Amictus [2a/?]
anonymous
October 6 2009, 03:11:54 UTC
Looking up, Alfred notices his guardian's flushed face. “E-Engwand . . . ?”
He looks so damn innocent. England rubs his thumb in a circular motion on the boy's thigh, and leans closer to gaze into the airy cerulean. “Alfred, we are not as colony and empire now; let's use our human names.” Arthur tilts his head near the boy's right shoulder, pressing a kiss near Alfred's lips.
“En- Arthurrr, that's not fair,” Alfred whines, then breath hitches when feeling the man's left hand curving into his inner left thigh. “A-Ah-. . .”
Now Alfred notices. Does he feel the arm wrapped around his torso also? Yes he has, as he tried to pull away from Arthur. The blonde man cuddles the boy closer, smirking against his cheek, and breathes hotly into his neck. “Alfreddd, what's not fair . . . ?”
“W-W-Wha . . . t . . .” Alfred feels himself quake like he first had when Arthur breathed into his ear. “Nng-!” He tosses his head back when the hand feathered near his crotch. Here, now, Alfred was immensely confused, hot, shaken, weak-kneed, short of breath. What is happening?
A mouth nips at Alfred's neck but is soon replaced by hot, wet breath. “Excuse me, my boy, I should've let you speak.”
But when permitted to, Alfred is at a lost for words. His cerulean eyes are wide-open, trickling with faint wetness. Just what was that? This sort of thing is new, unexplored, and frightening, just like those books Arthur would read to him. He doesn't want this “personal” anymore, but the voice stays inside making him bite his cheek.
“E-Engwand . . . J-just wanted a-” The boy swallows his suddenly parched throat. “-k-kiss . . .”
There is a faint rustling of England situating himself, pulling his head from America's neck, and his left hand to grab the boy's legs to bring him closer. He half-turns the colony in his lap, releasing a sly grin that makes the small colony uneasy. “Is that all, Alfred?”
Thump-thump.
England used my name.
“Y-yes,” Alfred mumbled, growing increasingly bashful at his wish.
England nuzzles the boy's cheek again, whispering, “You're so cute.” America's face flares up at his comment and absentmindedly fidgets his feet. At first he feels the man's lips on his cheek, then closer to his own lips. America anticipates what he expects, but is surprised when England kisses the other end of his mouth. The boy begins to whine but is shut off by a light touch of lips against his own. Heart racing, he looks into England's forest green eyes, but doesn't get a long look when the man sets his lips harder against his.
Eyes shut, Arthur smiles devilishly into Alfred's lips. Shouldn't he be more concerned with being touched than receiving a blasted kiss? Dipping further, he grasps a handful of plump, soft flesh belonging to a child. Gently, he kneads it with his fingers, extracting a shaky gasp against his mouth.
A chuckle vibrates in his throat. “Al . . .” he quietly teases, placing his head against the side of the boy's, pecking sandy hair. Hearing forced quiet breathing, the left hand releases the flesh and trails across the bottom hem of Alfred's nightdress. “Has anyone else touched you?” Green eyes narrow, darken; fingers trace the hem's line, pressing into the boy's thighs.
America loses thought and returns voiceless. What does he mean by that? “N-No Engwand, not like this. Only Matt gives hugs. Francis stays away like you say.”
The boy remains tucked in England's lap, an arm wrapped around his torso and the other entertaining the end of his white dress. The hand stops, and America can hear and feel his guardian's breathing pause, as if taking in a thought.
“You better not be lying.”
“I- I'm not!” America chokes, afraid; what would he do if he thought he was lying? He feels the dress being pulled up.
He looks so damn innocent. England rubs his thumb in a circular motion on the boy's thigh, and leans closer to gaze into the airy cerulean. “Alfred, we are not as colony and empire now; let's use our human names.” Arthur tilts his head near the boy's right shoulder, pressing a kiss near Alfred's lips.
“En- Arthurrr, that's not fair,” Alfred whines, then breath hitches when feeling the man's left hand curving into his inner left thigh. “A-Ah-. . .”
Now Alfred notices. Does he feel the arm wrapped around his torso also? Yes he has, as he tried to pull away from Arthur. The blonde man cuddles the boy closer, smirking against his cheek, and breathes hotly into his neck. “Alfreddd, what's not fair . . . ?”
“W-W-Wha . . . t . . .” Alfred feels himself quake like he first had when Arthur breathed into his ear. “Nng-!” He tosses his head back when the hand feathered near his crotch. Here, now, Alfred was immensely confused, hot, shaken, weak-kneed, short of breath. What is happening?
A mouth nips at Alfred's neck but is soon replaced by hot, wet breath. “Excuse me, my boy, I should've let you speak.”
But when permitted to, Alfred is at a lost for words. His cerulean eyes are wide-open, trickling with faint wetness. Just what was that? This sort of thing is new, unexplored, and frightening, just like those books Arthur would read to him. He doesn't want this “personal” anymore, but the voice stays inside making him bite his cheek.
“E-Engwand . . . J-just wanted a-” The boy swallows his suddenly parched throat. “-k-kiss . . .”
There is a faint rustling of England situating himself, pulling his head from America's neck, and his left hand to grab the boy's legs to bring him closer. He half-turns the colony in his lap, releasing a sly grin that makes the small colony uneasy. “Is that all, Alfred?”
Thump-thump.
England used my name.
“Y-yes,” Alfred mumbled, growing increasingly bashful at his wish.
England nuzzles the boy's cheek again, whispering, “You're so cute.” America's face flares up at his comment and absentmindedly fidgets his feet. At first he feels the man's lips on his cheek, then closer to his own lips. America anticipates what he expects, but is surprised when England kisses the other end of his mouth. The boy begins to whine but is shut off by a light touch of lips against his own. Heart racing, he looks into England's forest green eyes, but doesn't get a long look when the man sets his lips harder against his.
Eyes shut, Arthur smiles devilishly into Alfred's lips. Shouldn't he be more concerned with being touched than receiving a blasted kiss? Dipping further, he grasps a handful of plump, soft flesh belonging to a child. Gently, he kneads it with his fingers, extracting a shaky gasp against his mouth.
A chuckle vibrates in his throat. “Al . . .” he quietly teases, placing his head against the side of the boy's, pecking sandy hair. Hearing forced quiet breathing, the left hand releases the flesh and trails across the bottom hem of Alfred's nightdress. “Has anyone else touched you?” Green eyes narrow, darken; fingers trace the hem's line, pressing into the boy's thighs.
America loses thought and returns voiceless. What does he mean by that? “N-No Engwand, not like this. Only Matt gives hugs. Francis stays away like you say.”
The boy remains tucked in England's lap, an arm wrapped around his torso and the other entertaining the end of his white dress. The hand stops, and America can hear and feel his guardian's breathing pause, as if taking in a thought.
“You better not be lying.”
“I- I'm not!” America chokes, afraid; what would he do if he thought he was lying? He feels the dress being pulled up.
Blush.
Then it's pulled down.
Thump-thump.
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