Part 3; Your fill has arrived
anonymous
September 7 2009, 10:53:09 UTC
“Sure. I’d like a game. No one wanted to play earlier, and I don’t think half of them could take me on. I’m too amazing at pool!” Alfred laughed heartily, mirth filling his whole face childishly. Arthur’s gaze stayed on Alfred as the other nation’s hand slid up a cue stick slowly, gripping it firmly. He sensed that the American knew he was watching, and was making a rather erotic show of handling the long wooden rod. He licked his lips lightly, eyes lowering a bit as Alfred slid the rod next to him and gathered the mass of multi-coloured billiard balls. “Do you want to break, Arthur?” Alfred asked softly looking over at the other nation, shock almost crossing his face when he met Arthur’s burning gaze. Arthur slid across the table, moving right next to Alfred to slide the other cue stick into his grasp. He stood just a little closer than should be considered normal, almost leaning against the other as he grabbed the white ball off the table and put it into position. Alfred stepped back, to give the nation room to break the formation only to feel Arthur’s hips press lightly back into him. Arthur looked over his shoulder wondering why Alfred had stood so close, but didn’t say anything due to the fact he simply did not mind. A small smirk played over his lips as he heard the blonde American gasp softly, sure it was because of the pressure that grazed his hips. Arthur stayed still a moment, turning his attention back to the set up in front of him. He wondered what the chances of him losing the game were, and if he could make this a bit more interesting. “Alfred, what d’you say we make a bi’ of a bet?” Arthur slurred softly as he looked back at the younger nation, eyes lowered a bit with that sexy, confident smirk still on his lips. Silenced by the site before him, it took Alfred a few seconds to realize he’d been spoken to. “What? A bet? What sort of bet?” He asked quickly as he directed his gaze anywhere but Arthur’s face. “Well…If I win, I get to do whatever I want for the rest of the night and you have to go with it. Yes, you’re a part of it. And if you win, the same works for you. There will be no argument, because orders are orders.” Arthur said quite seriously, and he could have sworn there was an out of place predatory glint in the American’s eyes after that. Arthur would’ve been quite right, because the idea of Arthur being unable to refuse his orders for a night was just what Alfred wanted. He had been wondering all night how he would be able to admit to the feelings the Brit was stirring inside, and winning would allow him to explore them without explaining himself. It was as if Arthur had sensed his dilemma and unconsciously provided a solution. “Alright, sounds great. I accept the bet. May the best man win, Arty.” Alfred said with satisfaction, sure of his ability and more than confident he would win. Arthur pressed his hips back a bit in annoyance at the nickname and scattered the balls across the table, none falling into the pockets along the edges. He cursed, noticing the one that nearly did would have ended the game and technically made it his loss. “Bloody eight-ball, stay away from that corner, you.” He grumbled before he straightened and moved out of Alfred’s way. Alfred and Arthur continued to play, but it was obvious Arthur had severely misjudged how well the American could play. Before too long he was looking at an impossible situation where he had no chance of winning, and he was beginning to grow worried. Alfred seemed to be more than pleased with himself, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone with excitement. His win was at his fingertips, there was no doubt about it. As the last ball sunk in the pocket, Arthur let out a groan of disdain and started pulling the coloured balls out of their pockets and tossing them back onto the table. It wasn’t that he was upset that he’d lost, he just was upset he’d lost his opportunity to boss the nation around again. That and he lost to bloody America, that stupid, ridiculous, grinning, sexy git who was…Now pinning him against the pool table. “Wha-Alfred? Wha’ the bloody hell are you doin’?” Arthur gasped as he tried to struggle away, pausing only after he noticed the look on the blonde man’s face.
Arthur’s gaze stayed on Alfred as the other nation’s hand slid up a cue stick slowly, gripping it firmly. He sensed that the American knew he was watching, and was making a rather erotic show of handling the long wooden rod. He licked his lips lightly, eyes lowering a bit as Alfred slid the rod next to him and gathered the mass of multi-coloured billiard balls.
“Do you want to break, Arthur?” Alfred asked softly looking over at the other nation, shock almost crossing his face when he met Arthur’s burning gaze.
Arthur slid across the table, moving right next to Alfred to slide the other cue stick into his grasp. He stood just a little closer than should be considered normal, almost leaning against the other as he grabbed the white ball off the table and put it into position. Alfred stepped back, to give the nation room to break the formation only to feel Arthur’s hips press lightly back into him.
Arthur looked over his shoulder wondering why Alfred had stood so close, but didn’t say anything due to the fact he simply did not mind. A small smirk played over his lips as he heard the blonde American gasp softly, sure it was because of the pressure that grazed his hips. Arthur stayed still a moment, turning his attention back to the set up in front of him. He wondered what the chances of him losing the game were, and if he could make this a bit more interesting.
“Alfred, what d’you say we make a bi’ of a bet?” Arthur slurred softly as he looked back at the younger nation, eyes lowered a bit with that sexy, confident smirk still on his lips.
Silenced by the site before him, it took Alfred a few seconds to realize he’d been spoken to.
“What? A bet? What sort of bet?” He asked quickly as he directed his gaze anywhere but Arthur’s face.
“Well…If I win, I get to do whatever I want for the rest of the night and you have to go with it. Yes, you’re a part of it. And if you win, the same works for you. There will be no argument, because orders are orders.” Arthur said quite seriously, and he could have sworn there was an out of place predatory glint in the American’s eyes after that.
Arthur would’ve been quite right, because the idea of Arthur being unable to refuse his orders for a night was just what Alfred wanted. He had been wondering all night how he would be able to admit to the feelings the Brit was stirring inside, and winning would allow him to explore them without explaining himself. It was as if Arthur had sensed his dilemma and unconsciously provided a solution.
“Alright, sounds great. I accept the bet. May the best man win, Arty.” Alfred said with satisfaction, sure of his ability and more than confident he would win.
Arthur pressed his hips back a bit in annoyance at the nickname and scattered the balls across the table, none falling into the pockets along the edges. He cursed, noticing the one that nearly did would have ended the game and technically made it his loss.
“Bloody eight-ball, stay away from that corner, you.” He grumbled before he straightened and moved out of Alfred’s way.
Alfred and Arthur continued to play, but it was obvious Arthur had severely misjudged how well the American could play. Before too long he was looking at an impossible situation where he had no chance of winning, and he was beginning to grow worried. Alfred seemed to be more than pleased with himself, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone with excitement. His win was at his fingertips, there was no doubt about it. As the last ball sunk in the pocket, Arthur let out a groan of disdain and started pulling the coloured balls out of their pockets and tossing them back onto the table. It wasn’t that he was upset that he’d lost, he just was upset he’d lost his opportunity to boss the nation around again. That and he lost to bloody America, that stupid, ridiculous, grinning, sexy git who was…Now pinning him against the pool table.
“Wha-Alfred? Wha’ the bloody hell are you doin’?” Arthur gasped as he tried to struggle away, pausing only after he noticed the look on the blonde man’s face.
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