My Blue-Eyed Boy (2/?)
anonymous
September 24 2010, 23:49:08 UTC
The days passed and soon it was time for England to leave again. America watched him go sadly, face pressed against the glass of his window. He waved every time he thought he saw the older nation glance in the direction of the house, but not once did he wave back. “It’s like he’s avoiding me,” America spat. “Why am I any less important than his other colonies?” He felt jealousy boiling up inside of him, but shook his head. No, he was being stupid. England cared about him, and he always came back. At least America was not left alone for years on end with no contact with the foreign world.
America wasn’t alone for long, however. He busied himself taking long walks through his beautiful lands, from the wide stretching plains to the shorelines. What else was there to do when his caretaker - best friend - was away? America settled down on a pearly beach and gazed out at the ocean, trying to put himself in England’s shoes. What could it feel like to freely roam the seas, plundering new lands and being honoured and feared by so many? What could all that power possibly feel like? And then having to leave the ones who wanted you to stay - America, for instance? America didn’t noticed the figure approaching him from down the shoreline until the other male’s hand was placed firmly on his shoulder. “Alfred, you are waiting for Angleterre again?” America glanced up at France. France almost ‘shared’ America’s brother Canada with England, though gradually over the years England was gaining more control. France sometimes visited America too, to see if he could try his luck, or to check up on things. He was a breath of fresh air to America during his somewhat boring life when away from England. “Not waiting,” America shook his head. “Just thinking about him.” “Angleterre is a busy man, oui?” France sat down next to America and followed his gaze out to sea. “He’s not to busy for me though,” America panicked, staring at France wide-eyed. France studied the teen for a while before shaking his head, laughing. “He likes boys like you, you know.” “Like me?” America echoed, pointing a finger to his chest. France nodded. “Oui. Like you. Blonde, blue eyed. A picture of innocence. Angleterre has a soft spot for those sort of boys. Did you not know?” America put a finger to his lip, thinking, before shaking his head. “I didn’t realise.” France licked his lips as he stood up, inhaling the salty sea breeze. “I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed to way he ‘mollycoddles’ you, as some would put it.” America felt a smile growing on his face and he stood up, offering his hand out to France. The other nation shook it, frowning. “Thank you for your visit, Francis, but I have to go now,” America grinned broadly. France nodded slowly. Oh, he knew what he’d just said, but he never thought the younger nation would be so pleased about it all.
The next time England visited, America paid close attention to his body language. Indeed, he did appear more relaxed around America, and happier, but he still had that authoritative air about him. He frowned when he saw the colony gazing at him, almost in a daze. “Alfred?” He called and America shook his head to clear it. “Yes?” “Are you feeling quite alright?” England pressed a hand to the teen’s forehead and America brushed it off. “I’m fine.” “Ok, if you’re sure…” England trailed off and America sat down in the next room, his stomach churning. Whether it was hormones, lust or simply what France had told him, America felt something stirring in him - something that longed for England, and more attention from him than America deemed him willing to give. Only when England headed upstairs and reminded America he was there did the young nation notice the tightness in his trousers. Immediately his cheeks turned dark scarlet and he quickly ran upstairs to his room, pushing past England and slamming the door. He leant against it, panicking. “Alfred are you sure you’re ok?” England asked, knocking on the door. America bit back a suspicious-sounding ‘don’t come in!’ and instead licked his lips nervously and replied; “yes, of course England. Though I am hungry.” England smiled and headed off. “Ok, I’ll make you some dinner.”
My Blue-Eyed Boy (3/?)
anonymous
September 24 2010, 23:58:28 UTC
(Behe...failing here. I hope it's alright so far.)
America breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone, but the bulge in his pants still made it clear exactly what England’s presence was doing to him now. Unbuttoning the front of his trousers, America sat down on the bed, chewing on his lip as he stroked the erection that had formed there. Wrapping his fingers round it, America sought to rid himself of the hard-on before England realised what was happening. Truth be told though, it was England who was on America’s mind as he jerked himself off, burying his head in his shirt sleeve to muffle the moan as he came. England knocked on the door and America’s head snapped up. “Dinner’s ready,” he said and America fell back onto the bed, panting. It couldn’t go on like this - he’d have to get over his love for his father-figure, or confess how he really felt. Brushing it off as mere hormones and loneliness, America decided to combat the feelings he felt for England. That didn’t stop him from feeling hurt, however, when he crept across the landing to England’s room and heard the moans from inside. Curious as ever, America listened for a while, contemplating whether to open the door and spin his bullshit story about being scared again. Eventually, however, he crouched down to peer through the keyhole, biting his lip when he saw England gripping the head rest of the bed, a blonde male above him. England pulled the other male down to kiss him, moving his hand to entangle his fingers in the man’s sweaty gold hair. America couldn’t help but notice the similarity in the traits he and England’s partner had, and frowned as he remembered what France had said.
“England surely can’t feel that way about me?” America murmured and England’s head snapped in the direction of the door. “Did you hear something?” He asked the other man. The other man frowned then shrugged. “No.” “Oh…” England sounded disappointed, but any negativity in his voice was knocked away as his lover thrust into him and he stifled an exclamation in both pain and pleasure.
America felt his pants tightening again, and cursed as he made his way back to his room. Jealousy stung inside of him, and waves of insecurity washed over him. Was America not good enough for England? Was that why he hired - brought over - men similarly looking to him to sleep with, when he should be spending time with America? The teen didn’t know and, as he lay in bed with his hand around his second erection that evening, he didn’t care for a brief moment. All he could think about as he stroked his hand up and down his length was that it was he who was fucking England, not the stranger who was more than likely being paid to do so.
The following morning America was up long before England, and sat wondering what to do about everything. He could hardly confess how he felt - England might laugh, or worse, distance himself from him. As America stared out at the docks he could view from his house window, he wondered how exactly he could get England's attention. Causing him trouble would only build a rift between them, and clinging to him would be offputting and immature. No, America would have to tell England.
Anxiously America made his way to England's room, waiting for a moment before lifting a hand to knock. The door opened just as he was about to knock, and the man from the previous night stared at America. America glared at him furiously but the other man didn't budge. England soon left the room, running a hand through his hair and stopping abruptly when he saw America.
"Oh, Alfred. Why are you up so early?" He smiled. America tilted his head to the side. "Why is he getting attention and I'm not? It's not fair." "Life's not fair," England snapped. America was taken aback by his answer and stuttered, trying to bite back some comment. "But-?" He stared in despair as England headed downstairs, his one night stand from before already gone.
Horror struck America - what if England knew? What if he knew how America felt towards him, and disapproved? America hung his head in near-shame and tottered down the stairs, waiting patiently for England to serve up breakfast.
Author!Anon, this is delicious. I like it how you write England: caring but stern. And America's need for attention, his almost greedy need to be the centre of England's (of everyone's later in his life) world is one of his basic traits. I think the part when he's wondering about being a super-power was great.
I appreciate that America is not clueless regarding rent-boys and France's intervention, how carefree he's when sharing information about England. And him calling Arthur "Angleterre" is a favourite of mine.
All in all, great fill, Author!Anon!!!! I can't wait to see where it goes.
My Blue-Eyed Boy (4a/?)
anonymous
September 25 2010, 12:23:33 UTC
When England sat down with America for breakfast, handing him something heavily burned and taking no real shape or form of any kind of edible food, he noticed how distraught his charge looked. “What’s wrong?” He asked him after a moment of eating in silence. America chewed on his lip, prodding the food (if you could call it that) with a fork. “How do you feel about me?” America asked, staring up at England with his large blue eyes. England felt his chest ache. “What do you mean Alfred?” He asked, brows coming together as he frowned. “Do you like me?” America went on, and England got up, frowning down at the teen. “Well of course I care about you, Alfred, otherwise I wouldn’t come to see you, would I?” England answered and picked up America’s plate, assuming he was finished eating. “Does that mean you like me the same as your other colonies?” America licked his lips nervously and followed the older nation into the kitchen. “Well…I suppose,” England murmured. “Oh,” America stared at the floor. “But don’t you like me better?”
England stared long and hard at America for a good few minutes, one eyebrow raised. Eventually though, he laughed. “America you need to get over your insecurity. I care about you just like your brother, and the rest.” America pouted, staring up at England sulkily. “I thought you liked-.” “Though I must admit you are my favourite,” England interrupted him, smiling awkwardly. America felt his hopes get up. “Really?” England backed away, concerned his words excited his colony so much. “Well…yes. I’ve always looked out for you and cared about you the most.” America felt a broad, smug grin spreading across his face. England didn’t fail to notice his expression, and tugged at his collar to loosen it, the tension in the room making him uncomfortable. “Well I have work to get done today,” England patted his colony on the head. “So go busy yourself, and perhaps we can sit down together tonight.”
America watched as England stoked the fire, watching his ward from the corner of his eye. “Tell me a story,” America smiled as England sat down next to him. “Aren’t a bit big for that?” England laughed, and frowned as America slid closer to him. “I’m never too old for you, Arthur,” America smirked and England sighed. “Very well. What ones haven’t you heard?” England massaged the bridge of his nose, licked his lips nervously. “How do I know?” America teased then leant closer to England so he could stare into his eyes. “Tell me the one about that dragon.” “The one about ‘that dragon’?” England pulled a face and America nodded. England studied the younger nation’s face, holding his breath. He was close, so close to him… “You know…the one about John and the dragon?” America pulled away, his eyes creasing from how wide his smile was. “George,” England corrected him, then nodded. “Very well.” America settled down next to England, hugging a large cushion to his chest. He never took his eyes of England as he spoke, spinning his tale skilfully as the seconds ticked on. America hadn’t realised quite how into it he was getting, until England smiled at him. “Story over,” he patted him on the head. “Satisfied.” America felt his heart lurch at the touch. “It was beautiful,” he breathed. England blinked, taken aback by the younger nation’s enthusiasm, then relaxed back into the fabric of the chair, closing his eyes. America watched him for a moment before snuggling closer to him. “Cuddle me,” he demanded. England obeyed, lifting up his arm and wrapping it around America’s waist. “You’re getting too big for this mushy stuff, you know,” England felt a smile tugging at his mouth. “And too demanding.” “But you love me all the same,” America said, sure of it, and snuggled closer to his caretaker. However, England didn’t make a comment, so America prodded him gently in the side.
(Author!Anon apologises if this is turning out fail. And damn the character limit!)
My Blue-Eyed Boy (4b/?)
anonymous
September 25 2010, 12:25:02 UTC
(Short extension to the part before 'cus character limit killed me.)
“You do, don’t you?” America pressed. England pulled away and glared down at him. “Why is my feelings for you so important, Alfred? You are my little brother, so of course I care about you. You want to be the centre of attention all the time, is that it?” “Well no…” America looked away, blushing. “I can’t constantly be around you, America. I have other things to see to,” England continued. America stared at him, blue eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “Arthur…?” England pulled him closer. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, but you need to grow. I can’t smother you all the time.” America buried his face in England’s chest, his ear against his ribcage so he could listen to his heartbeat. England stroked his hair, eyes closed contentedly as he started to drift to sleep.
America couldn’t help himself though. England so close to him, warming him with his presence, and the fact it was just he and England together…
“Alfred, what are you doing?” England frowned and America blushed, hugging the cushion closer. “Nothing,” he lied, slowly sliding his hand out of his trousers, biting his lip. England narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything more.
My Blue-Eyed Boy (5a/?)
anonymous
September 25 2010, 12:56:21 UTC
The hours flew by as the fell asleep on the sofa, England’s stories of dragons and knights filling America’s dreams. When the older nation finally did stir, he struggled to scoop his charge into his arms and carry him up the stairs - proof of just how big he was getting to be. England ground his teeth together as he managed to set America down on his bed without waking him, then stroked his head soothingly. “Good night,” he murmured, kissing the top of his head, then left the room. He didn’t retire to his own bed, however. Instead he left the house for a bit, heading for the town.
America woke an hour after England returned, rubbing his face wearily and trying to work out how he’d gotten from the living room downstairs to his bedroom. He shrugged and left his room, heading straight for England’s whilst trying to make up a valid story that would allow him to share his caretaker’s bed again. He stopped outside the door, holding his breath as he heard the moaning coming from inside the room. America stooped down to peer through the keyhole and bit his lip when he saw England on his hands and knees, a blonde male holding his hips as he pushed into him. America’s heart skipped a beat, every moan or lustful murmur England made only turning him on even more. Deciding no-one was going to bother him, America loosened his pants and took his length in his hand, stroking it in time with England’s lover’s thrusts. America knew it was wrong to feel this way about his brotherly figure, and spying on him when in truth both of them should have been asleep in bed - alone. But America didn’t care. All he cared about was dealing with his aching boner, and pleasuring himself to England’s moans. By the time America released into his own hand, England and his partner were just finishing too - it was timed perfectly. America slid down against the door, his hand still wrapped around his member, and his free one running through his hair. He closed his eyes, panting for a bit as he listened to England talking to the male. It was clear from how formal they sounded when speaking that England had no feelings towards the man in his room, and most likely had hired him. And, just like before, America only wished that he’d been the one with England, not the male who’d likely never see him again after leaving the following morning.
England’s stays never lasted long, and both of them often wished they were longer, but there was nothing America could do or say to stop England from leaving yet again.
“Please don’t go,” the younger nation whispered as he hugged England good bye. “I’ll miss you.” “I’ll be back before you know it,” England smiled, pinching his cheeks teasingly. “Grow up big and strong, ok?” America nodded, and stuck out his chin bravely as England gathered up his things and headed down to the docks, his ship and crew awaiting him. “Next time for sure,” America narrowed his eyes. “I’ll tell him just how I feel. Then he won’t leave me. Then I’ll be all that matters in his life.” He continued grumbling to himself as he headed to the kitchen. “It’s not fair. I’m more important than any of his other colonies, and I love him more.” America got himself a drink and sipped at it before ranting on some more as he put on his shoes and left the house, heading into town. He kept his head down and walked through the crowds, who were busy going about their market business. He caught a snag of a conversation between three men, and frowned, pausing and listening whilst trying not to look too conspicuous.
(Posting in two parts because of fail character limit.)
My Blue-Eyed Boy (5b/?)
anonymous
September 25 2010, 13:07:41 UTC
“Apparently Mr. England likes young boys,” one of the men said. “You can’t believe everything the townsfolk say, Mr. Brady,” another laughed. “There are many rumours about him, but I doubt half of them are true.” “But haven’t you seen the way he looks at the young males?” The third man backed up the first. “It’s certainly not in a ‘normal’ way.” “What about young America?” The second man frowned. “He doesn’t appear to feel much for him. I’m incredulous that this is more than a farce.” The first shook his head firmly. “But haven’t you noticed? People say he likes blonde, blue-eyed boys. It won’t be long before he develops feelings for America, I bet you.”
America felt his heart skip a beat. Was what they were saying true?
“That’s nonsense,” the second man spat. “We all should leave the business of nations be, I say.”
America walked on again before the men could spot him, a smile spreading on his face. He wanted so badly for their words to be true, for England to possibly be developing feelings for him - America already knew how he felt about him, either way.
America lay in bed that night, mulling over what he’d heard the men saying earlier that day. He stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. In his mind he played the scenario over and over again - what he wished would happen - England murmuring his name as the made love, their bodies pressed together, sweat and saliva mixing, waves of pleasure rushing through them. America’s long darted out to lick his lips in anticipation as he stroked at his erection. Something inside him told him he had to stop this childish game before something went wrong, but the rest of his body was screaming at him to give in to his feelings. America put his head back, gritting his teeth as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but for America it would have to do. He eventually released, thrusting into his hand, his chest heaving. His hand was sticky from his own seed, and he kept his fingers curled around his tip as he let himself calm down. When he was eventually settled and exhaustion crept over him, America turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. The next time England visited, he’d tell him.
My Blue-Eyed Boy (6/?)
anonymous
September 25 2010, 13:54:56 UTC
The weeks flew by and America’s longing for England grew stronger every day. When the older nation did turn up again, it was a bit of a surprise to his charge, who was taken aback when he answered the knock at the door and saw him there. “Arthur!” America grinned broadly. England smiled half-heartedly. “I told you I’d come back,” he sighed and invited himself in, dumping his belongings down in the middle of the room and slumping down in a chair. America headed over to him, mouth hanging open slightly. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” He whined. England stared up at him, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. The journey was a bit rough.” America’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and he settled down next to England. “Is there anything I can do to help?” “Not at all, I’ve just not been sleeping well recently,” England forced a smile and America’s brows came together in concern. “Can I give your shoulder’s a rub at all?” America suggested. England looked at him. “No I’m quite alright, Alfred, don’t worry yourself,” England waved his hand dismissively. “How is that so-called ‘ghost’ of yours?” America was glad to see England had his sarcastic humour back - he obviously wasn’t too tired to be able to tease. America didn’t answer though, and merely blushed.
That night America went to bed early, and stayed awake as he waited for England to retire too. When he opened the door to check on his younger brother, America pretended to be asleep, adding in snoring sounds for extra measures. England shrugged, smiled, and shut the door before heading to his own room. When America was sure the older nation was close to sleeping, he slipped out of bed and hurried to England’s room. He opened the door a crack and peered in. “England?” He hissed. The other male didn’t answer so America stepped inside and crept over to the bed. “Arthur, I had a bad dream,” he whispered, poking him sharply in the back. England groaned and rolled over, sitting up. “Alfred you need to stop this. Go back to bed,” he ordered. America crawled onto the bed, huddling close to England. “But I had a really scary bad dream.” “Fine,” England folded his arms across his chest. “Just for tonight, you can stay here with me. But after that, no more wondering into my bed at all hours of night, ok?” America nodded. “I promise I’ll be good, Arthur.” England frowned then lay back down again, his back to America. The teen bit his lip, pulled the covers over himself and cuddled closer to his caretaker. They lay in silence for a while, America pondering whether or not to shatter the peace. He wasn’t sure whether or not England was awake or not, so spoke anyway. “England I have something to tell you,” he breathed. There came no response so America continued. “I…I think I love you.” There was still no reply, so America stroked England’s arm to try and stir him. “Arthur did you hear me? I said I love you.” England glanced over his shoulder at him. “Go to sleep, America.” America looked away, frowning. “Did you hear what I said?” “Yes, Alfred, I did,” England snapped. “Now go to sleep.” “Aren’t you going to reply?” America pressed. England sat up, running a hand through his hair. “What do you expect me to say?” He murmured. “That you love me too?” America smiled hopefully.
America’s eyes widened as England pressed his lips against his, kissing him firmly before pulling away, blushing. “There,” the older nation sniffed. “Now go to sleep.” America stared blankly ahead before smiling. “So you do like me.” “Go to sleep, Alfred. I’m not going to ask you again,” England growled, turning away from the teen. America grinned smugly and settled down next to England, threading his arms around him. England didn't protest, so America nuzzled his neck, lying like that until he drifted off to sleep.
(Oh God don't kill me for the failness! *despair* )
Re: My Blue-Eyed Boy (7/?)
anonymous
September 26 2010, 11:45:17 UTC
America woke up before England the following morning, and smiled as he cuddled into him, listening to the other nation’s soft exhales as he slept. He felt a great burden lifted off his chest since last night, and was now sure England felt the same way about his charge as America did himself. As England stirred, slowly opening his eyes and flexing his fingers to wake them up, he frowned when he felt an arm round his waist and hot breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw America there, clinging to him. “What are you doing?” He raised a thick eyebrow and America grinned at him sheepishly. “Cuddling.” England scratched his head as he sat up, staring around the room blankly.
“About last night-.” They said in unison and America blushed. “You first.” England sighed. “Whatever happened last night, it doesn’t mean anything. I just wanted to shut you up and get some rest.” “Sure it doesn’t,” America smiled knowingly and England narrowed his eyes. “I mean it Alfred.” America stared at him, head cocked slightly to the side. “I know you like me. And I know you like boys who are like me.” England felt his heart in his throat, and he looked away, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I heard some of my citizens talking about you,” America crawled into his lap, his face oh-so close to his caretaker’s. “About how you like young boys.” England ground his teeth together. “That’s nonsense. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” “And someone else told me that you like blonde, blue-eyed boys,” America continued, noticing how awkward England looked. “So I think that kiss did mean something, Arthur.” England looked America in the eye, mouth set in a firm line. “You thought wrong.”
America couldn’t hide the fact that England’s stubborn denial hurt him. He pouted, not moving out of England’s lap, his blue eyes darkening. “You taught me not to lie, Arthur,” America lifted his chin arrogantly. “You said it was wrong.” “Liking young boys is wrong too,” England glared at him furiously. “Are you accusing me of being a gentleman with no morals?” America thought for a moment before shrugging. “I know you meant something with that kiss. You shouldn’t be so afraid to admit your feelings for me. You said I was your favourite, after all.” England shook his head firmly. “America, that’s enough,” he pushed the teen away, sighing exasperatedly. “Stop it.” America huddled close to England again, burying his head in his neck. England’s eyebrows came together in concern and America exhaled shakily as he listened to the other nation’s heart beat, thudding against his ribcage. “I can’t help myself, A-Arthur,” America stammered. “I love you.” England took a deep breath and put one arm around America. “You’re my brother, America. You should know I love you too.” “But not as a brother,” America corrected him. “I love you as something else.” England felt his throat tightening with nerves, and he slowly started to shift away from his colony. “It’s getting late into the morning, Alfred. We should get some breakfast.” America grinned up at him, his stomach rumbling on cue. “That sounds like a good idea.”
England breathed a sigh of relief as America left him to get breakfast ready. He’d been so close to giving in to him, to his indecent, silent requests. England shook his head sadly. Every teenager went through these ‘crushes’. It was a natural part of growing up. And in some cases, England knew some teens even had feelings for relatives. It was perfectly normal. It was the same for his Alfred. It was a silly little crush he’d realise, soon, was utterly irrational, and give up on. He’d grow out of it. Somewhere in the back of England’s mind, however, he doubted that was the case with America. The boy - yes, he was still a boy, not yet a man - was foolish and often let himself get carried away. He was also stubborn. If America believed he loved his father-figure, then he did.
England served up breakfast to his hungry, eager colony, who got stuck into it right away. He never took his eyes off America as he sat down to eat, gingerly poking the charcoaled food. He needed to talk sense into the boy, otherwise the feelings would just get more intense over time.
“It’s like he’s avoiding me,” America spat. “Why am I any less important than his other colonies?”
He felt jealousy boiling up inside of him, but shook his head. No, he was being stupid. England cared about him, and he always came back. At least America was not left alone for years on end with no contact with the foreign world.
America wasn’t alone for long, however. He busied himself taking long walks through his beautiful lands, from the wide stretching plains to the shorelines. What else was there to do when his caretaker - best friend - was away?
America settled down on a pearly beach and gazed out at the ocean, trying to put himself in England’s shoes. What could it feel like to freely roam the seas, plundering new lands and being honoured and feared by so many? What could all that power possibly feel like? And then having to leave the ones who wanted you to stay - America, for instance?
America didn’t noticed the figure approaching him from down the shoreline until the other male’s hand was placed firmly on his shoulder.
“Alfred, you are waiting for Angleterre again?”
America glanced up at France. France almost ‘shared’ America’s brother Canada with England, though gradually over the years England was gaining more control. France sometimes visited America too, to see if he could try his luck, or to check up on things. He was a breath of fresh air to America during his somewhat boring life when away from England.
“Not waiting,” America shook his head. “Just thinking about him.”
“Angleterre is a busy man, oui?” France sat down next to America and followed his gaze out to sea.
“He’s not to busy for me though,” America panicked, staring at France wide-eyed. France studied the teen for a while before shaking his head, laughing.
“He likes boys like you, you know.”
“Like me?” America echoed, pointing a finger to his chest. France nodded.
“Oui. Like you. Blonde, blue eyed. A picture of innocence. Angleterre has a soft spot for those sort of boys. Did you not know?”
America put a finger to his lip, thinking, before shaking his head. “I didn’t realise.”
France licked his lips as he stood up, inhaling the salty sea breeze. “I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed to way he ‘mollycoddles’ you, as some would put it.”
America felt a smile growing on his face and he stood up, offering his hand out to France. The other nation shook it, frowning.
“Thank you for your visit, Francis, but I have to go now,” America grinned broadly. France nodded slowly. Oh, he knew what he’d just said, but he never thought the younger nation would be so pleased about it all.
The next time England visited, America paid close attention to his body language. Indeed, he did appear more relaxed around America, and happier, but he still had that authoritative air about him.
He frowned when he saw the colony gazing at him, almost in a daze.
“Alfred?” He called and America shook his head to clear it. “Yes?”
“Are you feeling quite alright?” England pressed a hand to the teen’s forehead and America brushed it off. “I’m fine.”
“Ok, if you’re sure…” England trailed off and America sat down in the next room, his stomach churning. Whether it was hormones, lust or simply what France had told him, America felt something stirring in him - something that longed for England, and more attention from him than America deemed him willing to give.
Only when England headed upstairs and reminded America he was there did the young nation notice the tightness in his trousers. Immediately his cheeks turned dark scarlet and he quickly ran upstairs to his room, pushing past England and slamming the door. He leant against it, panicking.
“Alfred are you sure you’re ok?” England asked, knocking on the door.
America bit back a suspicious-sounding ‘don’t come in!’ and instead licked his lips nervously and replied; “yes, of course England. Though I am hungry.”
England smiled and headed off. “Ok, I’ll make you some dinner.”
Reply
America breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone, but the bulge in his pants still made it clear exactly what England’s presence was doing to him now.
Unbuttoning the front of his trousers, America sat down on the bed, chewing on his lip as he stroked the erection that had formed there. Wrapping his fingers round it, America sought to rid himself of the hard-on before England realised what was happening. Truth be told though, it was England who was on America’s mind as he jerked himself off, burying his head in his shirt sleeve to muffle the moan as he came.
England knocked on the door and America’s head snapped up.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said and America fell back onto the bed, panting. It couldn’t go on like this - he’d have to get over his love for his father-figure, or confess how he really felt.
Brushing it off as mere hormones and loneliness, America decided to combat the feelings he felt for England. That didn’t stop him from feeling hurt, however, when he crept across the landing to England’s room and heard the moans from inside.
Curious as ever, America listened for a while, contemplating whether to open the door and spin his bullshit story about being scared again. Eventually, however, he crouched down to peer through the keyhole, biting his lip when he saw England gripping the head rest of the bed, a blonde male above him.
England pulled the other male down to kiss him, moving his hand to entangle his fingers in the man’s sweaty gold hair.
America couldn’t help but notice the similarity in the traits he and England’s partner had, and frowned as he remembered what France had said.
“England surely can’t feel that way about me?” America murmured and England’s head snapped in the direction of the door.
“Did you hear something?” He asked the other man. The other man frowned then shrugged. “No.”
“Oh…” England sounded disappointed, but any negativity in his voice was knocked away as his lover thrust into him and he stifled an exclamation in both pain and pleasure.
America felt his pants tightening again, and cursed as he made his way back to his room. Jealousy stung inside of him, and waves of insecurity washed over him. Was America not good enough for England? Was that why he hired - brought over - men similarly looking to him to sleep with, when he should be spending time with America?
The teen didn’t know and, as he lay in bed with his hand around his second erection that evening, he didn’t care for a brief moment. All he could think about as he stroked his hand up and down his length was that it was he who was fucking England, not the stranger who was more than likely being paid to do so.
The following morning America was up long before England, and sat wondering what to do about everything. He could hardly confess how he felt - England might laugh, or worse, distance himself from him.
As America stared out at the docks he could view from his house window, he wondered how exactly he could get England's attention. Causing him trouble would only build a rift between them, and clinging to him would be offputting and immature.
No, America would have to tell England.
Anxiously America made his way to England's room, waiting for a moment before lifting a hand to knock. The door opened just as he was about to knock, and the man from the previous night stared at America.
America glared at him furiously but the other man didn't budge. England soon left the room, running a hand through his hair and stopping abruptly when he saw America.
"Oh, Alfred. Why are you up so early?" He smiled.
America tilted his head to the side. "Why is he getting attention and I'm not? It's not fair."
"Life's not fair," England snapped. America was taken aback by his answer and stuttered, trying to bite back some comment.
"But-?" He stared in despair as England headed downstairs, his one night stand from before already gone.
Horror struck America - what if England knew? What if he knew how America felt towards him, and disapproved? America hung his head in near-shame and tottered down the stairs, waiting patiently for England to serve up breakfast.
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I appreciate that America is not clueless regarding rent-boys and France's intervention, how carefree he's when sharing information about England. And him calling Arthur "Angleterre" is a favourite of mine.
All in all, great fill, Author!Anon!!!! I can't wait to see where it goes.
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“What’s wrong?” He asked him after a moment of eating in silence.
America chewed on his lip, prodding the food (if you could call it that) with a fork. “How do you feel about me?” America asked, staring up at England with his large blue eyes. England felt his chest ache.
“What do you mean Alfred?” He asked, brows coming together as he frowned.
“Do you like me?” America went on, and England got up, frowning down at the teen.
“Well of course I care about you, Alfred, otherwise I wouldn’t come to see you, would I?” England answered and picked up America’s plate, assuming he was finished eating.
“Does that mean you like me the same as your other colonies?” America licked his lips nervously and followed the older nation into the kitchen.
“Well…I suppose,” England murmured.
“Oh,” America stared at the floor. “But don’t you like me better?”
England stared long and hard at America for a good few minutes, one eyebrow raised. Eventually though, he laughed.
“America you need to get over your insecurity. I care about you just like your brother, and the rest.”
America pouted, staring up at England sulkily. “I thought you liked-.”
“Though I must admit you are my favourite,” England interrupted him, smiling awkwardly. America felt his hopes get up. “Really?”
England backed away, concerned his words excited his colony so much. “Well…yes. I’ve always looked out for you and cared about you the most.”
America felt a broad, smug grin spreading across his face. England didn’t fail to notice his expression, and tugged at his collar to loosen it, the tension in the room making him uncomfortable.
“Well I have work to get done today,” England patted his colony on the head. “So go busy yourself, and perhaps we can sit down together tonight.”
America watched as England stoked the fire, watching his ward from the corner of his eye.
“Tell me a story,” America smiled as England sat down next to him.
“Aren’t a bit big for that?” England laughed, and frowned as America slid closer to him.
“I’m never too old for you, Arthur,” America smirked and England sighed.
“Very well. What ones haven’t you heard?” England massaged the bridge of his nose, licked his lips nervously.
“How do I know?” America teased then leant closer to England so he could stare into his eyes. “Tell me the one about that dragon.”
“The one about ‘that dragon’?” England pulled a face and America nodded. England studied the younger nation’s face, holding his breath. He was close, so close to him…
“You know…the one about John and the dragon?” America pulled away, his eyes creasing from how wide his smile was.
“George,” England corrected him, then nodded. “Very well.”
America settled down next to England, hugging a large cushion to his chest. He never took his eyes of England as he spoke, spinning his tale skilfully as the seconds ticked on. America hadn’t realised quite how into it he was getting, until England smiled at him.
“Story over,” he patted him on the head. “Satisfied.”
America felt his heart lurch at the touch. “It was beautiful,” he breathed. England blinked, taken aback by the younger nation’s enthusiasm, then relaxed back into the fabric of the chair, closing his eyes.
America watched him for a moment before snuggling closer to him. “Cuddle me,” he demanded.
England obeyed, lifting up his arm and wrapping it around America’s waist.
“You’re getting too big for this mushy stuff, you know,” England felt a smile tugging at his mouth. “And too demanding.”
“But you love me all the same,” America said, sure of it, and snuggled closer to his caretaker. However, England didn’t make a comment, so America prodded him gently in the side.
(Author!Anon apologises if this is turning out fail. And damn the character limit!)
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“You do, don’t you?” America pressed. England pulled away and glared down at him. “Why is my feelings for you so important, Alfred? You are my little brother, so of course I care about you. You want to be the centre of attention all the time, is that it?”
“Well no…” America looked away, blushing.
“I can’t constantly be around you, America. I have other things to see to,” England continued.
America stared at him, blue eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “Arthur…?”
England pulled him closer. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, but you need to grow. I can’t smother you all the time.”
America buried his face in England’s chest, his ear against his ribcage so he could listen to his heartbeat. England stroked his hair, eyes closed contentedly as he started to drift to sleep.
America couldn’t help himself though. England so close to him, warming him with his presence, and the fact it was just he and England together…
“Alfred, what are you doing?” England frowned and America blushed, hugging the cushion closer.
“Nothing,” he lied, slowly sliding his hand out of his trousers, biting his lip.
England narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything more.
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England ground his teeth together as he managed to set America down on his bed without waking him, then stroked his head soothingly.
“Good night,” he murmured, kissing the top of his head, then left the room. He didn’t retire to his own bed, however. Instead he left the house for a bit, heading for the town.
America woke an hour after England returned, rubbing his face wearily and trying to work out how he’d gotten from the living room downstairs to his bedroom. He shrugged and left his room, heading straight for England’s whilst trying to make up a valid story that would allow him to share his caretaker’s bed again. He stopped outside the door, holding his breath as he heard the moaning coming from inside the room.
America stooped down to peer through the keyhole and bit his lip when he saw England on his hands and knees, a blonde male holding his hips as he pushed into him.
America’s heart skipped a beat, every moan or lustful murmur England made only turning him on even more. Deciding no-one was going to bother him, America loosened his pants and took his length in his hand, stroking it in time with England’s lover’s thrusts. America knew it was wrong to feel this way about his brotherly figure, and spying on him when in truth both of them should have been asleep in bed - alone.
But America didn’t care. All he cared about was dealing with his aching boner, and pleasuring himself to England’s moans.
By the time America released into his own hand, England and his partner were just finishing too - it was timed perfectly. America slid down against the door, his hand still wrapped around his member, and his free one running through his hair. He closed his eyes, panting for a bit as he listened to England talking to the male. It was clear from how formal they sounded when speaking that England had no feelings towards the man in his room, and most likely had hired him. And, just like before, America only wished that he’d been the one with England, not the male who’d likely never see him again after leaving the following morning.
England’s stays never lasted long, and both of them often wished they were longer, but there was nothing America could do or say to stop England from leaving yet again.
“Please don’t go,” the younger nation whispered as he hugged England good bye. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll be back before you know it,” England smiled, pinching his cheeks teasingly. “Grow up big and strong, ok?”
America nodded, and stuck out his chin bravely as England gathered up his things and headed down to the docks, his ship and crew awaiting him.
“Next time for sure,” America narrowed his eyes. “I’ll tell him just how I feel. Then he won’t leave me. Then I’ll be all that matters in his life.”
He continued grumbling to himself as he headed to the kitchen. “It’s not fair. I’m more important than any of his other colonies, and I love him more.”
America got himself a drink and sipped at it before ranting on some more as he put on his shoes and left the house, heading into town.
He kept his head down and walked through the crowds, who were busy going about their market business.
He caught a snag of a conversation between three men, and frowned, pausing and listening whilst trying not to look too conspicuous.
(Posting in two parts because of fail character limit.)
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“You can’t believe everything the townsfolk say, Mr. Brady,” another laughed. “There are many rumours about him, but I doubt half of them are true.”
“But haven’t you seen the way he looks at the young males?” The third man backed up the first. “It’s certainly not in a ‘normal’ way.”
“What about young America?” The second man frowned. “He doesn’t appear to feel much for him. I’m incredulous that this is more than a farce.”
The first shook his head firmly. “But haven’t you noticed? People say he likes blonde, blue-eyed boys. It won’t be long before he develops feelings for America, I bet you.”
America felt his heart skip a beat. Was what they were saying true?
“That’s nonsense,” the second man spat. “We all should leave the business of nations be, I say.”
America walked on again before the men could spot him, a smile spreading on his face. He wanted so badly for their words to be true, for England to possibly be developing feelings for him - America already knew how he felt about him, either way.
America lay in bed that night, mulling over what he’d heard the men saying earlier that day. He stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. In his mind he played the scenario over and over again - what he wished would happen - England murmuring his name as the made love, their bodies pressed together, sweat and saliva mixing, waves of pleasure rushing through them. America’s long darted out to lick his lips in anticipation as he stroked at his erection. Something inside him told him he had to stop this childish game before something went wrong, but the rest of his body was screaming at him to give in to his feelings. America put his head back, gritting his teeth as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but for America it would have to do.
He eventually released, thrusting into his hand, his chest heaving. His hand was sticky from his own seed, and he kept his fingers curled around his tip as he let himself calm down. When he was eventually settled and exhaustion crept over him, America turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. The next time England visited, he’d tell him.
(Author!Anon hopes this is still ok...)
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“Arthur!” America grinned broadly. England smiled half-heartedly.
“I told you I’d come back,” he sighed and invited himself in, dumping his belongings down in the middle of the room and slumping down in a chair. America headed over to him, mouth hanging open slightly.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He whined. England stared up at him, his eyes dark.
“I’m sorry, I’m just tired. The journey was a bit rough.”
America’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and he settled down next to England. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not at all, I’ve just not been sleeping well recently,” England forced a smile and America’s brows came together in concern.
“Can I give your shoulder’s a rub at all?” America suggested. England looked at him.
“No I’m quite alright, Alfred, don’t worry yourself,” England waved his hand dismissively. “How is that so-called ‘ghost’ of yours?”
America was glad to see England had his sarcastic humour back - he obviously wasn’t too tired to be able to tease. America didn’t answer though, and merely blushed.
That night America went to bed early, and stayed awake as he waited for England to retire too. When he opened the door to check on his younger brother, America pretended to be asleep, adding in snoring sounds for extra measures. England shrugged, smiled, and shut the door before heading to his own room. When America was sure the older nation was close to sleeping, he slipped out of bed and hurried to England’s room. He opened the door a crack and peered in.
“England?” He hissed. The other male didn’t answer so America stepped inside and crept over to the bed.
“Arthur, I had a bad dream,” he whispered, poking him sharply in the back. England groaned and rolled over, sitting up.
“Alfred you need to stop this. Go back to bed,” he ordered. America crawled onto the bed, huddling close to England.
“But I had a really scary bad dream.”
“Fine,” England folded his arms across his chest. “Just for tonight, you can stay here with me. But after that, no more wondering into my bed at all hours of night, ok?”
America nodded. “I promise I’ll be good, Arthur.”
England frowned then lay back down again, his back to America. The teen bit his lip, pulled the covers over himself and cuddled closer to his caretaker.
They lay in silence for a while, America pondering whether or not to shatter the peace. He wasn’t sure whether or not England was awake or not, so spoke anyway.
“England I have something to tell you,” he breathed. There came no response so America continued. “I…I think I love you.”
There was still no reply, so America stroked England’s arm to try and stir him. “Arthur did you hear me? I said I love you.”
England glanced over his shoulder at him. “Go to sleep, America.”
America looked away, frowning. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, Alfred, I did,” England snapped. “Now go to sleep.”
“Aren’t you going to reply?” America pressed. England sat up, running a hand through his hair.
“What do you expect me to say?” He murmured.
“That you love me too?” America smiled hopefully.
America’s eyes widened as England pressed his lips against his, kissing him firmly before pulling away, blushing.
“There,” the older nation sniffed. “Now go to sleep.”
America stared blankly ahead before smiling. “So you do like me.”
“Go to sleep, Alfred. I’m not going to ask you again,” England growled, turning away from the teen. America grinned smugly and settled down next to England, threading his arms around him. England didn't protest, so America nuzzled his neck, lying like that until he drifted off to sleep.
(Oh God don't kill me for the failness! *despair* )
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Thank you!
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He felt a great burden lifted off his chest since last night, and was now sure England felt the same way about his charge as America did himself.
As England stirred, slowly opening his eyes and flexing his fingers to wake them up, he frowned when he felt an arm round his waist and hot breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw America there, clinging to him.
“What are you doing?” He raised a thick eyebrow and America grinned at him sheepishly. “Cuddling.”
England scratched his head as he sat up, staring around the room blankly.
“About last night-.” They said in unison and America blushed. “You first.”
England sighed. “Whatever happened last night, it doesn’t mean anything. I just wanted to shut you up and get some rest.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” America smiled knowingly and England narrowed his eyes.
“I mean it Alfred.”
America stared at him, head cocked slightly to the side. “I know you like me. And I know you like boys who are like me.”
England felt his heart in his throat, and he looked away, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard some of my citizens talking about you,” America crawled into his lap, his face oh-so close to his caretaker’s. “About how you like young boys.”
England ground his teeth together. “That’s nonsense. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“And someone else told me that you like blonde, blue-eyed boys,” America continued, noticing how awkward England looked. “So I think that kiss did mean something, Arthur.”
England looked America in the eye, mouth set in a firm line. “You thought wrong.”
America couldn’t hide the fact that England’s stubborn denial hurt him. He pouted, not moving out of England’s lap, his blue eyes darkening.
“You taught me not to lie, Arthur,” America lifted his chin arrogantly. “You said it was wrong.”
“Liking young boys is wrong too,” England glared at him furiously. “Are you accusing me of being a gentleman with no morals?”
America thought for a moment before shrugging. “I know you meant something with that kiss. You shouldn’t be so afraid to admit your feelings for me. You said I was your favourite, after all.”
England shook his head firmly. “America, that’s enough,” he pushed the teen away, sighing exasperatedly. “Stop it.”
America huddled close to England again, burying his head in his neck. England’s eyebrows came together in concern and America exhaled shakily as he listened to the other nation’s heart beat, thudding against his ribcage.
“I can’t help myself, A-Arthur,” America stammered. “I love you.”
England took a deep breath and put one arm around America. “You’re my brother, America. You should know I love you too.”
“But not as a brother,” America corrected him. “I love you as something else.”
England felt his throat tightening with nerves, and he slowly started to shift away from his colony. “It’s getting late into the morning, Alfred. We should get some breakfast.”
America grinned up at him, his stomach rumbling on cue. “That sounds like a good idea.”
England breathed a sigh of relief as America left him to get breakfast ready. He’d been so close to giving in to him, to his indecent, silent requests. England shook his head sadly. Every teenager went through these ‘crushes’. It was a natural part of growing up. And in some cases, England knew some teens even had feelings for relatives. It was perfectly normal.
It was the same for his Alfred. It was a silly little crush he’d realise, soon, was utterly irrational, and give up on. He’d grow out of it.
Somewhere in the back of England’s mind, however, he doubted that was the case with America. The boy - yes, he was still a boy, not yet a man - was foolish and often let himself get carried away. He was also stubborn. If America believed he loved his father-figure, then he did.
England served up breakfast to his hungry, eager colony, who got stuck into it right away. He never took his eyes off America as he sat down to eat, gingerly poking the charcoaled food. He needed to talk sense into the boy, otherwise the feelings would just get more intense over time.
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Loved it!
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thank you both for your words of appreciation and encourgement! it means a lot to this first-time filler :)
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I drew u a picha~
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e110/Chocobosh/USUK.jpg
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