Last Caravan - part 4
anonymous
January 16 2011, 01:59:01 UTC
Arthur kisses him hard, tongue against Alfred’s and then tracing his teeth. Alfred can’t breathe, but it’s a nice feeling-he hates to catch his breath if it means there’s a moment when Arthur isn’t pressed up next to him. And if there’s nothing he loves more, it’s when Arthur clings to him so desperately in wake of some kind of adrenaline rush-when one of them is reckless, when the universe is reckless with them. It usually means Arthur gets clingy as fuck, but in the good kind of way that usually means Alfred’s going to get laid. And Alfred can admit to himself that he does it the same way, whenever he thinks that Arthur might be doing something stupid or foolish or absolutely batshit insane-and the desire to keep him close is overpowering. (Usually it’s Alfred that fucks up, much to his chagrin, though.)
Alfred pushes against him, feels Arthur cling to him just as desperately, a joint feeling of desire that keeps one another from just letting go. The bed frame creaks beneath them and when Alfred pushes a bit too fiercely against Arthur, his head hits the side of the tent and makes the canvas billow. Alfred holds Arthur tightly, but Arthur doesn’t seem to mind. He even seems to like it, if the way Arthur lets out a soft breath against his mouth is any indication. Alfred tugs on Arthur’s hair a little harsher than he normally would have, but Arthur’s response is just a quiet murmur against his mouth as his tongue traces at the back of his teeth. He bucks up, just slightly, against the inside of Alfred’s thigh-
And finally breaks the kiss with a small breath. He doesn’t drift away. Alfred won’t let him. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s jaw, tastes the sweat and the sand that clings insistently to their skin.
“You’re a fool,” Arthur breathes against Alfred’s lips, eyelids fluttering before staying completely shut. Alfred doesn’t pull away, but instead tries to kiss Arthur again. Arthur merely brushes his lips, very lightly, over Alfred’s. It isn’t much for Alfred’s troubles, but it’s enough for him to fall quiet.
“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred mutters, and is the closet he’ll get to admitting, once again, his stupidity. Sorry or not-and Alfred thinks to himself he is sorry, but incapable of ever saying it-Alfred still pushes Arthur onto his back, climbing up over him and kissing him. Arthur tips his head back, lets Alfred lay waste to his mouth. He does not fight it. He flops back against the bedroll, the bed frame rocking with a slight creak. Alfred makes himself comfortable between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur’s legs squeeze up against his hips-an invitation Alfred’s not about to say no to.
But Alfred pulls away from the insistent, needy kiss, and Arthur blinks his eyes open to stare up at him-a silent demand to know why he is taking so damned long. Alfred just grins-that grin that makes Arthur look kind of loopy and weak-kneed, though it’s not as noticeable when he’s sprawled out on his back like that. Alfred works at tugging off the top of Arthur’s uniform, and sets back to admire Arthur’s bare chest and arms-something that only makes Arthur scowl and turn red and threaten to sit up on his own if Alfred doesn’t just get on with it on his own.
Alfred’s fingers curl around Arthur’s belt, undoing it and fisting Arthur’s waistband to tug the rest of his fatigues down and off. There are times, though, when Arthur is hard to read-harder than should be necessary, though Alfred suspects that it’s just because Arthur is so damn old that he’s become a master of disguising some things, while being perfectly and completely obvious in other ways. As it is now, he’s looking up at Alfred with a rather sublimely blank expression, and Alfred can’t read it at all. So unsure of Arthur’s reaction to things, he backs off a little, his hold on Arthur’s pants loosening just enough that Arthur slants his eyes up and holds his gaze steady. There’s nothing in his face to suggest much of anything, except for one, brief, shining moment, his lips curve into a slight smile that touches the corners of Arthur’s eyes.
“Alfred,” Arthur says, calmly, and Alfred blinks down at him.
Last Caravan - part 5
anonymous
January 16 2011, 01:59:39 UTC
“The next time you’re going to be a complete fool, remember to take me with you so I can-”
“Kick the shit out of me for being a ‘complete fool’?” Alfred guesses.
Arthur nods his head and lifts his hands to rest on Alfred’s hips. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Alfred agrees, and feels his entire body warm up to a comfortable, giddy feeling. He grins, a bit lopsided, and Arthur lifts his hand, dragging Alfred down so he can press his lips against the curve of Alfred’s jaw and work his way up to his ear, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp. And he presses his lips to the dip in his jaw just below his ear, and Alfred makes a small noise in the back of his throat because it feels nice and that’s what matters-right? He lifts his chin and Arthur takes his mouth with his again, his kiss much softer now, much less possessive but still setting Alfred on fire.
Alfred pulls Arthur’s pants down. It slides smoothly down Arthur’s thighs. Alfred pulls slowly, letting his knuckles curl along Arthur’s skin, brushing against him. Arthur’s eyes fall shut and he leans his head back against an army-grade pillow-meaning it sucks balls, in Alfred’s words, not Arthur’s-and lets out a low kind of noise that could almost be a whine but isn’t quite there yet. So Alfred places one hand on Arthur’s stomach and the other curls around Arthur’s cock and pumps him. And Arthur lets out a gasp that really is a whine this time.
“You okay?” Alfred asks, grinning that shit-eating grin of his.
Arthur huffs out a thick laugh and mutters a quiet, “Shut the fuck up.”
And Alfred snorts a quiet laugh that Arthur responds with, for lack of anything else to do. There’s not much else Arthur can do but roll his hips just slightly and thrust weakly up into Alfred’s stationary hand. He laughs breathlessly, and Alfred’s fingers chase after Arthur’s shifting stomach. He bends his head, kissing at Arthur’s chest and working his way down slowly. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, the laughter dying in his throat. That’s okay. Alfred thinks Arthur should focus on him, anyway, and not focus on laughing at him.
He pulls his lips down over Arthur’s body, intoxicated by the sound of Arthur’s pants and heavy breathing. Alfred presses a kiss to Arthur’s hipbone and along the flat of his navel. His hand is still tight around the heavy weight of Arthur’s cock, and with one last breath of a gasp from Arthur, Alfred takes the cock into his mouth and licks up the underside before pressing the head into his mouth. Arthur moans out a quiet word or phrase that Alfred does not quite catch over the sound of his own breathing and the steady sound of blood in his ears as it quickly redirected itself downward to his own crotch. Arthur shifts his hands and grabs at the back of Alfred’s head, holding him closer and angling up for Alfred to take more of his cock into his mouth.
Alfred anchors one hand against Arthur’s hip as he takes more of Arthur into his mouth, which frees Alfred’s other hand to squeeze into his own pants, wiggling past his belt and fisting his hand around his hardened cock, pumping slowly. It feels good-better than it probably should since it’s just Alfred’s own hand on his own cock-but the taste of Arthur in his mouth is distracting, and Alfred moans quietly as he feels the weight of Arthur’s cock against his tongue and pushing further into his mouth. He brushes his tongue up against the underside of Arthur’s cock as he takes more and more into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking him in deeper. Arthur tries his hardest to keep still, moaning quietly, his hips quivering in the involuntary desires to jerk up and into Alfred’s mouth.
“Alfred,” Arthur whimpers, in that way he always does right before he’s about to reach the peak, and he doesn’t last that long but it’s okay because it’s Arthur. And Alfred’s eyes flicker shut as he savors the taste of Arthur, his hand fisting harshly around his cock and pumping. Alfred speeds his ministrations up, rubbing his tongue along the length of Arthur’s cock, taking him further and further into his mouth and trying to relax his throat enough to take all of him in, but it’s hard to concentrate and he actually does want Arthur to thrust up into him.
Last Caravan - part 6/end
anonymous
January 16 2011, 02:00:15 UTC
Arthur’s breath hitches and he does thrust up, his hips jerking unsteadily, and Alfred isn’t anywhere near complaining because Arthur is bracing himself and swallowing around his moans as Alfred swallows around his cock. Arthur comes in his mouth and Alfred swallows him up, his hand fisted around his own cock and pumping himself to orgasm.
Alfred breathes out through his nose, using his mouth to pump Arthur dry until Arthur sighs, relaxing beneath him, fully sated. Alfred’s hand is sullied from his own enthusiasm and he frowns to himself, cheeks flushing. But he pulls away and sits back on his knees, letting out a slow, stuttering breath as he stares down at Arthur, who stares up at him, slightly dazed but his lips touched with that same smile-and he doesn’t seem mad anymore. Alfred raises his hand to wipe at his mouth and realizes how totally uncool that motion probably is, but it’s too late because Arthur is laughing at him.
“Come here,” he says gently, and Alfred obeys only after pulling his shirt off so he can wipe his hand and he knows that’s totally and completely disgusting but he also kind of doesn’t give a fuck if Arthur wants to cuddle with him or whatever it is he wants.
So he tosses his shirt aside and curls up next to Arthur on Arthur’s tiny little bed frame. The desert wind rattles the tent, and Alfred watches the movements of the canvas with a slow little sigh.
“So anyway,” Alfred says. “If I was apologizing, that’s totally how I’d do it.”
Arthur’s eyes are shut and he hums absently, but Alfred knows he’s completely unfooled. But, somehow, Alfred doesn’t mind all that much, either.
Re: Last Caravan - part 6/end
anonymous
January 16 2011, 02:20:15 UTC
HAHA I KNOW WHO YOU ARE
okay yeah after that embarrassing display of juvenile behavior, "anon", i LOVE YOU. you are definitely the best us/uk writer on the meme right now, and certainly the one i look forward to reading the most. thank you for this fabulousness <3
Re: Last Caravan - part 6/end
anonymous
January 16 2011, 05:06:40 UTC
Teehee, your writing style feels so familiar--if you really are who I think you are, then I can't wait to spam your lj once you de-anon with another flaily comment :)
Re: Last Caravan - part 6/end
anonymous
January 17 2011, 18:01:44 UTC
Oh wow, I love like everything about this! America admitting that he'll do it again because it's him, not being able to actually say sorry, and England being worried and cuddly, and yeah.
Re: Last Caravan - part 6/end
anonymous
January 20 2011, 13:30:35 UTC
This is greaaaaaat 8D I love your descriptions of them and all those insights into their characters (like England being old so he's good at masking his emotions and America not comfortable with apologising xD)
and of course, smokin' hot scene in the latter half 8D
Alfred pushes against him, feels Arthur cling to him just as desperately, a joint feeling of desire that keeps one another from just letting go. The bed frame creaks beneath them and when Alfred pushes a bit too fiercely against Arthur, his head hits the side of the tent and makes the canvas billow. Alfred holds Arthur tightly, but Arthur doesn’t seem to mind. He even seems to like it, if the way Arthur lets out a soft breath against his mouth is any indication. Alfred tugs on Arthur’s hair a little harsher than he normally would have, but Arthur’s response is just a quiet murmur against his mouth as his tongue traces at the back of his teeth. He bucks up, just slightly, against the inside of Alfred’s thigh-
And finally breaks the kiss with a small breath. He doesn’t drift away. Alfred won’t let him. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s jaw, tastes the sweat and the sand that clings insistently to their skin.
“You’re a fool,” Arthur breathes against Alfred’s lips, eyelids fluttering before staying completely shut. Alfred doesn’t pull away, but instead tries to kiss Arthur again. Arthur merely brushes his lips, very lightly, over Alfred’s. It isn’t much for Alfred’s troubles, but it’s enough for him to fall quiet.
“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred mutters, and is the closet he’ll get to admitting, once again, his stupidity. Sorry or not-and Alfred thinks to himself he is sorry, but incapable of ever saying it-Alfred still pushes Arthur onto his back, climbing up over him and kissing him. Arthur tips his head back, lets Alfred lay waste to his mouth. He does not fight it. He flops back against the bedroll, the bed frame rocking with a slight creak. Alfred makes himself comfortable between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur’s legs squeeze up against his hips-an invitation Alfred’s not about to say no to.
But Alfred pulls away from the insistent, needy kiss, and Arthur blinks his eyes open to stare up at him-a silent demand to know why he is taking so damned long. Alfred just grins-that grin that makes Arthur look kind of loopy and weak-kneed, though it’s not as noticeable when he’s sprawled out on his back like that. Alfred works at tugging off the top of Arthur’s uniform, and sets back to admire Arthur’s bare chest and arms-something that only makes Arthur scowl and turn red and threaten to sit up on his own if Alfred doesn’t just get on with it on his own.
Alfred’s fingers curl around Arthur’s belt, undoing it and fisting Arthur’s waistband to tug the rest of his fatigues down and off. There are times, though, when Arthur is hard to read-harder than should be necessary, though Alfred suspects that it’s just because Arthur is so damn old that he’s become a master of disguising some things, while being perfectly and completely obvious in other ways. As it is now, he’s looking up at Alfred with a rather sublimely blank expression, and Alfred can’t read it at all. So unsure of Arthur’s reaction to things, he backs off a little, his hold on Arthur’s pants loosening just enough that Arthur slants his eyes up and holds his gaze steady. There’s nothing in his face to suggest much of anything, except for one, brief, shining moment, his lips curve into a slight smile that touches the corners of Arthur’s eyes.
“Alfred,” Arthur says, calmly, and Alfred blinks down at him.
“Yeah, what?” Alfred asks.
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“Kick the shit out of me for being a ‘complete fool’?” Alfred guesses.
Arthur nods his head and lifts his hands to rest on Alfred’s hips. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Alfred agrees, and feels his entire body warm up to a comfortable, giddy feeling. He grins, a bit lopsided, and Arthur lifts his hand, dragging Alfred down so he can press his lips against the curve of Alfred’s jaw and work his way up to his ear, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp. And he presses his lips to the dip in his jaw just below his ear, and Alfred makes a small noise in the back of his throat because it feels nice and that’s what matters-right? He lifts his chin and Arthur takes his mouth with his again, his kiss much softer now, much less possessive but still setting Alfred on fire.
Alfred pulls Arthur’s pants down. It slides smoothly down Arthur’s thighs. Alfred pulls slowly, letting his knuckles curl along Arthur’s skin, brushing against him. Arthur’s eyes fall shut and he leans his head back against an army-grade pillow-meaning it sucks balls, in Alfred’s words, not Arthur’s-and lets out a low kind of noise that could almost be a whine but isn’t quite there yet. So Alfred places one hand on Arthur’s stomach and the other curls around Arthur’s cock and pumps him. And Arthur lets out a gasp that really is a whine this time.
“You okay?” Alfred asks, grinning that shit-eating grin of his.
Arthur huffs out a thick laugh and mutters a quiet, “Shut the fuck up.”
And Alfred snorts a quiet laugh that Arthur responds with, for lack of anything else to do. There’s not much else Arthur can do but roll his hips just slightly and thrust weakly up into Alfred’s stationary hand. He laughs breathlessly, and Alfred’s fingers chase after Arthur’s shifting stomach. He bends his head, kissing at Arthur’s chest and working his way down slowly. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, the laughter dying in his throat. That’s okay. Alfred thinks Arthur should focus on him, anyway, and not focus on laughing at him.
He pulls his lips down over Arthur’s body, intoxicated by the sound of Arthur’s pants and heavy breathing. Alfred presses a kiss to Arthur’s hipbone and along the flat of his navel. His hand is still tight around the heavy weight of Arthur’s cock, and with one last breath of a gasp from Arthur, Alfred takes the cock into his mouth and licks up the underside before pressing the head into his mouth. Arthur moans out a quiet word or phrase that Alfred does not quite catch over the sound of his own breathing and the steady sound of blood in his ears as it quickly redirected itself downward to his own crotch. Arthur shifts his hands and grabs at the back of Alfred’s head, holding him closer and angling up for Alfred to take more of his cock into his mouth.
Alfred anchors one hand against Arthur’s hip as he takes more of Arthur into his mouth, which frees Alfred’s other hand to squeeze into his own pants, wiggling past his belt and fisting his hand around his hardened cock, pumping slowly. It feels good-better than it probably should since it’s just Alfred’s own hand on his own cock-but the taste of Arthur in his mouth is distracting, and Alfred moans quietly as he feels the weight of Arthur’s cock against his tongue and pushing further into his mouth. He brushes his tongue up against the underside of Arthur’s cock as he takes more and more into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking him in deeper. Arthur tries his hardest to keep still, moaning quietly, his hips quivering in the involuntary desires to jerk up and into Alfred’s mouth.
“Alfred,” Arthur whimpers, in that way he always does right before he’s about to reach the peak, and he doesn’t last that long but it’s okay because it’s Arthur. And Alfred’s eyes flicker shut as he savors the taste of Arthur, his hand fisting harshly around his cock and pumping. Alfred speeds his ministrations up, rubbing his tongue along the length of Arthur’s cock, taking him further and further into his mouth and trying to relax his throat enough to take all of him in, but it’s hard to concentrate and he actually does want Arthur to thrust up into him.
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Alfred breathes out through his nose, using his mouth to pump Arthur dry until Arthur sighs, relaxing beneath him, fully sated. Alfred’s hand is sullied from his own enthusiasm and he frowns to himself, cheeks flushing. But he pulls away and sits back on his knees, letting out a slow, stuttering breath as he stares down at Arthur, who stares up at him, slightly dazed but his lips touched with that same smile-and he doesn’t seem mad anymore. Alfred raises his hand to wipe at his mouth and realizes how totally uncool that motion probably is, but it’s too late because Arthur is laughing at him.
“Come here,” he says gently, and Alfred obeys only after pulling his shirt off so he can wipe his hand and he knows that’s totally and completely disgusting but he also kind of doesn’t give a fuck if Arthur wants to cuddle with him or whatever it is he wants.
So he tosses his shirt aside and curls up next to Arthur on Arthur’s tiny little bed frame. The desert wind rattles the tent, and Alfred watches the movements of the canvas with a slow little sigh.
“So anyway,” Alfred says. “If I was apologizing, that’s totally how I’d do it.”
Arthur’s eyes are shut and he hums absently, but Alfred knows he’s completely unfooled. But, somehow, Alfred doesn’t mind all that much, either.
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okay yeah after that embarrassing display of juvenile behavior, "anon", i LOVE YOU. you are definitely the best us/uk writer on the meme right now, and certainly the one i look forward to reading the most. thank you for this fabulousness <3
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Even if OP isn't around any more this anon enjoyed it thoroughly (and many others will too), so thank you for writing this fill! ♥
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this anon is not sure who you might be - I have two possible candidates...
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America admitting that he'll do it again because it's him, not being able to actually say sorry, and England being worried and cuddly, and yeah.
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and of course, smokin' hot scene in the latter half 8D
awesome fill, I definitely loved this ♥
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