The American brushed his finger over Arthur’s cheek - the Englishman inclined his head slightly, melting into the absolutely pretend touch - and went to stick his fingers in Arthur’s mouth.
Slipping his own fingers inside (apart from the one he attempted to use a moment ago. He had some dignity, for goodness sake. Besides, he would let the saliva mingle), he thoroughly soaked them, stopping himself from registering the tickling sensation from his fingertips as being his own.
Wet until they were practically dripping, he drew them out of his mouth and plunged his hand downwards again; feeling the fingers teasing his entrance before plunging two in with more confident vigour. It was hardly easier for him to impale them inside, lubricated enough for the initial sting of muscular pain to be conquered and a true moan to pass through his lips.
He was impossibly hot and tight, Arthur noted whilst trying to push down against himself, rocking his hips slowly down to try persuading and forcing those fingers further. Alfred wouldn’t be so soft, Arthur wagered. He’d try not to make it painful, but he wouldn’t be able to stop himself; the American’s strength and absolute incapability to control it became as one of his many charms.
It took until both his index finger and middle finger managed to slip to the second knuckle along that Arthur whipped them out again with a slightly vulgar but satisfying plop. With a shiver, Arthur groaned in frustration at his own adolescent nerves. It was stupid; saliva wasn’t enough for a good lube. How could it be?
He rolled over onto his stomach and wormed his way to the edge of the bed, whipping open the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet. Arthur buried his head against the pillows and grunted in annoyance when he saw that the bottle of proper lube was absolutely empty; barely enough for the length of one finger.
He really needed to throw it away - but he was very self-conscious and afraid that someone would see it in his rubbish and raise their eyebrows. He was already brandished a pervert because of that damned slut of a Frenchman; he didn’t want to have it declared to the whole world that it was absolutely true and that there was evidence to prove it.
The thought that he could have just called that said ‘slut of a Frenchman’ instead did cross his mind. After all, France was always glad to give someone a quick fuck if they needed it; and gosh, did Arthur need it. He squirmed in frustration knowing that despite it being so easy for him to get on the line with him and demand that he gets his soppy French pants over to London NOW or Arthur would bite his cock off (though that could be on the agenda anyway… except with slightly more tongue and slightly less unwanted chomping. Though fuck it; Francis probably had some weird masochistic kinks. After all… he was French), he could not let himself be degraded to that calibre.
That would mean accepting that he was a cheap pervert who wanted nothing less than to have a certain Frenchman, or certain American fuck him absolutely raw into his own mattress; with no strings attached other than to never ever tell a single soul. In penalty of death, or worse - he did discover once how to summon Russia. That would be a punishing threat enough.
And no way in hell was Arthur going to sink that low. Even if it was not much lower than using his own fingers and imagination to pleasure himself beyond all other comparisons. In any case; everyone did that sort of thing, albeit not admitting. It was nothing whence compared to the mortification of requesting for a quick release.
He may have been frustrated and obviously so, but he still had his dignity. Never in the realms of possibility would he beg for them to bring him to Heaven. For he was the British Empire; and the British do not beg like common dogs.
--Which was exactly why it was imperative that he managed to wring that need, pleasure and desperate out of his system; to purge the bad feelings and rid the heat boiling up in his stomach. He could take care of himself in many ways, and this just proved to be another. If he could actually brave the obvious, that was…
It was ridiculous wasn’t it? He was once a pirate, sailing the vast and ruthless seven seas; an ex-rogue, delinquent, and dominator of practically the four corners of the Earth… but he still couldn’t brave the idea of fingering himself. What sort of lunatic was he?
Arthur glanced around quickly, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. When did his cheeks turn so violently rosy red?! The Brit frowned almost apologetically at himself before quickly moving on. There had to be something that could work just as effectively as any lube…
He snapped himself up to his feet and practically ran to his bathroom, a drop of saliva running like a tear down his exposed legs, convinced that he could find something among his random lotions and bottles. Arthur got out bottle after bottle of numerous liquids, shooting glances out over his shoulder guiltily whenever he swore he heard a noise in the rest of the house; despite him knowing for an absolute fact that he was alone.
He desperately didn’t want to take any chances. If someone practically invisible, like… whatisname…? Matthew! If someone like Matthew slipped in and caught him masturbating while moaning Alfred or Francis’s names, then he probably would never escape the embarrassment. Heck; Alfred was his brother and Francis was his effective father… it was an entirely disturbing thought.
Oh Arthur, he told himself, what sort of disreputable man are you?
“One that needs to get on with it, mon cher.” The faux Francis teased, licking the shell of his ear. Arthur shivered and let out a withheld breath that he didn’t even realise hadn’t escaped his lungs.
“Yeah, c’mon Arty! We’re waiting~”
Arthur panted, remembering what he was doing. The Brit paused, looking down at a few of the labels - realising that he hadn’t actually paid attention to what he was drawing out until then at all. He was thinking too much. You weren’t supposed to think too much during sex… you just… did it… Arthur swallowed. Realism, Arthur. Realism!
The first bottle he looked at was suntan lotion. Arthur turned it around to pointlessly read the ingredients - as if that would mean anything to him. Force of habit, really. He had used the gunk inside vigorously when he went to the Sunshine state of Florida a few months ago; determined to go home just as pale as he had started - and without Antonio crying to him about how much he looked like a tomato while Lovino kicked his arse.
Arthur snorted at the thought, knowing fully well what part of America’s anatomy Florida was supposedly to represent. It was ironic; to use such a thing to fuel his passionate urge to visit Florida again in a different sense. He tossed it aside.
Glancing towards the way of his shower for a moment, he wondered whether it would be possible just to use something simple like shampoo; although he bit his lip when he figured that it would probably get impossibly soapy, bubbles everywhere, and ruin his lovely sheets. He supposed that it would be a rather interesting sexual play; he’d have to experiment some time… but not now.
Arthur rolled his eyes when he caught a glimpse of another certain bottle in his bathroom cabinet. The cover of it was choc full of red petals decorating the corners, and ‘Fragranced body lotion’ inscribed herein with what looked to be the font French Script MT (do not ask him how he knows this. Suffice to say; Arthur Kirkland had lived for many, many years).
It screamed ‘Francis’ in every single way; even in its slender neck and slimmed plastic waistline. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed, sniggering slightly to himself when the thick scent of fine rose spread chaste kisses through the air.
Perfect.
Probably washable off of the silk, if needed too.
Arthur scampered back up and retreated back to his bedroom, slamming the door again with impatience. During the whole business of fumbling around his bathroom and trying to persuade himself to stop being such a wimp had been quite a turn off, but the idea of being able to work even more flourishingly was nursing his length back to life again; a few droplets forming from the head.
He squeezed a generous amount of his new lubricant onto his fingers and rubbed them until all the digits were adequately slick. The Brit changed position, getting onto his knees with his arse in the air and chest pressed up against the mattress - as if he was going to get finger-fucked from behind. Helped to rebuild the image too; he didn’t have to imagine Francis and Alfred’s erotic faces to thoroughly convinced himself that it was them treating him.
Sliding his tongue across his bottom lip, Arthur felt his cheeks once again begin to burst with redness. Bothering with some foreplay, he stroked the small of his back slowly; running little soft, loving figure of eights before finally plunging further.
His breath hitched as he slipped his fingers down the cleft of his ass, and he parted his legs wider to get better access - give ‘them’ better access - to his entrance. Arthur panted a little bit, loving that his breath was coming out so ragged, and tickled the skin for barely a second before pushing a fully slick finger inside with an orgasmic moan.
Arthur gasped, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he pushed further than he managed to get to before; finger dancing past the second knuckle with relative ease, coating his warm inner walls with the cold body lotion. Since the lubricant couldn’t be heated in preparation, it felt like someone was touching him with an ice-cube for foreplay. The illusion was only emphasised by the heat burning in his stomach and on his cheeks.
When he was fully impaled on his one finger - definitely going further than he managed on his own before, Arthur noticed with surprising confidence - Arthur rocked; passing it almost totally out before pushing it entirely inside again, panting with a soft mewl. The Englishman found a pace quickly, beginning to thrust repeatedly upwards to a chorus of little subtle moans.
He could hear Francis and Alfred muttering little comments to him, whispers of encouragement and exchanges of love that he knew he wouldn’t have the pleasure to hear; the Brit bit lightly on the corner of the pillow in front of him, trying to stop him from voicing the words filling his head out loud.
“It’s alright Arthur. Mm, it’s alright. Keep going baby.”
“You’re so sensuous, cher.”
It wasn’t long before he deemed himself ready to feel another finger, taking the already active digit out until it was just the tip and added the next. The resistance was tougher now that there was much less space to move, but Arthur managed to finger himself with them both becoming absolutely sheathed up to the palm with relative ease. Thrusting them inside and out, flashes of Alfred leaning over him and preparing him while France coats himself with lubricant came to mind. Arthur smiled guilty, falling in love with the little vision in his head.
Continuing with illusions of realism, the Englishman scissored his fingers - only to snap them back together, accompanied with a stifled whimper and a shiver whipping down his spine. The thoughts “It’s okay, it’s okay… oh God, it’s okay…” whizzed through his mind and the Englishman groaned with growing awkwardness. Sex was rough. Sex hurt; and he knew as much as anyone that the pain exploded into seductive and delicious passion before the end.
He braved it again; he had gone so far, so how could he exactly have turned back by now? The voices of a certain Frenchman and American were echoing in his head, begging him not to stop. Telling him that they wanted him; all the little things that he needed to hear, encouragement, more sexual drive… scissoring his fingers and bearing with the ache startling throughout his body, Arthur started stretching himself hard enough to let fully-fledged groans to beat out of his throat, low growls and breathless hisses.
He added another finger, pressing back to almost fist himself on his own digits; a light trail of saliva falling out of the corner of his lips and dripping down his chin, though he didn’t bother to wipe it away - now too vigorously involved with the intruders pushing, thrusting, forcing his back to arch in wonderful ways and mouth to unleash all sorts of delicious profundities, filling him absolutely.
--But not nearly enough.
Oh, oh so not nearly enough. He was prepared but with nothing to prepare for; scandalously getting fucked by those slender fingers, gasping and loving himself. The Briton pressed back even further, rocking right the way down and dipping in with even more ferocity, searching and seeking for that one glorio-“Ahh…!!”-there! Arthur licked his lips, shaking his head to be rid the flying sparks and flashes of colours bursting forth like fireworks.
“Harder Arthur, baby. Do it harder~”
Arthur obliged, whipping his fingers out right the way to the tips and thrusting them back inside, hard, with enough speed to make him audibly whimper; rather violently jabbing at his prostate, forcing him to jump into fits of expansive joy, relishing in the wet and obscene sounds splattering inside from the lubrication and the force. He let out a desperate whine, teasing and brushing his particular spot repeatedly to drive him to the absolute edge; pre-sperm dripping from his head as he tried to get closer to a real release.
Oh, oh, oh… Arthur panted and gasped with fulfilment; but it was not enough. Oh definitely not enough.
Arthur rolled onto his back, erotically glancing down and watching with his teeth raking against his bottom lip while his hand disappeared again and again between his wide open legs. His chest raised and fell in consequential patterns, working in unison with his fingers and the rest of his body.
Gazing at the room with rose-tinted passion glazing over his eyes, drowning in sheer lust, Arthur sought out something to replace his fingers with; an object even closer to the real thing. Mm, as always, his own administrations weren’t going to satisfy him completely. He was a man of taste and high calibre, in fact - and he was not going to be taken to and over his sexual limits like this.
He wanted to be filled… loins burning and hot passion blazing through his entire body, just like reality. His delicious reality! A reality where both the deviant and seductive Frenchman and the joyous and handsome American wanted to make love to him until he loses his mind to the explosive pleasure; body going nuclear with power and heat.
Arthur felt an idea shoot through him, and the Englishman grinned ruggedly. He slid his fingers out of his thoroughly prepared hole, and got off his bed and onto his feet - wobbling quite a lot as he stood. The dizzying feeling of having his lower half rather abused had taken over. With his head spinning, the Briton went over to his cupboard; tossing the doors open quickly and crouching down on the floor to look amongst his possessions.
Past the boxes of shoes, lockboxes of private memories - photo albums, particular documents and memoirs to a history that he would rather forget than remember - and other forgotten necessities, was a little cardboard crate hidden underneath absolutely everything…
“Arthur, what are you…”
--Otherwise known as Arthur Kirkland’s secret stash. Fuck Francis, he really did know everything. He was a pervert to the core, one might have said, and this box proved that so absolutely. Undoing the little combination lock, an 8 number sequence that only he could possibly know the code for… (It was the date and year for the treaty of Paris… except every number was five places higher than it should be. So 1 would be 6, 7 would rollover and become 2, so on. Beautiful system of his), Arthur ripped off the lock and slowly took off the lid, heat in his stomach burning longingly as the memories of past experiences flourished again as if fresh in his mind. He remembered them all like it was yesterday - although for nations, the time differences between encounters probably did feel that nostalgic.
He was a kinky old bastard; it had to be said. Handcuffs - the fluffy and raw metallic kind were both present - and chains, whips, and various indescribable sexual aids that would scar a child for life. Shame Alfred hadn’t seen it, Arthur thought with a sly smirk. Francis would be proud.
“Mm…”
Digging in his little possession of nondescript treasures, Arthur found what he was looking for; or in fact, both of them. Wrapped up in kitchen towel (a vague attempt to hide them after he got rid of the packets; he blushed at the thought) and never-been touched, were two vibrators.
Trust - Francis had gotten him secretly one for Christmas at some point, and another for his supposed birthday (nobody quite knew when his birthday was, other than it was sometime in late spring. Usually he celebrated it on St. George’s day, although officially his date of formation as England was in July). Apparently the Frenchman either forgot that he had given him such a scandalous object, or he thought that Arthur would have used the first one until there was no damned juice left in the batteries of the bloody thing. Well, jokes on you Francis. He was terrified of going anywhere near along those lines…
He was back on the bed in no time, shoving the one vibrator to the side (they were different colours and shapes… he didn’t quite know what to expect, whichever was better). Examining the blue shaded one, a colour that annoyingly reminded Arthur of Francis’s silly mantle that he insisted on wearing all of the time, he swiftly realised that he had no idea what the hell to do with it. Of course, it didn’t take a genius to work out what it did… but… when did he ‘do it’? His mind pulled a blank, using euphemism to keep his thoughts chaste. …D-Did he switch it on first and masturbate with it already at work, or did he impale himself on its length and then turn it on with a desperate buzz and chorus of moans?
Awkwardly, Arthur decided to go for the latter and quickly splattered the thing with the rose tinted body lotion, whipping his hand up and down the cock-shaped length like he was giving someone a hand-job in preparation. Satisfied and lying down with his back pressed heavily against the mattress and sheets, the Brit carefully and seductively slowly opened his legs wide again. His eyes caught with his reflection in the mirror and he praised himself at how deliciously idolised he looked, emerald eyes hazy with lust and sweat plush over his brow.
Bringing his hands, both of them, down below; he passed his fingers inside himself again to rekindle his earlier work, stretching himself wide and letting more cold air than usual seep in and caress his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering slightly when the vibrator was positioned against his entrance.
It felt so much more real, fake head pushing against the delicate skin with a much wider circumference than his fingers could possibly have provided; he could imagine Francis being there in actuality, holding his hips down heavily and getting ready to fuck him raw. The Frenchman wouldn’t even ask whether he was alright or ready or anything of the sorts. He would just push inside and impale himself right the way to the end and begin thrusting inside and out with a soft but passionate pace.
“Don’t worry Arty. We’ll take good care of you.”
Ah. Alfred. Arthur licked his lips. He forgot about him - how his mind that conjured the scenario of a beautiful threesome between them all, focusing entirely on him and his desires, his absolute needs. With Alfred’s pretend encouragement whispering into his ears, Arthur slowly pushed the vibrator inside his copious warmth --“Mm-!!”-- groaning delightfully as his inner walls were stretched beyond anything his digits could have done.
Biting back the awkwardness of reaching down in between his legs and the pain needling its way in his layers of muscles, he forced the thing inside, perfectly capturing France’s sexy grunts and desperate moans; praising him on his tightness and intoxicating warmth, breath echoing throughout the bedroom and mingling with his own.
Even the thought of Alfred came to mind, watching the two of them as Francis slowly became sheathed and Arthur mewled with pleasure and pain - his breath getting incredibly short and it becoming increasingly harder to stop from wanking off to the sight.
“Go on Arthur, just a bit more. You take care more, can’t you?” Alfred encouraged, and Arthur nodded to nothing, absolutely filling himself with the vibrator as far at it would go. “Whenever you’re ready. You’re in charge. Move... move~!” Arthur obeyed immediately, slicking the vibrator out almost all the way to the tip and then shoving it back inside; thrusting his hips upwards to help it seek even deeper, telling out series’ of gasps and condoned breaths. Getting used to the sensation, pain making his thighs shudder and muscles contract around the vibrator’s length; he set a steady pace; impaling and fucking himself, in and out in and out.
He melted with a buzz as he turned the vibrator on; moaning desperately audibly, sending warbled shouts to the corners of his room dedicated to France’s name -“Francis… Oh God… Franci-is…”- while his Alfred whispered sweet nothings into his ear and touched his torso. Arthur switched hands and licked his un-dirtied fingers, trailing them down his chest and swiftly finding his right nipple.
Groping his own masculine breast and pumping the vibrator within himself, Arthur could feel the pressure build up more and more in his crotch, drips spilling down his cock’s length and sending drops down between his legs to mingle with the mixture of saliva and rose-tinted lotion he used. “Ah…h…”
“Gee, Arthur. You’re having fun, aren’t you baby?” The voice whispered huskily, breathing deeply. The Englishman nodded hazily to nothing. Arthur would have complimented his imagination on the sheer volume of his mind’s realism. It almost sounded perfect, as if he really heard it. Francis’s voice was there too, but in shout bursts - only speaking out to moan loudly and tell Arthur that he needed more; they needed even more…
“You know, Arty. I’m kinda feeling left out.” Alfred complained.
Arthur swore he could see the little pout he would have worn on his face. He was always intrigued by that face; it was a vision of warmth and sunshine that left Arthur breathless on the best of days. How one could possibly harbour such good looks, fantastic body in particular, and have such a kindly and intoxicating personality, Arthur could never figure out.
His heart ached at the very thought of Alfred’s sunshine being spread only for him. He really wished he could be idolised by the American; an object of love and appreciation far more than just a past father figure, the sort that brought Alfred nothing but news of tax and more conducts to hold the little colony under. He was only following the orders of the King, and his instincts to protect the little boy from the rest of the world - the cruel, harsh world far beyond Alfred’s shores - but the American never saw through.
Regardless, although his upset and mirth had left him by now (although the nightmares still cling to him around a certain yearly event)… he still couldn’t have America retreat from his mind. He had never given that little boy up; and now that he flourished into such a… well-structured… man, he couldn’t stop himself from desiring him in a totally different way than companionship…
Oh Alfred… how could he possibly leave you out, love? He’d do anything for you. Love you, be with you, have you without a moment’s hesitation. His thoughts were filled with little ideas of things he’d love to do with the American. Have his lips purse around that particular state and suck him dry; ride the sexy cowboy - saving a few horses, apparently, in the process; touch him, lick, suck, and moan… gasp…
“It looks to me like you can handle us both, if you catch my drift… mm, United Kingdom?”
Oh fuck… he didn’t think of that.
--Which was ironic, considering that it was his own mind speaking to him. Without bothering to search for it or question the commands his little mental sexual aids were beckoning for, Arthur groped across the sheets to find the second vibrator. Biting his lip dangerously to the point of it almost bursting with blood, the Brit brought the device to join the other already impaled inside him.
“Are you crazy, Amerique? I do not think he c-”
“He can…! Can’t you Arty? Don’t worry love, I won’t hurt you, okay?”
“If you’re trying to pump yourself up-”
“Shh France…! Don’t ruin it…!” Arthur swore he could hear shuffling, as if Alfred was getting into position to penetrate him as well. The Englishman laid sprawled against the sheets, slowly pumping ‘Francis’ between his legs, waiting for his mind to catch up with the idea. He could hear his nervous heart echo as blood pulsed to his nether regions in faster succession. “There. Now Art, now…”
He couldn’t compile an even remotely possible scenario in his head how he could be penetrated by both Alfred and Francis at the same time, but his mind was telling him that he wanted it - and wanted it with an incomprehensible passion. He slipped the slick, buzzing blue member out until it was right at the tip and positioned them both alongside each other. Unafraid now of the pain, stimulation and sexual pleasure pulsing through him far stronger than the ache crippling his legs and hips, the Brit didn’t hesitate to bring them both inside his hopelessly tight warmth simultaneously.
“That’s it Arthur, that’s it darling.” Alfred encouraged. The Brit squeezed his eyes together and let out even more anguished gasps than before, pain absolutely heightened by the feeling of having both of the objects invading his lower half at the same time… he could only dream, erotic pleasures and ideas hidden away in secrecy, that he would feel the same sort of pressure building up against them as he did now in real life; Alfred and Francis together, both of them being in love with him and spreading their love down onto his thin framed form.
Sometimes, pretend was better than reality. Oh so better than reality…
“Mm…Alfred, Fra-Ahn~n…” Arthur panted, unable to keep in his moans; and why would he care now? The Englishman was so far intoxicated in his ‘session’ that he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if the world exploded around him - too far distracted. The pain was indescribable; the entirety of his muscles screaming in agony at him for violating himself so predominantly and readily, but he frankly just couldn’t care. He was lost in the vision of being fucked - loved, in fact - by the two people who captivated him completely.
Slicking the two vibrators to their furthest point, one softly buzzing away to stimulate all the nerves and senses to try force him to an eventual climax while the other pushed deeper than the other could; he gulped and switched on the second. He gagged and groaned when it set off; body turning to spasm with sexual joy, loving in realisation that the second - “Fuck, Alfred, ah… ahhh…!”- moved so much more vigorously and in different patterns to the other. It really was as if it were two people, moving entirely independently to shag him absolutely raw and defenceless.
Arthur slid them both in and out of his opened and wet inner cavern at different paces, shutting his eyes so hard that all colours were shut out completely; even the little white spots and flourishing dots that shot through whenever the vibrators both collided roughly with his prostate. The Brit’s face ruptured with a vast variety of expressions; pain stinging through him in constant and bitty jolts although all the negative anguish was immediately replaced with fits of feverous ardour within no time.
To another, the sight would have been absolutely beautiful to behold; the Briton’s excited smile a rare sight indeed to see, for one. His pleased and thoroughly husky voice - sexily harsh through desperate moaning and huffs tearing apart his throat - was a rare spectacle as well; something other nation’s only heard once a blue moon. Sprawled forth, gold sheets framing his whitish skin and slim figure perfectly, pre-sperm dripping from the man’s tip and soaking his loins with moist; only to the scandalous objects violating him would have ruined it, although to someone like France it would have enhanced it further.
It was a shame, truly, that the Englishman was forced to entertain himself with the vibrators rather than having a real man fitting in-between his wide open legs and bringing him to a glorious climax instead…
“Fuck… Fu~uck… Mmm!!” Arthur almost screamed, struggling to contain his urges to scream his heart out with fulfilment. The pace of the two vibrators picked up even faster as Arthur became even more desperate for a climax, and he rocked down onto them and back out quickly to further encourage it… bouncing on ‘Francis’s’ and ‘Alfred’s’ lengths terribly eagerly. The faux American and Frenchman’s voices cracked and groaned in unison with his own shouts, muttering sweet nothings to the musky air of his bedroom.
“Aaa… Mon cher, je t’aime, je t’aime~~!” Francis’s voice sung, groaning with confessions of love that the Englishman burned to hear with his own ears. The blush befitting Arthur’s face deepened, forcing the Brit breathless as he rammed the two sexual aids home.
“Fuck off France, we love him. We!” Alfred interjected. Arthur cracked open one eye, disappointed to see that the American’s annoyed and slightly possessive pouts weren’t there.
“Oh Amerique, whatever happened to your eagerness to pump yourself up? Surely I can have my fun too, non?”
“Screw you, next time I’ll do him on my own!” Alfred argued, and subconsciously Arthur let the second vibrator take the lead - whipping in and out, in and out with harder and thicker thrusts. Arthur didn’t quite know how he could have made his mind sound so realistic, even having the two compete for his hand and desires; but he thought nothing of it. How could he, when his thoughts were filled with nothing over than vigorous groans and begging for more and more…?
“Need I mind you that this was my-”
“Shh!! Oh damn it - two can play at this game. …I love you Arthur, I love you, I love you.”
“Non, non, non! Je t’aime A-Aah-Angleterre. Tu es à moi ~!” Francis said; voice to a low and handsome whisper. Arthur bit harshly on his lip to control the irrational heat flooding through his entire body.
“I love you Arthur. Just a little bit more okay, just a little bit more. You’re so close baby, you’re so close… ahh…” They continued, telling him how it would be all okay - how sexy he looked, and how they loved him. It was so perfect that Arthur couldn’t even believe that his mind had managed to bring it to life, pleased that he finally got the courage to push past the obvious awkward fears of the initial penetration and touching.
Without so much as touching his weeping cock, the Arthur climaxed as the buzzing vibrators hit his prostate one last time, hard enough for tears to pour down his cheeks. Rocking and moving with the double penetration for a few seconds more to complete him, milking himself until he was totally spent, ribbon remnants of his visit of white hot bliss pooled between his legs and flooded onto the sheets underneath.
With a rather sticky pop, the Englishman took the two intruders out. He switched them off, shivering when he found that the room was so much quieter without them making noises and sending delicious vibrations up his spine. Only his pants could be heard as he tried desperately to recover from his fatigue. Arthur tossed the two instruments to the side - not caring in the slightest to wherever the hell they went - and collapsed against the bed. He was shattered to every single sense of the word, thoroughly spent. Knackered… but oh-so satisfied…
The visions of Francis and Alfred disappeared after ‘goodnights’ and further mutterings of love. A fresh smile formed across his face, almost unwelcome on his usual features - although there was nothing too usual about the Arthur that laid on ravaged and wet sheets now. The sheen of sweat on his brow, hair ragged and askew, plush redness decorating his cheeks, chest heaving up and down and vital regions softened after his cataclysmically good orgasm. It looked so distant to his usual self - tense and restricted. That brilliant after-sex glow surrounded him.
Without bothering to get underneath the sheets or clean himself up, Arthur fell asleep within seconds. So scandalous, he would have thought, so defiantly scandalous…
He got the silk sheets dirty… bloody travesty.
...~.-.-.-.-*.*.*.*.*.*-.-.-.-.~...
About ten minutes after Arthur had fallen asleep, there was a small pop and a buzz in the room; a squeaky high pitched sound suddenly bleeped.
“Damn i-”
“Shush Amerique…! He might not be asleep yet! Turn it off, tu-”
“It’s off, okay? It’s off!” Alfred interrupted Francis midway through sentence, waving the little walkie-talkie in a certain Frenchman’s face. Francis rolled his eyes and snatched the thing out of his hands.
“And need I ask how it managed to turn back on anyway?”
“I leant on it or something - I don’t know! It’s really cramped in here Francis, couldn’t we have set up somewhere different?!” Alfred complained, narrowing his eyes. He shuffled in place for good measure, showing the Frenchman just how little space there was for the awesome hero. He had muscles and needed personal space, damn it! Why did they have to do this in a cupboard?
“Because,” Francis begun; “it’s the closest place to Angleterre’s bedroom. You were the one who insisted that you wanted to hear him in higher definition. This is the best place for that, non? Although I admit, it was a shame that Hungary couldn’t secure us better microphones in the room.”
“Fine, fine. Here… let me see.” Alfred grinned, looking up at the laptop monitor nestled on France’s lap. The image of a rather deliciously naked Arthur was on the screen, with the tell-tale sign of [REC] flashing down in the bottom right. Alfred chewed his lip, not being ashamed at watching his ex-colonist’s bare form roll over and expose his white shimmering skin further. After all, he had seen far more seductive and filthy sights only minutes previously.
Arthur, Alfred thought, must be under the impression that his imagination was pretty fucking amazing to not have noticed that the ‘voices’ were in fact him and France on a walkie-talkie microphone.
Then again, the man believed in fairies.
“…I have to say France; this was the best idea you ever had. I mean, how long have you been planning this? You gave him those vibrators, like, what? Three or four years ago? And then the walkie-talkies, the book… even the rose tinted lotion. How did you manage to sneak that in there without him noticing?”
“Exacte, mon ami. Well, if it’s a service for or little rabbit, then I’ll gladly dedicate myself to fulfilling it. I had gotten fed up of his antics - he needed a little bit of a push, mm, do you not agree?”
“O’Course! Just… I can’t figure it out…” Alfred said, glancing up at France for barely a second before he perversely watched the wild stallion of a Brit press himself up against the pillows.
“…How did you know this would all work? I mean… Fuck, Francis!”
Francis smirked, switching off the camera lead into the Brit’s bedroom.
“Don’t you know, Amerique?” He said smugly, saving the file and shutting down off of Windows. “…I know everything.”
“True.” Alfred smiled. After a few moments of silence, Alfred turned to the Frenchman with an incredibly wide grin. An idea obviously struck him. “Say, France… want to get in bed with him and freak him out when he wakes up?”
Francis smiled, having the same thought. “Mm. Let’s.”
It was going to be one interesting morning.
________________________________________________________________________________
AN: *Ashamed*. Hope you enjoyed it.
Author/Artist: DestinyShiva a.k.a me.
Characters/Pairing: USUK and FrUK both. Pre-dominantly features Arthur only.
Rating: M. Oh so very M.
Warnings: Hardcore yaoi. Boys love. Masturbation, including DP.
Summary: De-anon from the Hetalia Kink Meme. The prompt?
"Yes, this.
UK likes to masturbate anally to a certain nation.
Bonus if that certain nation is France or America... or both.
BIG Bonus: He comes just from Anal - in other words, he never touches his cock.
BIGGER Bonus: He uses a vibrator.
*goes to hide under a rock* "
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=42781916#t42781916
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Our Scandalous Little Rabbit
"Damn it," Arthur swore to himself, flicking on the light switch and jostling himself inside of his bedroom, impatiently slamming the door behind him. He practically ran to the bed, decorated in golden sheets made of majestically soft silk (Arthur, he was a character of fine taste and splendid calibre - although there was nothing dignified about what terrible thoughts were flourishing in his mind at that very moment), and sat down on the edge.
"Damn it..." Arthur repeated, squeezing his eyes shut and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. He shifted his position ever so slightly in discomfort, letting out a shift hiss when the growing tightness in his trousers accidentally brushed against the mattress. Cracking one eye open, he glanced at the mirror hanging up on his wall - reflecting a sight that he never thought he'd see through the looking-glass.
Half-erect and panting ever so slightly to himself, the vibrantly blushing Brit licked his first two fingers and trailed them down his neck as he continued to undo buttons with his other hand; exposing his milky white, slim washboard chest. He smiled ever so slightly, shrugging the garment so that it was hanging off of his bare shoulder.
Putting pressure on his neck at random spots, Arthur watched himself lightly tease his skin, imagining soft lips instead of his wet fingers and slender hands slipping off his buttons to ravish his body. His lust drugged eyes sparkled as ideas and urges flooded to him, perverse thoughts that he knew would never be brought to life.
Flashes of blond were conjured from nowhere in the mirror, existing only in his mind's eye. A particular Frenchman's rogue smile and tantalising words came into his mind, sending imaginary shivers down his spine, forcing a slight groan from deep inside his throat.
"Mm, what are you thinking Arthur? What is making you pant like that, you dirty little rabbit?"
He could practically hear the Frenchman's voice ringing down on him, whispering smoothly into his ear and passing hot breath inside the cavern. Arthur brought his fingers up, pinching his lobe with his nails to simulate the bite of teeth.
"Moi? Oh, Angleterre. You are so kind. Perhaps I should reward you for your dedication, non?"
Arthur let go of his ear and brought his hand slowly down, fondling his chest and dipping further - following the curvature of his body, sinking for a moment at his navel and passing right down to the beginning of his trousers. The nation paused and swallowed, before running his palm down onto the clothed erection, accidentally allowing a loud moan to snake past his lips.
His cheeks glowered with redness at his sudden and particularly well-voiced outburst, and the Briton inhaled sharply; glancing around his room as if expecting somebody to be standing there gasping at his frankly appalling behaviour. He sighed with untold relief when he found the room empty, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He needed to loosen up and stop worrying; hence why he desperately wanted a release. It had been so long...
"Well... What are you waiting for, mon cher?"
Arthur unzipped his flies and begun to slip off his trousers - letting out a whimper when the much cooler air hit his crotch, even though boxers were still tight around his thighs. He kicked off the trousers, abandoning them totally on the floor; and as much as he disliked being disorderly in usual circumstances, he beckoned this as a problem large enough to cast aside the usual insecurities.
With one hand, Arthur went to rub his pink nipples to arouse his senses - thoughts running wild while Arthur kept the image of Francis nipping and sucking his flesh with that delicious mouth of his. The other hand snuck cleverly into his boxers, running his slim fingers onto the underside of his own length. Unable to stop himself bucking at the touch of his hand, he hissed audibly and chewed violently on his lip.
He frowned. It was not realistic enough. His imagination did wonders envisioning the Frenchman's lips surrounding his cock, forcing and engulfing him down into the deep confines of his tight throat; tongue licking the underside and dipping him in the soft, wet, dripping warmth - but he wanted more.
Realism…
Screw Francis nurturing him to an eventual release with his dangerous but oh-so tantalising mouth, or his fingers wrapping around his length and pumping away until he burst into hot white bliss! He wanted - needed - something different... something far more real.
"You're an idiot France! Can't you see that he wants a more 'hands on' approach?"
Arthur shuddered with disgust at himself for remembering Alfred's shining face, glimmering with blue cerulean eyes brightening his day and darkening the feelings of lust brimming with surreal heat in the bottom of his stomach. Arthur let go of his length, working on the unspoken commands that his mind's eye - vision of Alfred acting realistically to pleasure and fuck him. Within hardly a moment, Arthur had ripped off his underwear with a relishing sigh and stripped himself clear of his shirt - leaving him stark naked and panting with uneasy anticipation…
He glanced back to the mirror for a second, glaring at himself through half-lidded eyes. He looked so scandalous; so turned on by absolutely nothing other than his own perverse thoughts and his fingers. He watched in the reflection as the visions of Alfred sitting behind him - also naked; well-endowed, Arthur naively added, and snaking his fingers over the edge of his shoulders - and Francis down between his legs, eagerly staring back into the mirror with passion and mirth flooded on his damned froggish face. An unsatisfied shiver ran down his spine.
He loathed them both so much. How on earth could they do this to him? Flooding his thoughts like his and practically raping him with their deliciously teasing personalities and unspoken seductions... it was so scandalous. So scandalous!
"Damn it, damn it, damn it…" Arthur whined, closing his eyes and flopping back into the bed - crawling right back until he could feel pillows propping up his shoulders and head. Slowly, he spread his legs wide - and then wider still, as if accommodating them both between his inner thighs.
It was hard to believe that these feelings brewing throughout his chest were conjured only by a book. It does however come into context when it is mentioned that the author of said book was French. That was a disaster in itself. He couldn’t understand why Alfred had given it to him as a gift - after all, French. French! - though he doubted the American had the attention span to notice or even understand how ludicrously stupid that decision was… one ludicrous decision that had gotten Arthur in the mood in a second flat.
Arthur bit his lower lip harshly; whisking his fingers down each of his thighs and towards his crotch, winching slightly as the touch of skin on skin tickled and encouraged him in his critically slow descent. He inclined his fingers to change the angle, making it easier for him to pretend that it wasn't himself groping at his skin with almost bruising pressure.
He clenched his fists and frowned with frustration when he realised it had gotten to the bit he was afraid of but craved for; actual penetration. There was only so much he could do with his hands; teasing his shoulders with pinches to feign as nips, licking the tips and pressing them to skin to fake their mouths spreading hot love across his chest, fondling wide open legs... it was never enough when you were pleasuring yourself. The thrills billowing in your stomach and scallywag's blush were absolutely unique to another’s application to sex; nothing that you could force to conjure just by yourself.
There was, however, one thing he could do that almost entirely reflected the real circumstances of being found in a man's arms and fucked into the mattress. Arthur shuddered when he realised that he hit the wall - an imminent release beckoning him to go further and further.
He had always been afraid of this step. Whenever he tried, and heaven knows he tried, to do anything along those lines he had always backed out at the last minute and found his fingers wrapping around his cock and thrusting into his palms instead. But not tonight; Arthur bit his lip. He was going to brave it...
It wasn't as if he was a virgin or had never been fingered by another person, or fucked like that at all... it was just that it was so much easier with another person pulling the strings and thrusting their digits inside of his warm, tight hole. In all honesty, he just couldn't do it because he was scared that he'd hurt himself physically - he was much more jumpy when sexual pain was self-inflicted.
What would other nations say if he was walking funny the next day, and they knew he was alone in the night? Knowing Francis, he was probably keeping tabs on him all the time.
Fuck Francis. He seemed to know absolutely everything about everyone's sex lives.
"You're sexually frustrated, mon cher. Why else would you snap at anyone and everyone on an every day standard?" He remembered Francis stating with a knowing expression on his face, earlier at a meeting. Of course, Arthur denied it ruthlessly - despite it being so long since his last venture.
"You won't get anywhere if you lie. Perhaps you need a release, mm?" Francis teased, trying to trace his hands over unwanted - or very much wanted, in actuality - places. Arthur had yelped, naturally, and slapped away the offending hands.
If they weren't in company however... those hands might have been allowed somewhere more intimate. The blush had apparently settled easily on Arthur's face, telling-tales of Francis's truth.
"Or perhaps-" Francis's eyes had slowly snaked their way down his body, wordlessly devouring him whole. "-you already can take care of yourself, mm?"
"Don't be silly, France!" Alfred said, jumping the two of them from behind and wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders.
"England doesn't do dirty stuff like that!" Alfred grinned, fingers noticeably tightening their grip. Arthur opened his mouth to object, but when Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur felt his words knocked out of his mind.
"...Do you?"
Francis had smiled, approaching him with a sly look in his eyes. "Oui, mon cher... do you?"
Fuck Francis. He knows everything.
"...A-Alright, Francis. You pathetic git… This is for you..." Arthur said, dedicating his efforts to the man with the pathetic French smile. He sucked in his breath and snaked his fingers downwards, pausing for a moment in hesitance. When he found his entrance, Arthur squeezed his eyes together with nervous trepidation and felt a whimper whisk out from his throat.
Slowly, Arthur pushed in the tip, groaning to himself as he begun to stretch past the inner ring. The Brit crunched his teeth over his lip, biting down strongly and licking over the sore spot to try distracting himself from whatever feared pain he could experience.
“Relax. You’re so tense, little rabbit. Just relax… big brother will take care of you, mm?”
The mental image of Francis became vivid; hanging over him with that deliciously sly smile on his face, stupid freshly trimmed goatee framing his chin and tickling his skin whenever he pushed down to place numerous kisses on his collar bones. Arthur spread his legs even wider, creasing his face up quite with discomfort as he gave the faux Frenchman more room to thrust his finger up inside of him.
--And straight back out again.
Arthur squirmed, closing his legs and shrinking further back against his shimmering gold pillows. Then Brit pinched the bridge of his nose again and massaged his temples. He couldn’t do it. At least, not dry…
The image of Alfred pushed Francis out of the way, flashing that seductively pearly white grin of his. Arthur almost gagged at the thought. Alfred’s smile was always so sweet that he could practically give himself cavities thinking about it. The American brushed his finger over Arthur’s cheek - the Englishman inclined his head slightly, melting into the absolutely pretend touch - and went to stick his fingers in Arthur’s mouth.
Slipping his own fingers inside (apart from the one he attempted to use a moment ago. He had some dignity, for goodness sake. Besides, he would let the saliva mingle), he thoroughly soaked them, stopping himself from registering the tickling sensation from his fingertips as being his own.
Wet until they were practically dripping, he drew them out of his mouth and plunged his hand downwards again; feeling the fingers teasing his entrance before plunging two in with more confident vigour. It was hardly easier for him to impale them inside, lubricated enough for the initial sting of muscular pain to be conquered and a true moan to pass through his lips.
He was impossibly hot and tight, Arthur noted whilst trying to push down against himself, rocking his hips slowly down to try persuading and forcing those fingers further. Alfred wouldn’t be so soft, Arthur wagered. He’d try not to make it painful, but he wouldn’t be able to stop himself; the American’s strength and absolute incapability to control it became as one of his many charms.
It took until both his index finger and middle finger managed to slip to the second knuckle along that Arthur whipped them out again with a slightly vulgar but satisfying plop. With a shiver, Arthur groaned in frustration at his own adolescent nerves. It was stupid; saliva wasn’t enough for a good lube. How could it be?
He rolled over onto his stomach and wormed his way to the edge of the bed, whipping open the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet. Arthur buried his head against the pillows and grunted in annoyance when he saw that the bottle of proper lube was absolutely empty; barely enough for the length of one finger.
He really needed to throw it away - but he was very self-conscious and afraid that someone would see it in his rubbish and raise their eyebrows. He was already brandished a pervert because of that damned slut of a Frenchman; he didn’t want to have it declared to the whole world that it was absolutely true and that there was evidence to prove it.
The thought that he could have just called that said ‘slut of a Frenchman’ instead did cross his mind. After all, France was always glad to give someone a quick fuck if they needed it; and gosh, did Arthur need it. He squirmed in frustration knowing that despite it being so easy for him to get on the line with him and demand that he gets his soppy French pants over to London NOW or Arthur would bite his cock off (though that could be on the agenda anyway… except with slightly more tongue and slightly less unwanted chomping. Though fuck it; Francis probably had some weird masochistic kinks. After all… he was French), he could not let himself be degraded to that calibre.
That would mean accepting that he was a cheap pervert who wanted nothing less than to have a certain Frenchman, or certain American fuck him absolutely raw into his own mattress; with no strings attached other than to never ever tell a single soul. In penalty of death, or worse - he did discover once how to summon Russia. That would be a punishing threat enough.
And no way in hell was Arthur going to sink that low. Even if it was not much lower than using his own fingers and imagination to pleasure himself beyond all other comparisons. In any case; everyone did that sort of thing, albeit not admitting. It was nothing whence compared to the mortification of requesting for a quick release.
He may have been frustrated and obviously so, but he still had his dignity. Never in the realms of possibility would he beg for them to bring him to Heaven. For he was the British Empire; and the British do not beg like common dogs.
--Which was exactly why it was imperative that he managed to wring that need, pleasure and desperate out of his system; to purge the bad feelings and rid the heat boiling up in his stomach. He could take care of himself in many ways, and this just proved to be another. If he could actually brave the obvious, that was…
It was ridiculous wasn’t it? He was once a pirate, sailing the vast and ruthless seven seas; an ex-rogue, delinquent, and dominator of practically the four corners of the Earth… but he still couldn’t brave the idea of fingering himself. What sort of lunatic was he?
Arthur glanced around quickly, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. When did his cheeks turn so violently rosy red?! The Brit frowned almost apologetically at himself before quickly moving on. There had to be something that could work just as effectively as any lube…
He snapped himself up to his feet and practically ran to his bathroom, a drop of saliva running like a tear down his exposed legs, convinced that he could find something among his random lotions and bottles. Arthur got out bottle after bottle of numerous liquids, shooting glances out over his shoulder guiltily whenever he swore he heard a noise in the rest of the house; despite him knowing for an absolute fact that he was alone.
He desperately didn’t want to take any chances. If someone practically invisible, like… whatisname…? Matthew! If someone like Matthew slipped in and caught him masturbating while moaning Alfred or Francis’s names, then he probably would never escape the embarrassment. Heck; Alfred was his brother and Francis was his effective father… it was an entirely disturbing thought.
Oh Arthur, he told himself, what sort of disreputable man are you?
“One that needs to get on with it, mon cher.” The faux Francis teased, licking the shell of his ear. Arthur shivered and let out a withheld breath that he didn’t even realise hadn’t escaped his lungs.
“Yeah, c’mon Arty! We’re waiting~”
Arthur panted, remembering what he was doing. The Brit paused, looking down at a few of the labels - realising that he hadn’t actually paid attention to what he was drawing out until then at all. He was thinking too much. You weren’t supposed to think too much during sex… you just… did it… Arthur swallowed. Realism, Arthur. Realism!
The first bottle he looked at was suntan lotion. Arthur turned it around to pointlessly read the ingredients - as if that would mean anything to him. Force of habit, really. He had used the gunk inside vigorously when he went to the Sunshine state of Florida a few months ago; determined to go home just as pale as he had started - and without Antonio crying to him about how much he looked like a tomato while Lovino kicked his arse.
Arthur snorted at the thought, knowing fully well what part of America’s anatomy Florida was supposedly to represent. It was ironic; to use such a thing to fuel his passionate urge to visit Florida again in a different sense. He tossed it aside.
Glancing towards the way of his shower for a moment, he wondered whether it would be possible just to use something simple like shampoo; although he bit his lip when he figured that it would probably get impossibly soapy, bubbles everywhere, and ruin his lovely sheets. He supposed that it would be a rather interesting sexual play; he’d have to experiment some time… but not now.
Arthur rolled his eyes when he caught a glimpse of another certain bottle in his bathroom cabinet. The cover of it was choc full of red petals decorating the corners, and ‘Fragranced body lotion’ inscribed herein with what looked to be the font French Script MT (do not ask him how he knows this. Suffice to say; Arthur Kirkland had lived for many, many years).
It screamed ‘Francis’ in every single way; even in its slender neck and slimmed plastic waistline. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed, sniggering slightly to himself when the thick scent of fine rose spread chaste kisses through the air.
Perfect.
Probably washable off of the silk, if needed too.
Arthur scampered back up and retreated back to his bedroom, slamming the door again with impatience. During the whole business of fumbling around his bathroom and trying to persuade himself to stop being such a wimp had been quite a turn off, but the idea of being able to work even more flourishingly was nursing his length back to life again; a few droplets forming from the head.
He squeezed a generous amount of his new lubricant onto his fingers and rubbed them until all the digits were adequately slick. The Brit changed position, getting onto his knees with his arse in the air and chest pressed up against the mattress - as if he was going to get finger-fucked from behind. Helped to rebuild the image too; he didn’t have to imagine Francis and Alfred’s erotic faces to thoroughly convinced himself that it was them treating him.
Sliding his tongue across his bottom lip, Arthur felt his cheeks once again begin to burst with redness. Bothering with some foreplay, he stroked the small of his back slowly; running little soft, loving figure of eights before finally plunging further.
His breath hitched as he slipped his fingers down the cleft of his ass, and he parted his legs wider to get better access - give ‘them’ better access - to his entrance. Arthur panted a little bit, loving that his breath was coming out so ragged, and tickled the skin for barely a second before pushing a fully slick finger inside with an orgasmic moan.
Arthur gasped, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he pushed further than he managed to get to before; finger dancing past the second knuckle with relative ease, coating his warm inner walls with the cold body lotion. Since the lubricant couldn’t be heated in preparation, it felt like someone was touching him with an ice-cube for foreplay. The illusion was only emphasised by the heat burning in his stomach and on his cheeks.
When he was fully impaled on his one finger - definitely going further than he managed on his own before, Arthur noticed with surprising confidence - Arthur rocked; passing it almost totally out before pushing it entirely inside again, panting with a soft mewl. The Englishman found a pace quickly, beginning to thrust repeatedly upwards to a chorus of little subtle moans.
He could hear Francis and Alfred muttering little comments to him, whispers of encouragement and exchanges of love that he knew he wouldn’t have the pleasure to hear; the Brit bit lightly on the corner of the pillow in front of him, trying to stop him from voicing the words filling his head out loud.
“It’s alright Arthur. Mm, it’s alright. Keep going baby.”
“You’re so sensuous, cher.”
It wasn’t long before he deemed himself ready to feel another finger, taking the already active digit out until it was just the tip and added the next. The resistance was tougher now that there was much less space to move, but Arthur managed to finger himself with them both becoming absolutely sheathed up to the palm with relative ease. Thrusting them inside and out, flashes of Alfred leaning over him and preparing him while France coats himself with lubricant came to mind. Arthur smiled guilty, falling in love with the little vision in his head.
Continuing with illusions of realism, the Englishman scissored his fingers - only to snap them back together, accompanied with a stifled whimper and a shiver whipping down his spine. The thoughts “It’s okay, it’s okay… oh God, it’s okay…” whizzed through his mind and the Englishman groaned with growing awkwardness. Sex was rough. Sex hurt; and he knew as much as anyone that the pain exploded into seductive and delicious passion before the end.
He braved it again; he had gone so far, so how could he exactly have turned back by now? The voices of a certain Frenchman and American were echoing in his head, begging him not to stop. Telling him that they wanted him; all the little things that he needed to hear, encouragement, more sexual drive… scissoring his fingers and bearing with the ache startling throughout his body, Arthur started stretching himself hard enough to let fully-fledged groans to beat out of his throat, low growls and breathless hisses.
He added another finger, pressing back to almost fist himself on his own digits; a light trail of saliva falling out of the corner of his lips and dripping down his chin, though he didn’t bother to wipe it away - now too vigorously involved with the intruders pushing, thrusting, forcing his back to arch in wonderful ways and mouth to unleash all sorts of delicious profundities, filling him absolutely.
--But not nearly enough.
Oh, oh so not nearly enough. He was prepared but with nothing to prepare for; scandalously getting fucked by those slender fingers, gasping and loving himself. The Briton pressed back even further, rocking right the way down and dipping in with even more ferocity, searching and seeking for that one glorio-“Ahh…!!”-there! Arthur licked his lips, shaking his head to be rid the flying sparks and flashes of colours bursting forth like fireworks.
“Harder Arthur, baby. Do it harder~”
Arthur obliged, whipping his fingers out right the way to the tips and thrusting them back inside, hard, with enough speed to make him audibly whimper; rather violently jabbing at his prostate, forcing him to jump into fits of expansive joy, relishing in the wet and obscene sounds splattering inside from the lubrication and the force. He let out a desperate whine, teasing and brushing his particular spot repeatedly to drive him to the absolute edge; pre-sperm dripping from his head as he tried to get closer to a real release.
Oh, oh, oh… Arthur panted and gasped with fulfilment; but it was not enough. Oh definitely not enough.
Arthur rolled onto his back, erotically glancing down and watching with his teeth raking against his bottom lip while his hand disappeared again and again between his wide open legs. His chest raised and fell in consequential patterns, working in unison with his fingers and the rest of his body.
Gazing at the room with rose-tinted passion glazing over his eyes, drowning in sheer lust, Arthur sought out something to replace his fingers with; an object even closer to the real thing. Mm, as always, his own administrations weren’t going to satisfy him completely. He was a man of taste and high calibre, in fact - and he was not going to be taken to and over his sexual limits like this.
He wanted to be filled… loins burning and hot passion blazing through his entire body, just like reality. His delicious reality! A reality where both the deviant and seductive Frenchman and the joyous and handsome American wanted to make love to him until he loses his mind to the explosive pleasure; body going nuclear with power and heat.
Arthur felt an idea shoot through him, and the Englishman grinned ruggedly. He slid his fingers out of his thoroughly prepared hole, and got off his bed and onto his feet - wobbling quite a lot as he stood. The dizzying feeling of having his lower half rather abused had taken over. With his head spinning, the Briton went over to his cupboard; tossing the doors open quickly and crouching down on the floor to look amongst his possessions.
Past the boxes of shoes, lockboxes of private memories - photo albums, particular documents and memoirs to a history that he would rather forget than remember - and other forgotten necessities, was a little cardboard crate hidden underneath absolutely everything…
“Arthur, what are you…”
--Otherwise known as Arthur Kirkland’s secret stash. Fuck Francis, he really did know everything. He was a pervert to the core, one might have said, and this box proved that so absolutely. Undoing the little combination lock, an 8 number sequence that only he could possibly know the code for… (It was the date and year for the treaty of Paris… except every number was five places higher than it should be. So 1 would be 6, 7 would rollover and become 2, so on. Beautiful system of his), Arthur ripped off the lock and slowly took off the lid, heat in his stomach burning longingly as the memories of past experiences flourished again as if fresh in his mind. He remembered them all like it was yesterday - although for nations, the time differences between encounters probably did feel that nostalgic.
He was a kinky old bastard; it had to be said. Handcuffs - the fluffy and raw metallic kind were both present - and chains, whips, and various indescribable sexual aids that would scar a child for life. Shame Alfred hadn’t seen it, Arthur thought with a sly smirk. Francis would be proud.
“Mm…”
Digging in his little possession of nondescript treasures, Arthur found what he was looking for; or in fact, both of them. Wrapped up in kitchen towel (a vague attempt to hide them after he got rid of the packets; he blushed at the thought) and never-been touched, were two vibrators.
Trust - Francis had gotten him secretly one for Christmas at some point, and another for his supposed birthday (nobody quite knew when his birthday was, other than it was sometime in late spring. Usually he celebrated it on St. George’s day, although officially his date of formation as England was in July). Apparently the Frenchman either forgot that he had given him such a scandalous object, or he thought that Arthur would have used the first one until there was no damned juice left in the batteries of the bloody thing. Well, jokes on you Francis. He was terrified of going anywhere near along those lines…
He was back on the bed in no time, shoving the one vibrator to the side (they were different colours and shapes… he didn’t quite know what to expect, whichever was better). Examining the blue shaded one, a colour that annoyingly reminded Arthur of Francis’s silly mantle that he insisted on wearing all of the time, he swiftly realised that he had no idea what the hell to do with it. Of course, it didn’t take a genius to work out what it did… but… when did he ‘do it’? His mind pulled a blank, using euphemism to keep his thoughts chaste. …D-Did he switch it on first and masturbate with it already at work, or did he impale himself on its length and then turn it on with a desperate buzz and chorus of moans?
Awkwardly, Arthur decided to go for the latter and quickly splattered the thing with the rose tinted body lotion, whipping his hand up and down the cock-shaped length like he was giving someone a hand-job in preparation. Satisfied and lying down with his back pressed heavily against the mattress and sheets, the Brit carefully and seductively slowly opened his legs wide again. His eyes caught with his reflection in the mirror and he praised himself at how deliciously idolised he looked, emerald eyes hazy with lust and sweat plush over his brow.
Bringing his hands, both of them, down below; he passed his fingers inside himself again to rekindle his earlier work, stretching himself wide and letting more cold air than usual seep in and caress his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering slightly when the vibrator was positioned against his entrance.
It felt so much more real, fake head pushing against the delicate skin with a much wider circumference than his fingers could possibly have provided; he could imagine Francis being there in actuality, holding his hips down heavily and getting ready to fuck him raw. The Frenchman wouldn’t even ask whether he was alright or ready or anything of the sorts. He would just push inside and impale himself right the way to the end and begin thrusting inside and out with a soft but passionate pace.
“Don’t worry Arty. We’ll take good care of you.”
Ah. Alfred. Arthur licked his lips. He forgot about him - how his mind that conjured the scenario of a beautiful threesome between them all, focusing entirely on him and his desires, his absolute needs. With Alfred’s pretend encouragement whispering into his ears, Arthur slowly pushed the vibrator inside his copious warmth --“Mm-!!”-- groaning delightfully as his inner walls were stretched beyond anything his digits could have done.
Biting back the awkwardness of reaching down in between his legs and the pain needling its way in his layers of muscles, he forced the thing inside, perfectly capturing France’s sexy grunts and desperate moans; praising him on his tightness and intoxicating warmth, breath echoing throughout the bedroom and mingling with his own.
Even the thought of Alfred came to mind, watching the two of them as Francis slowly became sheathed and Arthur mewled with pleasure and pain - his breath getting incredibly short and it becoming increasingly harder to stop from wanking off to the sight.
“Go on Arthur, just a bit more. You take care more, can’t you?” Alfred encouraged, and Arthur nodded to nothing, absolutely filling himself with the vibrator as far at it would go. “Whenever you’re ready. You’re in charge. Move... move~!” Arthur obeyed immediately, slicking the vibrator out almost all the way to the tip and then shoving it back inside; thrusting his hips upwards to help it seek even deeper, telling out series’ of gasps and condoned breaths. Getting used to the sensation, pain making his thighs shudder and muscles contract around the vibrator’s length; he set a steady pace; impaling and fucking himself, in and out in and out.
He melted with a buzz as he turned the vibrator on; moaning desperately audibly, sending warbled shouts to the corners of his room dedicated to France’s name -“Francis… Oh God… Franci-is…”- while his Alfred whispered sweet nothings into his ear and touched his torso. Arthur switched hands and licked his un-dirtied fingers, trailing them down his chest and swiftly finding his right nipple.
Groping his own masculine breast and pumping the vibrator within himself, Arthur could feel the pressure build up more and more in his crotch, drips spilling down his cock’s length and sending drops down between his legs to mingle with the mixture of saliva and rose-tinted lotion he used. “Ah…h…”
“Gee, Arthur. You’re having fun, aren’t you baby?” The voice whispered huskily, breathing deeply. The Englishman nodded hazily to nothing. Arthur would have complimented his imagination on the sheer volume of his mind’s realism. It almost sounded perfect, as if he really heard it. Francis’s voice was there too, but in shout bursts - only speaking out to moan loudly and tell Arthur that he needed more; they needed even more…
“You know, Arty. I’m kinda feeling left out.” Alfred complained.
Arthur swore he could see the little pout he would have worn on his face. He was always intrigued by that face; it was a vision of warmth and sunshine that left Arthur breathless on the best of days. How one could possibly harbour such good looks, fantastic body in particular, and have such a kindly and intoxicating personality, Arthur could never figure out.
His heart ached at the very thought of Alfred’s sunshine being spread only for him. He really wished he could be idolised by the American; an object of love and appreciation far more than just a past father figure, the sort that brought Alfred nothing but news of tax and more conducts to hold the little colony under. He was only following the orders of the King, and his instincts to protect the little boy from the rest of the world - the cruel, harsh world far beyond Alfred’s shores - but the American never saw through.
Regardless, although his upset and mirth had left him by now (although the nightmares still cling to him around a certain yearly event)… he still couldn’t have America retreat from his mind. He had never given that little boy up; and now that he flourished into such a… well-structured… man, he couldn’t stop himself from desiring him in a totally different way than companionship…
Oh Alfred… how could he possibly leave you out, love? He’d do anything for you. Love you, be with you, have you without a moment’s hesitation. His thoughts were filled with little ideas of things he’d love to do with the American. Have his lips purse around that particular state and suck him dry; ride the sexy cowboy - saving a few horses, apparently, in the process; touch him, lick, suck, and moan… gasp…
“It looks to me like you can handle us both, if you catch my drift… mm, United Kingdom?”
Oh fuck… he didn’t think of that.
--Which was ironic, considering that it was his own mind speaking to him. Without bothering to search for it or question the commands his little mental sexual aids were beckoning for, Arthur groped across the sheets to find the second vibrator. Biting his lip dangerously to the point of it almost bursting with blood, the Brit brought the device to join the other already impaled inside him.
“Are you crazy, Amerique? I do not think he c-”
“He can…! Can’t you Arty? Don’t worry love, I won’t hurt you, okay?”
“If you’re trying to pump yourself up-”
“Shh France…! Don’t ruin it…!” Arthur swore he could hear shuffling, as if Alfred was getting into position to penetrate him as well. The Englishman laid sprawled against the sheets, slowly pumping ‘Francis’ between his legs, waiting for his mind to catch up with the idea. He could hear his nervous heart echo as blood pulsed to his nether regions in faster succession. “There. Now Art, now…”
He couldn’t compile an even remotely possible scenario in his head how he could be penetrated by both Alfred and Francis at the same time, but his mind was telling him that he wanted it - and wanted it with an incomprehensible passion. He slipped the slick, buzzing blue member out until it was right at the tip and positioned them both alongside each other. Unafraid now of the pain, stimulation and sexual pleasure pulsing through him far stronger than the ache crippling his legs and hips, the Brit didn’t hesitate to bring them both inside his hopelessly tight warmth simultaneously.
“That’s it Arthur, that’s it darling.” Alfred encouraged. The Brit squeezed his eyes together and let out even more anguished gasps than before, pain absolutely heightened by the feeling of having both of the objects invading his lower half at the same time… he could only dream, erotic pleasures and ideas hidden away in secrecy, that he would feel the same sort of pressure building up against them as he did now in real life; Alfred and Francis together, both of them being in love with him and spreading their love down onto his thin framed form.
Sometimes, pretend was better than reality. Oh so better than reality…
“Mm…Alfred, Fra-Ahn~n…” Arthur panted, unable to keep in his moans; and why would he care now? The Englishman was so far intoxicated in his ‘session’ that he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if the world exploded around him - too far distracted. The pain was indescribable; the entirety of his muscles screaming in agony at him for violating himself so predominantly and readily, but he frankly just couldn’t care. He was lost in the vision of being fucked - loved, in fact - by the two people who captivated him completely.
Slicking the two vibrators to their furthest point, one softly buzzing away to stimulate all the nerves and senses to try force him to an eventual climax while the other pushed deeper than the other could; he gulped and switched on the second. He gagged and groaned when it set off; body turning to spasm with sexual joy, loving in realisation that the second - “Fuck, Alfred, ah… ahhh…!”- moved so much more vigorously and in different patterns to the other. It really was as if it were two people, moving entirely independently to shag him absolutely raw and defenceless.
Arthur slid them both in and out of his opened and wet inner cavern at different paces, shutting his eyes so hard that all colours were shut out completely; even the little white spots and flourishing dots that shot through whenever the vibrators both collided roughly with his prostate. The Brit’s face ruptured with a vast variety of expressions; pain stinging through him in constant and bitty jolts although all the negative anguish was immediately replaced with fits of feverous ardour within no time.
To another, the sight would have been absolutely beautiful to behold; the Briton’s excited smile a rare sight indeed to see, for one. His pleased and thoroughly husky voice - sexily harsh through desperate moaning and huffs tearing apart his throat - was a rare spectacle as well; something other nation’s only heard once a blue moon. Sprawled forth, gold sheets framing his whitish skin and slim figure perfectly, pre-sperm dripping from the man’s tip and soaking his loins with moist; only to the scandalous objects violating him would have ruined it, although to someone like France it would have enhanced it further.
It was a shame, truly, that the Englishman was forced to entertain himself with the vibrators rather than having a real man fitting in-between his wide open legs and bringing him to a glorious climax instead…
“Fuck… Fu~uck… Mmm!!” Arthur almost screamed, struggling to contain his urges to scream his heart out with fulfilment. The pace of the two vibrators picked up even faster as Arthur became even more desperate for a climax, and he rocked down onto them and back out quickly to further encourage it… bouncing on ‘Francis’s’ and ‘Alfred’s’ lengths terribly eagerly. The faux American and Frenchman’s voices cracked and groaned in unison with his own shouts, muttering sweet nothings to the musky air of his bedroom.
“Aaa… Mon cher, je t’aime, je t’aime~~!” Francis’s voice sung, groaning with confessions of love that the Englishman burned to hear with his own ears. The blush befitting Arthur’s face deepened, forcing the Brit breathless as he rammed the two sexual aids home.
“Fuck off France, we love him. We!” Alfred interjected. Arthur cracked open one eye, disappointed to see that the American’s annoyed and slightly possessive pouts weren’t there.
“Oh Amerique, whatever happened to your eagerness to pump yourself up? Surely I can have my fun too, non?”
“Screw you, next time I’ll do him on my own!” Alfred argued, and subconsciously Arthur let the second vibrator take the lead - whipping in and out, in and out with harder and thicker thrusts. Arthur didn’t quite know how he could have made his mind sound so realistic, even having the two compete for his hand and desires; but he thought nothing of it. How could he, when his thoughts were filled with nothing over than vigorous groans and begging for more and more…?
“Need I mind you that this was my-”
“Shh!! Oh damn it - two can play at this game. …I love you Arthur, I love you, I love you.”
“Non, non, non! Je t’aime A-Aah-Angleterre. Tu es à moi ~!” Francis said; voice to a low and handsome whisper. Arthur bit harshly on his lip to control the irrational heat flooding through his entire body.
“I love you Arthur. Just a little bit more okay, just a little bit more. You’re so close baby, you’re so close… ahh…” They continued, telling him how it would be all okay - how sexy he looked, and how they loved him. It was so perfect that Arthur couldn’t even believe that his mind had managed to bring it to life, pleased that he finally got the courage to push past the obvious awkward fears of the initial penetration and touching.
Without so much as touching his weeping cock, the Arthur climaxed as the buzzing vibrators hit his prostate one last time, hard enough for tears to pour down his cheeks. Rocking and moving with the double penetration for a few seconds more to complete him, milking himself until he was totally spent, ribbon remnants of his visit of white hot bliss pooled between his legs and flooded onto the sheets underneath.
With a rather sticky pop, the Englishman took the two intruders out. He switched them off, shivering when he found that the room was so much quieter without them making noises and sending delicious vibrations up his spine. Only his pants could be heard as he tried desperately to recover from his fatigue. Arthur tossed the two instruments to the side - not caring in the slightest to wherever the hell they went - and collapsed against the bed. He was shattered to every single sense of the word, thoroughly spent. Knackered… but oh-so satisfied…
The visions of Francis and Alfred disappeared after ‘goodnights’ and further mutterings of love. A fresh smile formed across his face, almost unwelcome on his usual features - although there was nothing too usual about the Arthur that laid on ravaged and wet sheets now. The sheen of sweat on his brow, hair ragged and askew, plush redness decorating his cheeks, chest heaving up and down and vital regions softened after his cataclysmically good orgasm. It looked so distant to his usual self - tense and restricted. That brilliant after-sex glow surrounded him.
Without bothering to get underneath the sheets or clean himself up, Arthur fell asleep within seconds. So scandalous, he would have thought, so defiantly scandalous…
He got the silk sheets dirty… bloody travesty.
...~.-.-.-.-*.*.*.*.*.*-.-.-.-.~...
About ten minutes after Arthur had fallen asleep, there was a small pop and a buzz in the room; a squeaky high pitched sound suddenly bleeped.
“Damn i-”
“Shush Amerique…! He might not be asleep yet! Turn it off, tu-”
“It’s off, okay? It’s off!” Alfred interrupted Francis midway through sentence, waving the little walkie-talkie in a certain Frenchman’s face. Francis rolled his eyes and snatched the thing out of his hands.
“And need I ask how it managed to turn back on anyway?”
“I leant on it or something - I don’t know! It’s really cramped in here Francis, couldn’t we have set up somewhere different?!” Alfred complained, narrowing his eyes. He shuffled in place for good measure, showing the Frenchman just how little space there was for the awesome hero. He had muscles and needed personal space, damn it! Why did they have to do this in a cupboard?
“Because,” Francis begun; “it’s the closest place to Angleterre’s bedroom. You were the one who insisted that you wanted to hear him in higher definition. This is the best place for that, non? Although I admit, it was a shame that Hungary couldn’t secure us better microphones in the room.”
“Fine, fine. Here… let me see.” Alfred grinned, looking up at the laptop monitor nestled on France’s lap. The image of a rather deliciously naked Arthur was on the screen, with the tell-tale sign of [REC] flashing down in the bottom right. Alfred chewed his lip, not being ashamed at watching his ex-colonist’s bare form roll over and expose his white shimmering skin further. After all, he had seen far more seductive and filthy sights only minutes previously.
Arthur, Alfred thought, must be under the impression that his imagination was pretty fucking amazing to not have noticed that the ‘voices’ were in fact him and France on a walkie-talkie microphone.
Then again, the man believed in fairies.
“…I have to say France; this was the best idea you ever had. I mean, how long have you been planning this? You gave him those vibrators, like, what? Three or four years ago? And then the walkie-talkies, the book… even the rose tinted lotion. How did you manage to sneak that in there without him noticing?”
“Exacte, mon ami. Well, if it’s a service for or little rabbit, then I’ll gladly dedicate myself to fulfilling it. I had gotten fed up of his antics - he needed a little bit of a push, mm, do you not agree?”
“O’Course! Just… I can’t figure it out…” Alfred said, glancing up at France for barely a second before he perversely watched the wild stallion of a Brit press himself up against the pillows.
“…How did you know this would all work? I mean… Fuck, Francis!”
Francis smirked, switching off the camera lead into the Brit’s bedroom.
“Don’t you know, Amerique?” He said smugly, saving the file and shutting down off of Windows. “…I know everything.”
“True.” Alfred smiled. After a few moments of silence, Alfred turned to the Frenchman with an incredibly wide grin. An idea obviously struck him. “Say, France… want to get in bed with him and freak him out when he wakes up?”
Francis smiled, having the same thought. “Mm. Let’s.”
It was going to be one interesting morning.
________________________________________________________________________________
AN: *Ashamed*. Hope you enjoyed it.