Rose Petals Not Included - Part VII
anonymous
October 26 2010, 05:25:07 UTC
England just smiled again before closing the short distance to kiss him. Tenderly and oh-so-slowly England kissed him, taking his time to coax America into parting his lips for him; not that there was much coaxing needed. America opened his mouth readily, pressed his body as flush against the other’s as he could, and England took him in, held him close.
All too soon the kiss ended with England drawing back and America uttering a quiet whine of protest.
“It is rude,” England informed (reminded) him. “to keep your eyes open while someone is kissing you.”
“Oh, Artie,” America chuckled and nuzzled against the other’s cheek. “What would I do without you around to correct my etiquette?”
England gave a wry smile. “Lord only knows.”
This time America closed his eyes, as etiquette dictated he should, and let England kiss him however and for as long as he liked. It felt like an achingly (wonderfully) long while that England breathed in his air only to return it a moment later; it felt like ages that England’s tongue swept across his lips and his teeth, delved deeper into his mouth and explored it with what could only be called devotion--devotion to knowing every single centimeter. It felt like ages until one of England’s hands cupped the back of his head, keeping their faces pressed close until it was uncomfortable; but neither tried to pull away, longing for the closeness above all else.
Quiet noises rose in America’s throat; most remained trapped there, save for a whine that slipped out followed closely by a quiet, breathy moan that made England shiver.
Things moved a little quicker after that, to America’s liking. England’s hands slid beneath America’s shirt, bunched it up around his chest as they moved higher, fingers brushing with purpose over his skin. They circled his navel, traced his ribs, tweaked and rubbed his nipples, and drew quiet sounds of pleasure from the younger nation’s throat.
England rid America of his shirt, pulling it over his head when the younger nation lifted his arms obligingly, and tossed it aside. America reached to rid England of his shirt as well, but became horribly side-tracked once England’s mouth found his naked chest and lavished attention over every inch of his warm, slightly-bronzed skin.
Shivering pleasantly, America made a sound of encouragement, one hand cupping the back of England’s head while the other settled itself on England’s hip.
(As always America watched him while England used his mouth on him--actually, he hardly ever took his eyes off of his boyfriend when they were being intimate (thus the frequent chiding about his eyes being closed while being kissed). But what else was he to look at? The inside of his eyelids, or a wall, maybe, instead of England..?)
Despite it feeling somewhat like straw, America loved to run his fingers through England’s hair and drag his nails along the elder’s scalp now and again, a gesture America knew England liked. His nails dug in slightly once England closed his lips around one of America’s nipples and sucked gently. Hearing America gasp, England closed his eyes and pressed his tongue flat against the nub.
America chewed the inside of his lip. “Arthur..”
“Yes, my lovely?” was the murmured response, green eyes flicking open and up at America’s blue ones.
Cheeks turning pink, America shook his head. “Just... saying your name, is all.”
“Ah,” England said, then leant up to speak into America’s ear. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Rose Petals Not Included - Part VIII
anonymous
October 26 2010, 05:26:19 UTC
America blushed darker and felt England smile against the side of his face. “Uh, if you want--”
“Thou art more lovely,” England stroked a hand over America’s hair, trailed it down his neck and over his shoulder, “and more temperate.” (America decided opening his mouth and commenting on that would spoil the--) “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re more temperate, but you are certainly more lovely.” (--oh come on).
“Spoiling the mood, Artie,” America nudged the side of England’s face with his nose.
“I’m doing no such thing,” the Englishman responded. “That’s your specialty. Now quiet while I’m romancing you.”
America refrained from snorting--mostly because England was, thus far (despite that one dig), doing a very good job at ‘romancing’ him. He did take advantage of the slight pause in ‘romancing’ however, to yank England’s shirt over his head. England’s blonde hair was mussed when his head reappeared, and there was a small scowl on his face.
America kissed it, watched it melt away, and smiled.
“On the bed with you,” England dumped America’s duffle on the floor before following him onto the bed, pressing him back against the mattress, kissing him deeply, and America received him eagerly; arms wrapped tight around England’s middle, America surged up, pressing their bodies together as firmly as he could. As always, it was satisfying to make England melt a little in his arms, and he kissed along England’s jaw.
Sometime amidst the kissing and touching, the heat and the obscene noises and gasps that followed, America’s track pants and boxers had been drawn down to his ankles, and England’s bottoms were completely lost, leaving him awesomely, beautifully bare.
America toed off his socks, kicked away his bottoms and hooked one leg around England’s hips, finally drawing their naked lower halves together and he nearly threw his head back in bliss.
“Alfred,” it was more of a groan than his name. America ground his hips up against England’s, delighting in the noises he drew from him. “Mm--settle down,” America shivered when England’s lips brushed over his cheek, his warm exhalation trailing down to be breathed in by the younger.
Suddenly England’s warmth disappeared, much to America’s displeasure. “Hey--”
“Ssh,” said England from around his navel. Something was set beside him on the bed, America assumed it was lubricant but didn’t check before he felt warm, plumped lips press to his skin, and it didn’t matter anymore, whatever it was.
“I love thee,” England was saying between kisses, and it was so sincere, so soft, “I love but thee; with a love that shall not die,” America’s breath came faster and shorter. “till the sun grows cold,” the pause there was longer than the rest as England made his way up the center of America’s chest, kissing his skin with what was surely reverence-- “and the stars grow old..”
One of America’s arms was lifted so England could lavish attention there, starting with his hand. Each fingertip was kissed, the space between each licked slowly, like England was savoring the taste, and America thought he must taste good if England loved doing this--all the kissing and biting and licking and sucking.
“Mm, ‘s a hecka long time,” America’s eyelids were drooping, “till then, Artie? Really?” England nodded, but did not pause nor glance up at his face. “No matter what?”
Now England looked at him. “Love is not love which alters when alteration finds,” he said seriously, eyes distant, but not; like part of his mind was remembering things that had happened between them a long time ago, what happened after, and the other half was still in the present; at least that was what America’s mind was doing, “When life gets hard.. When things change,” he paused, “true love always remains the same.”
America’s chest felt tight. He reached out to brush aside England’s bangs, touch his cheek lightly, staring straight back into England’s eyes. “Ain’t that the truth, huh..”
Rose Petals Not Included - Part IX
anonymous
October 26 2010, 05:27:29 UTC
England’s eyes closed, face turned against America’s palm, and he breathed deeply, “Love comforteth.. like sunshine after rain.”
Because his cheeks burned, his heart couldn’t pick a rhythm and stick with it, and because it was the way America worked, he opened his mouth, gasped quietly, and babbled: “..This is like that romantic scene you see in the movies or in one of those books with Fabio on the cover, that you think to yourself, ‘that’d never happen, that’s too sappy and dumb.’”
England’s amused smile wasn’t completely hidden by America’s palm, and he could feel it anyway, so if England had meant to hide it he’d done a very bad job. “Indeed. But did I not tell you to keep quiet?”
“Oh, yeah; you did, didn’t you.”
“Mm,” England said, and steadily made his way up America’s arm, pressing warm, opened mouthed kisses all along the way, kisses that made America hum low in the back of his throat, eyes sliding closed. They popped back open when suddenly slicked fingers teased his entrance (he hadn’t realized England had gone, or if he hadn’t and possessed some skill America didn’t know of, but really he didn’t care so why was he even thinking about it--).
The first finger slid in as America spread his thighs wider, the second followed after he rocked his hips, down, to take more in. England was quiet save for his breathing while he stretched America wide, nudged his fingers deeper, found the younger man’s sweet spot and rubbed it in small circles; America could feel England’s eyes on his him while his back arched, his toes curled, and his chest rose and fell unevenly.
It was when America began to squirm and whine quietly that England would remove his hand, slick his length, lean over him and--
America loved this part; the part where England would oh-so-slowly ease into him, rock his hips forward and pull America closer until he was completely sheathed, until America was so full and he could feel England, hot and throbbing inside him and it was breathtaking--
Slowly--everything was so horribly, wonderfully slow--England began to move in him.
He moaned, loudly, arms twining around England and crushing him close; he wanted to feel England’s burning skin everywhere he could, drown in the feeling--
“When you--when you depart from me,” England’s mouth was by his ear, “sorrow abides,” there was truth in that, America realized, through the haze of pleasure, “and happiness takes his leave..”
“Arthur..” America closed his eyes, cheeks growing dark; he was surprised he even had the blood left for that--
“Doubt thou the stars are--mm--are fire,” England was panting, “doubt that the sun doth move,” America was realizing what this all meant; England wasn’t just quoting something, he was proclaiming his love, and showing him and everything he’d said before, and how it made America feel and--and the blushing and the way his heart fluttered madly-- “doubt--doubt truth to be a liar.. But--”
America crushed his mouth against England’s, swallowing the last of that line, drawing England’s tongue into his mouth and sucking it--as if he could take those words from him, keep them, those words that made him want to melt, and that voice that gave them meaning, so much meaning--
And America wanted--no, he--it was--
It was an aching, all-consuming need for him; a need drown in England, in Arthur, to turn to liquid and seep into his bones, into his very soul, and to cling there, be part of him, never to be separated from him.
(..Fuck. What a pair they made. They were both hopelessly romantic saps.)
Gasping sharply, America raked his nails down England’s back, drawing a groan out of the elder. “S-say something,” He managed. “Say some--nn--something else..”
“Insatiable..” England teased. “Hmm.. Under love’s heavy burden.. do I sink..”
America managed to whine. “Not that.. That’s not romanti--hng..”
England grunted. “You asked me to say some--”
“Nn, yeah, but.. I know what comes after that. Romeo’s all--uh, all, love is “too rough.. too rude, too boisterous.. and it pricks like a thorn..”
“Oh,” England grinned down at him. “but that--that is perfect to describe you, my love..”
Rose Petals Not Included - Part X
anonymous
October 26 2010, 05:28:23 UTC
America tried to look offended, but while he was flushed pink, hair sticking to his forehead, only managing to speak between pants, he figured (rightly) that he hadn’t accomplished looking anything of the sort. “Fine--nn. Right back at you, sweetheart..”
“I am never boist--”
“Turbulent, yeah you a--” England gave a sharp thrust, the rest of America’s sentence lost in a gasp.
“My, my,” England moaned, letting his head hang down close to America’s. “You know vocabulary..”
His movements changed then; shuddering, England slowed his pace, planted his hands beside America’s body and rocked his hips, pressing his length deeper, rubbing relentlessly over the younger man’s sweet spot, and any and all coherency left America instantly.
Below him America writhed, soon reduced to breathy moans and gasps, eyes fixed on England’s face but nearly unseeing. He closed his eyes tightly once England ducked his head to kiss him deeply, breathing loudly and unevenly through his nose against America’s flushed, warm cheek.
“This,” England finally breathed out when they parted, licking his lips. “is the very ecstasy.. of love..” His green eyes drifted over America’s face, then settled on the younger’s eyes. “Mm.. Is it not..?”
America’s head fell back, mouth hanging wide and allowing for a long, low moan to escape unhindered. England’s hips jerked. “T-touch me,” America gasped. “Arthur..”
England did, and arching to him with a hoarse cry, America peaked instantly, and it was an ecstasy, rapture, he hadn’t known until then. When America came back to himself England lay atop him, panting for breath, his length soft but still tucked within him.
It was for a while that they lay together, unmoving, catching their breath and shuddering; America’s body still thrummed and tingled with pleasure, and he suspected it would for a good long time.
Slowly America became aware of more words being whispered against his skin, as though these were not poems; ‘my lovely’, ‘my darling’, ‘oh, Alfred’..
Closing his eyes, America slid his arms around England’s shoulders, pressed a kiss to his damp hair and simply held him close. “I love you,” he whispered back, as soft and sincere as he could be.
England, in response, let out a shaky sigh, turning his face into the crook of America’s neck. He didn’t need to say it to America; he’d already told and shown him the depth, breadth and fervor of his love that night, and it had been, in a word, incredible.
They would have to let go sometime, move to clean themselves up before sliding under the bed covers together and letting sleep take them, but for the moment it seemed that neither was wanting to let up their hold on the other lest the peaceful air that had settled was disturbed.
Eventually the pair drifted off without moving at all.
Rose Petals Not Included - Part XI
anonymous
October 26 2010, 05:29:16 UTC
America woke when the warm body beside him shifted away, leaving him to grope blindly for England while his brain, sluggish at the early hour, processed where he was, what was happening, and why on earth England would be moving--
“’Morning, love,” he felt the bed dip with England’s weight, then warm breath on his cheek before lips were pressed to his forehead.
“’Mornin’ swee’heart,” America mumbled back, tilting his head into England’s touch and opening his eyes to look at him. England’s hair was disheveled, his green eyes were soft and lacking in the usual bags that resided beneath them; he was still naked, the bed sheets bunched around his waist, and his skin looked more cream than white and seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. America thought he looked beautiful, told him as much, and delighted in the blush that then colored England’s cheeks.
Bating at his hand when America reached up to touch his cheek, England muttered a ‘Stop that, you’ which only served to make America determined to pinch his cheek and coo. To that England grumbled and announced he was going for a shower.
As England stood America turned on his side, tucked an arm beneath his head and called to him. England turned back with a questioning look.
“Say something else for me?”
America’s toes curled in anticipation when England cleared his throat. (His body was still tingling from last night, as he knew it would, and he felt giddy, light, and really hoped that England was feeling the same way--) “Of course; after all..
My heart,” England said, wearing a crooked but warm smile, one hand coming to rest over his heart while he gave the slightest of bows. “is ever at your service.”
Wow. This turned into a monster, didn’t it. And all you wanted was the sexy times. /dies
It was already in my head cannon that Alfred had a secret love of Shakespeare; because 1) the library. Really. 2) he can be a romantic, too. Hollywood. Come on now. and 3) sometimes, Shakespeare’s stories remind him of the stories England used to tell him when he was only a wee lad and everything was as right as it could be between them.. ;^; ♥
Anyway; I feel like I might have put a bit of my soul into this, because I have an insatiable love for top!England, and I loveloveloved the idea of England reciting Shakespearian poetry and aaah I’m a sucker for romance, and especially when it involves these two boys asdfghjkl; SO! I dearly hope that all you lovely anons (and especially you, OP!) enjoyed this. ♥ (I’ll de-anon eventually, with this all updated and shiny, because I know there are issues with it ffff but concrit if you guys have any would be appreciated. ;w;)
1: “Upon thy cheek..”; King John; Act II, scene I.
2: “O, how this..”; The Two Gentleman of Verona; Act I, scene III.
3: “They do not love..”; The Two Gentleman of Verona; Act I, scene II.
4: “Love is a smoke..”; this one is just a quote from Shakespeare himself, not from a play. (please correct me if I’m wrong)
5: “Shall I compare thee..”; Sonnet 18.
6: “I love thee, I love but thee..”; this one is simply from Shakespeare himself, too.
7: “Love is not love which alters..”; Sonnet 116
8: “Love comforteth like sunshine..”; from the poem Venus and Adonis
9: “My bounty is as boundless..”; Romeo and Juliet; Act II, scene II.
10: “When you depart from..”; Much ado about nothing; Act I, scene I.
11: “Doubt thou the stars.. (but never doubt I love)”; Alfie didn’t let him finiiish Hamlet; Act II, scene II.
12. “My heart is ever..”; Timon of Athens; Act I, scene II.
Re: writer anon - one last thing
anonymous
October 26 2010, 06:50:52 UTC
*falls over in eternal joy and adoration*
Dear genious, masterful, beautiful writer!anon, you render me into a pile of babbling, teary-eyed, sappy fangirl. My forever-angst-lover heart has been healed and softened by this.
Really, truly, I love your fill. It's amazing and so beautiful and still manages to keep the snarky side of England, the childish side of America, and the adorable stupid side of both of them together.
Because they are stupid, stupid men. In love and stupid, and thus the combination gets to kill me every time, either from fluff or from frustration.
And now your story, making use of all the good points of their relation, of their comfortable personas around each other. Ohhh I needed this. You have my gratitude, and stalker-tendencies when you de-anon.
Top!Arthur is a marvelous change of pace, too, and rather reminds me why I like my favorite pairs to "switch" quite often. It is so give-and-take, tit-for-tat in my book.
I don't think I am capable of picking up favorite lines or parts in your fic, since I love it in its wholeness. But if hard-pressed, I would have to say: oh dear sweet goodness, I blushed in delight and utter happiness at realizing Arthur was quoting wihout noticing what he has doing, at the beginning. That is so perfect, speaks so loudly of his levels of love.
And oh Alfred, he won me over, this America who appreciates and reciprocates and gives back as much love as he is recieving...that is my utmost favorite intake of Alfred. My heart expanded in painful wonder at Alfred contemplating ARthur the morning after, marveling over his skin and face and calling him beautiful. *melts*
BUT -and I promise this is the end of my rant- the final quote is the bullet that pierced through shield and sword and heart, my lady. Oh forever devoted England, your heart at the service of your beloved. Never truer words have been spoken.
*showers writer!anon with love* <3 <3 <3 This from a besotted fan and loyal England-follower, who should stop ranting so much.
Re: one last thing- UTTERLY BEAUTIFUL
anonymous
October 26 2010, 06:51:44 UTC
*falls over in eternal joy and adoration*
Dear genious, masterful, beautiful writer!anon, you render me into a pile of babbling, teary-eyed, sappy fangirl. My forever-angst-lover heart has been healed and softened by this.
Really, truly, I love your fill. It's amazing and so beautiful and still manages to keep the snarky side of England, the childish side of America, and the adorable stupid side of both of them together.
Because they are stupid, stupid men. In love and stupid, and thus the combination gets to kill me every time, either from fluff or from frustration.
And now your story, making use of all the good points of their relation, of their comfortable personas around each other. Ohhh I needed this. You have my gratitude, and stalker-tendencies when you de-anon.
Top!Arthur is a marvelous change of pace, too, and rather reminds me why I like my favorite pairs to "switch" quite often. It is so give-and-take, tit-for-tat in my book.
I don't think I am capable of picking up favorite lines or parts in your fic, since I love it in its wholeness. But if hard-pressed, I would have to say: oh dear sweet goodness, I blushed in delight and utter happiness at realizing Arthur was quoting wihout noticing what he has doing, at the beginning. That is so perfect, speaks so loudly of his levels of love.
And oh Alfred, he won me over, this America who appreciates and reciprocates and gives back as much love as he is recieving...that is my utmost favorite intake of Alfred. My heart expanded in painful wonder at Alfred contemplating ARthur the morning after, marveling over his skin and face and calling him beautiful. *melts*
BUT -and I promise this is the end of my rant- the final quote is the bullet that pierced through shield and sword and heart, my lady. Oh forever devoted England, your heart at the service of your beloved. Never truer words have been spoken.
*showers writer!anon with love* <3 <3 <3 This from a besotted fan and loyal England-follower, who should stop ranting so much.
Re: writer anon - one last thing
anonymous
October 26 2010, 08:35:53 UTC
WHERE ARE ALL THE COMMENTS. I EXPECTED HEAPS OF PRAISE. Ahh, I love this story so much. It was adorable AND sexy (I'm such a sucker for top!England and them being awkward yet romantic with each other). I'm super happy that it became as long as it did, Author Anon. Thanks so much. ♥
Re: writer anon - one last thing
anonymous
October 26 2010, 21:57:22 UTC
Oh, wow. Wow. I can't tell you how much I love this, I really can't! I'm actually pretty near tears, this story just grabbed my heartstrings and melted me into a puddle of the happiest goo in the world. I loved the quotes you chose, I love how they're just so infused with feelings, and I love every little interruption that makes them so intimate.
This is easily the most romantic, most satisfying read that I've had in a long time. Thank you, anon, for the privilege of reading it.
Re: writer anon - one last thing
anonymous
November 27 2011, 02:48:50 UTC
Okay I'm totally late to the party too... and I wish I could form some long coherent reply praising this in all it's glory, but my brain has seriously melted from sensory overload.
Re: Rose Petals Not Included - Part XI
anonymous
October 26 2010, 07:25:51 UTC
I know this deserves a long and elaborate comment on every single aspect why this fic is as perfect and touching as it is, but for my humble part, let me just say:
It was beautiful.
And the roman numerals are the sweetest detail ever.
Re: Rose Petals Not Included - Part XI
anonymous
October 27 2010, 15:49:54 UTC
It was incredibly hot and sweet, romantic and adorable, but what made it go up to eleven and beyond was the implied fact that England has always thought in Shakespearian quotes when making love to America. That's, like....wow. I wish that existed in real life =;_;=
All too soon the kiss ended with England drawing back and America uttering a quiet whine of protest.
“It is rude,” England informed (reminded) him. “to keep your eyes open while someone is kissing you.”
“Oh, Artie,” America chuckled and nuzzled against the other’s cheek. “What would I do without you around to correct my etiquette?”
England gave a wry smile. “Lord only knows.”
This time America closed his eyes, as etiquette dictated he should, and let England kiss him however and for as long as he liked. It felt like an achingly (wonderfully) long while that England breathed in his air only to return it a moment later; it felt like ages that England’s tongue swept across his lips and his teeth, delved deeper into his mouth and explored it with what could only be called devotion--devotion to knowing every single centimeter. It felt like ages until one of England’s hands cupped the back of his head, keeping their faces pressed close until it was uncomfortable; but neither tried to pull away, longing for the closeness above all else.
Quiet noises rose in America’s throat; most remained trapped there, save for a whine that slipped out followed closely by a quiet, breathy moan that made England shiver.
Things moved a little quicker after that, to America’s liking. England’s hands slid beneath America’s shirt, bunched it up around his chest as they moved higher, fingers brushing with purpose over his skin. They circled his navel, traced his ribs, tweaked and rubbed his nipples, and drew quiet sounds of pleasure from the younger nation’s throat.
England rid America of his shirt, pulling it over his head when the younger nation lifted his arms obligingly, and tossed it aside. America reached to rid England of his shirt as well, but became horribly side-tracked once England’s mouth found his naked chest and lavished attention over every inch of his warm, slightly-bronzed skin.
Shivering pleasantly, America made a sound of encouragement, one hand cupping the back of England’s head while the other settled itself on England’s hip.
(As always America watched him while England used his mouth on him--actually, he hardly ever took his eyes off of his boyfriend when they were being intimate (thus the frequent chiding about his eyes being closed while being kissed). But what else was he to look at? The inside of his eyelids, or a wall, maybe, instead of England..?)
Despite it feeling somewhat like straw, America loved to run his fingers through England’s hair and drag his nails along the elder’s scalp now and again, a gesture America knew England liked. His nails dug in slightly once England closed his lips around one of America’s nipples and sucked gently. Hearing America gasp, England closed his eyes and pressed his tongue flat against the nub.
America chewed the inside of his lip. “Arthur..”
“Yes, my lovely?” was the murmured response, green eyes flicking open and up at America’s blue ones.
Cheeks turning pink, America shook his head. “Just... saying your name, is all.”
“Ah,” England said, then leant up to speak into America’s ear. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Reply
“Thou art more lovely,” England stroked a hand over America’s hair, trailed it down his neck and over his shoulder, “and more temperate.” (America decided opening his mouth and commenting on that would spoil the--) “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re more temperate, but you are certainly more lovely.” (--oh come on).
“Spoiling the mood, Artie,” America nudged the side of England’s face with his nose.
“I’m doing no such thing,” the Englishman responded. “That’s your specialty. Now quiet while I’m romancing you.”
America refrained from snorting--mostly because England was, thus far (despite that one dig), doing a very good job at ‘romancing’ him. He did take advantage of the slight pause in ‘romancing’ however, to yank England’s shirt over his head. England’s blonde hair was mussed when his head reappeared, and there was a small scowl on his face.
America kissed it, watched it melt away, and smiled.
“On the bed with you,” England dumped America’s duffle on the floor before following him onto the bed, pressing him back against the mattress, kissing him deeply, and America received him eagerly; arms wrapped tight around England’s middle, America surged up, pressing their bodies together as firmly as he could. As always, it was satisfying to make England melt a little in his arms, and he kissed along England’s jaw.
Sometime amidst the kissing and touching, the heat and the obscene noises and gasps that followed, America’s track pants and boxers had been drawn down to his ankles, and England’s bottoms were completely lost, leaving him awesomely, beautifully bare.
America toed off his socks, kicked away his bottoms and hooked one leg around England’s hips, finally drawing their naked lower halves together and he nearly threw his head back in bliss.
“Alfred,” it was more of a groan than his name. America ground his hips up against England’s, delighting in the noises he drew from him. “Mm--settle down,” America shivered when England’s lips brushed over his cheek, his warm exhalation trailing down to be breathed in by the younger.
Suddenly England’s warmth disappeared, much to America’s displeasure. “Hey--”
“Ssh,” said England from around his navel. Something was set beside him on the bed, America assumed it was lubricant but didn’t check before he felt warm, plumped lips press to his skin, and it didn’t matter anymore, whatever it was.
“I love thee,” England was saying between kisses, and it was so sincere, so soft, “I love but thee; with a love that shall not die,” America’s breath came faster and shorter. “till the sun grows cold,” the pause there was longer than the rest as England made his way up the center of America’s chest, kissing his skin with what was surely reverence-- “and the stars grow old..”
One of America’s arms was lifted so England could lavish attention there, starting with his hand. Each fingertip was kissed, the space between each licked slowly, like England was savoring the taste, and America thought he must taste good if England loved doing this--all the kissing and biting and licking and sucking.
“Mm, ‘s a hecka long time,” America’s eyelids were drooping, “till then, Artie? Really?” England nodded, but did not pause nor glance up at his face. “No matter what?”
Now England looked at him. “Love is not love which alters when alteration finds,” he said seriously, eyes distant, but not; like part of his mind was remembering things that had happened between them a long time ago, what happened after, and the other half was still in the present; at least that was what America’s mind was doing, “When life gets hard.. When things change,” he paused, “true love always remains the same.”
America’s chest felt tight. He reached out to brush aside England’s bangs, touch his cheek lightly, staring straight back into England’s eyes. “Ain’t that the truth, huh..”
Reply
Because his cheeks burned, his heart couldn’t pick a rhythm and stick with it, and because it was the way America worked, he opened his mouth, gasped quietly, and babbled: “..This is like that romantic scene you see in the movies or in one of those books with Fabio on the cover, that you think to yourself, ‘that’d never happen, that’s too sappy and dumb.’”
England’s amused smile wasn’t completely hidden by America’s palm, and he could feel it anyway, so if England had meant to hide it he’d done a very bad job. “Indeed. But did I not tell you to keep quiet?”
“Oh, yeah; you did, didn’t you.”
“Mm,” England said, and steadily made his way up America’s arm, pressing warm, opened mouthed kisses all along the way, kisses that made America hum low in the back of his throat, eyes sliding closed. They popped back open when suddenly slicked fingers teased his entrance (he hadn’t realized England had gone, or if he hadn’t and possessed some skill America didn’t know of, but really he didn’t care so why was he even thinking about it--).
The first finger slid in as America spread his thighs wider, the second followed after he rocked his hips, down, to take more in. England was quiet save for his breathing while he stretched America wide, nudged his fingers deeper, found the younger man’s sweet spot and rubbed it in small circles; America could feel England’s eyes on his him while his back arched, his toes curled, and his chest rose and fell unevenly.
It was when America began to squirm and whine quietly that England would remove his hand, slick his length, lean over him and--
America loved this part; the part where England would oh-so-slowly ease into him, rock his hips forward and pull America closer until he was completely sheathed, until America was so full and he could feel England, hot and throbbing inside him and it was breathtaking--
Slowly--everything was so horribly, wonderfully slow--England began to move in him.
He moaned, loudly, arms twining around England and crushing him close; he wanted to feel England’s burning skin everywhere he could, drown in the feeling--
“When you--when you depart from me,” England’s mouth was by his ear, “sorrow abides,” there was truth in that, America realized, through the haze of pleasure, “and happiness takes his leave..”
“Arthur..” America closed his eyes, cheeks growing dark; he was surprised he even had the blood left for that--
“Doubt thou the stars are--mm--are fire,” England was panting, “doubt that the sun doth move,” America was realizing what this all meant; England wasn’t just quoting something, he was proclaiming his love, and showing him and everything he’d said before, and how it made America feel and--and the blushing and the way his heart fluttered madly-- “doubt--doubt truth to be a liar.. But--”
America crushed his mouth against England’s, swallowing the last of that line, drawing England’s tongue into his mouth and sucking it--as if he could take those words from him, keep them, those words that made him want to melt, and that voice that gave them meaning, so much meaning--
And America wanted--no, he--it was--
It was an aching, all-consuming need for him; a need drown in England, in Arthur, to turn to liquid and seep into his bones, into his very soul, and to cling there, be part of him, never to be separated from him.
(..Fuck. What a pair they made. They were both hopelessly romantic saps.)
Gasping sharply, America raked his nails down England’s back, drawing a groan out of the elder. “S-say something,” He managed. “Say some--nn--something else..”
“Insatiable..” England teased. “Hmm.. Under love’s heavy burden.. do I sink..”
America managed to whine. “Not that.. That’s not romanti--hng..”
England grunted. “You asked me to say some--”
“Nn, yeah, but.. I know what comes after that. Romeo’s all--uh, all, love is “too rough.. too rude, too boisterous.. and it pricks like a thorn..”
“Oh,” England grinned down at him. “but that--that is perfect to describe you, my love..”
Reply
“I am never boist--”
“Turbulent, yeah you a--” England gave a sharp thrust, the rest of America’s sentence lost in a gasp.
“My, my,” England moaned, letting his head hang down close to America’s. “You know vocabulary..”
His movements changed then; shuddering, England slowed his pace, planted his hands beside America’s body and rocked his hips, pressing his length deeper, rubbing relentlessly over the younger man’s sweet spot, and any and all coherency left America instantly.
Below him America writhed, soon reduced to breathy moans and gasps, eyes fixed on England’s face but nearly unseeing. He closed his eyes tightly once England ducked his head to kiss him deeply, breathing loudly and unevenly through his nose against America’s flushed, warm cheek.
“This,” England finally breathed out when they parted, licking his lips. “is the very ecstasy.. of love..” His green eyes drifted over America’s face, then settled on the younger’s eyes. “Mm.. Is it not..?”
America’s head fell back, mouth hanging wide and allowing for a long, low moan to escape unhindered. England’s hips jerked. “T-touch me,” America gasped. “Arthur..”
England did, and arching to him with a hoarse cry, America peaked instantly, and it was an ecstasy, rapture, he hadn’t known until then. When America came back to himself England lay atop him, panting for breath, his length soft but still tucked within him.
It was for a while that they lay together, unmoving, catching their breath and shuddering; America’s body still thrummed and tingled with pleasure, and he suspected it would for a good long time.
Slowly America became aware of more words being whispered against his skin, as though these were not poems; ‘my lovely’, ‘my darling’, ‘oh, Alfred’..
Closing his eyes, America slid his arms around England’s shoulders, pressed a kiss to his damp hair and simply held him close. “I love you,” he whispered back, as soft and sincere as he could be.
England, in response, let out a shaky sigh, turning his face into the crook of America’s neck. He didn’t need to say it to America; he’d already told and shown him the depth, breadth and fervor of his love that night, and it had been, in a word, incredible.
They would have to let go sometime, move to clean themselves up before sliding under the bed covers together and letting sleep take them, but for the moment it seemed that neither was wanting to let up their hold on the other lest the peaceful air that had settled was disturbed.
Eventually the pair drifted off without moving at all.
Reply
“’Morning, love,” he felt the bed dip with England’s weight, then warm breath on his cheek before lips were pressed to his forehead.
“’Mornin’ swee’heart,” America mumbled back, tilting his head into England’s touch and opening his eyes to look at him. England’s hair was disheveled, his green eyes were soft and lacking in the usual bags that resided beneath them; he was still naked, the bed sheets bunched around his waist, and his skin looked more cream than white and seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. America thought he looked beautiful, told him as much, and delighted in the blush that then colored England’s cheeks.
Bating at his hand when America reached up to touch his cheek, England muttered a ‘Stop that, you’ which only served to make America determined to pinch his cheek and coo. To that England grumbled and announced he was going for a shower.
As England stood America turned on his side, tucked an arm beneath his head and called to him. England turned back with a questioning look.
“Say something else for me?”
America’s toes curled in anticipation when England cleared his throat. (His body was still tingling from last night, as he knew it would, and he felt giddy, light, and really hoped that England was feeling the same way--) “Of course; after all..
My heart,” England said, wearing a crooked but warm smile, one hand coming to rest over his heart while he gave the slightest of bows. “is ever at your service.”
Wow. This turned into a monster, didn’t it. And all you wanted was the sexy times. /dies
It was already in my head cannon that Alfred had a secret love of Shakespeare; because 1) the library. Really. 2) he can be a romantic, too. Hollywood. Come on now. and 3) sometimes, Shakespeare’s stories remind him of the stories England used to tell him when he was only a wee lad and everything was as right as it could be between them.. ;^; ♥
Anyway; I feel like I might have put a bit of my soul into this, because I have an insatiable love for top!England, and I loveloveloved the idea of England reciting Shakespearian poetry and aaah I’m a sucker for romance, and especially when it involves these two boys asdfghjkl; SO! I dearly hope that all you lovely anons (and especially you, OP!) enjoyed this. ♥ (I’ll de-anon eventually, with this all updated and shiny, because I know there are issues with it ffff but concrit if you guys have any would be appreciated. ;w;)
1: “Upon thy cheek..”; King John; Act II, scene I.
2: “O, how this..”; The Two Gentleman of Verona; Act I, scene III.
3: “They do not love..”; The Two Gentleman of Verona; Act I, scene II.
4: “Love is a smoke..”; this one is just a quote from Shakespeare himself, not from a play. (please correct me if I’m wrong)
5: “Shall I compare thee..”; Sonnet 18.
6: “I love thee, I love but thee..”; this one is simply from Shakespeare himself, too.
7: “Love is not love which alters..”; Sonnet 116
8: “Love comforteth like sunshine..”; from the poem Venus and Adonis
9: “My bounty is as boundless..”; Romeo and Juliet; Act II, scene II.
10: “When you depart from..”; Much ado about nothing; Act I, scene I.
11: “Doubt thou the stars.. (but never doubt I love)”; Alfie didn’t let him finiiish Hamlet; Act II, scene II.
12. “My heart is ever..”; Timon of Athens; Act I, scene II.
Reply
Now I'm done.
Reply
Dear genious, masterful, beautiful writer!anon, you render me into a pile of babbling, teary-eyed, sappy fangirl. My forever-angst-lover heart has been healed and softened by this.
Really, truly, I love your fill. It's amazing and so beautiful and still manages to keep the snarky side of England, the childish side of America, and the adorable stupid side of both of them together.
Because they are stupid, stupid men. In love and stupid, and thus the combination gets to kill me every time, either from fluff or from frustration.
And now your story, making use of all the good points of their relation, of their comfortable personas around each other. Ohhh I needed this. You have my gratitude, and stalker-tendencies when you de-anon.
Top!Arthur is a marvelous change of pace, too, and rather reminds me why I like my favorite pairs to "switch" quite often. It is so give-and-take, tit-for-tat in my book.
I don't think I am capable of picking up favorite lines or parts in your fic, since I love it in its wholeness. But if hard-pressed, I would have to say: oh dear sweet goodness, I blushed in delight and utter happiness at realizing Arthur was quoting wihout noticing what he has doing, at the beginning. That is so perfect, speaks so loudly of his levels of love.
And oh Alfred, he won me over, this America who appreciates and reciprocates and gives back as much love as he is recieving...that is my utmost favorite intake of Alfred. My heart expanded in painful wonder at Alfred contemplating ARthur the morning after, marveling over his skin and face and calling him beautiful. *melts*
BUT -and I promise this is the end of my rant- the final quote is the bullet that pierced through shield and sword and heart, my lady. Oh forever devoted England, your heart at the service of your beloved. Never truer words have been spoken.
*showers writer!anon with love* <3 <3 <3 This from a besotted fan and loyal England-follower, who should stop ranting so much.
Reply
Dear genious, masterful, beautiful writer!anon, you render me into a pile of babbling, teary-eyed, sappy fangirl. My forever-angst-lover heart has been healed and softened by this.
Really, truly, I love your fill. It's amazing and so beautiful and still manages to keep the snarky side of England, the childish side of America, and the adorable stupid side of both of them together.
Because they are stupid, stupid men. In love and stupid, and thus the combination gets to kill me every time, either from fluff or from frustration.
And now your story, making use of all the good points of their relation, of their comfortable personas around each other. Ohhh I needed this. You have my gratitude, and stalker-tendencies when you de-anon.
Top!Arthur is a marvelous change of pace, too, and rather reminds me why I like my favorite pairs to "switch" quite often. It is so give-and-take, tit-for-tat in my book.
I don't think I am capable of picking up favorite lines or parts in your fic, since I love it in its wholeness. But if hard-pressed, I would have to say: oh dear sweet goodness, I blushed in delight and utter happiness at realizing Arthur was quoting wihout noticing what he has doing, at the beginning. That is so perfect, speaks so loudly of his levels of love.
And oh Alfred, he won me over, this America who appreciates and reciprocates and gives back as much love as he is recieving...that is my utmost favorite intake of Alfred. My heart expanded in painful wonder at Alfred contemplating ARthur the morning after, marveling over his skin and face and calling him beautiful. *melts*
BUT -and I promise this is the end of my rant- the final quote is the bullet that pierced through shield and sword and heart, my lady. Oh forever devoted England, your heart at the service of your beloved. Never truer words have been spoken.
*showers writer!anon with love* <3 <3 <3 This from a besotted fan and loyal England-follower, who should stop ranting so much.
Reply
Reply
Loved this fill! Sorry I can't think up a longer comment I just need to re-read this again...
Reply
This is easily the most romantic, most satisfying read that I've had in a long time. Thank you, anon, for the privilege of reading it.
Reply
Just amazing!
Reply
It was beautiful.
And the roman numerals are the sweetest detail ever.
Reply
I love it when they're beig all sappy and romantic.^^
Reply
*adding one more person to the flaily fangirl crowd*
So romantic, omg. I can't even--*swoooon*
Mmf. I want an earnest English gentleman to court me too lol
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment