Really, he had. He’d started going on holiday more frequently, carefully monitored his diet, even gone so far as entertaining the idea of cutting back on his favorite hobby (picking fights with that damnable Frog).
The last wasn’t a particularly difficult a task; Francis had managed to take a hint and found better ways of releasing his sexual frustration than stalking the over worked Englishman, their respective governments were actually getting along and even coordinating joint military efforts. Centuries of bloody warfare and reluctant alliance had dissolved into a tentative friendship, which was actually starting to seem rather…pleasant.
Not entirely, of course, but the point was that Arthur had done quite a lot to lower his blood pressure, and he was putting on a rather good show of it, until that fucking cock sucker had to go and fucking ruin it.
“-and FURTHERMORE,” he continued, keenly attuned to the feeling of his face flushing in scarlet fury and the too-fast throb in his temples as he screamed into the receiver, “you need to start fucking remembering who changed your diapers and pushed your bleeding tram, you ungrateful sod!”
Arthur slammed the office phone back down into its cradle so hard the plastic cracked. He sat there a for a moment in that position, chest heaving with labored breaths from the very loud message he’d spent the last five minutes leaving on Alfred’s voicemail.
Good God he really hated that little shit sometimes.
Honestly, breaking into his hotel room and stealing all his beer? The beer dear Belgium had been sweet enough to set aside just for him? Dear, sweet, young, sexy Belgium. He’d been so looking forward to discussing something other than politics with her. Or rather, he’d been looking forward to an excuse to invite her to London and get her absolutely pissed, and it would have been so easy to insist he return her favor with some of his own Guinness and, “really darling, it just doesn’t taste the same if you’re not in a proper drinking establishment. Do come visit London, won’t you? We’ll go pub hopping, have a positively spectacular time. You’ll stay with me, of course! I wouldn’t hear of making a lady spend an unnecessary penny on overpriced lodging…”
“Dammit, Alfred…” he growled. He then realized the little cunt wasn’t worth him having a stroke over. He began consciously relaxing his body bit by bit, slowing his breathing carefully.
Inhale for a count of six, imagine absorbing the calm of the silent office into your tight muscles, exhale for six. Inhale for six. Exhale, and feel the tension leave with your breath. Inhale, ex-
SMACK!
England jolted out of his meditation as something large and heavy collided with his office door. He listened to it slide noisily down the wood, and resisted the urge to clench his fists or grind his teeth. Instead, Arthur Kirkland calmly got to his feet and walked calmly to the door which he calmly opened before calmly observing a body fall face forward at his feet with a thump.
“AMERICA!” He screamed, instantly enraged.
“Noddamerca…” the body groaned.
He grabbed that blonde head by its messy curls and yanked it up to find he was looking at…Not America. Oh fuck, what was his other kid’s name? Something French. Arthur thought he heard himself growling.
“You! What are you…?! Are you drunk?”
“’smine. Youcn ‘ave ‘er,” Canada replied, one hand coming up to gesture sloppily.
“Excuse me?! Explain yourself this instant, young man!”
“Belgium! ‘smine. Fuck off, old man!” He added with astonishing clarity, before dissolving back into nonsensical grunts, “Gedoutta mahouse.”
And then Arthur was holding an unconscious member of the G8. He picked the boy up, and fuck was he heavy, carried him two doors down and kicked at the wood as a sort of knock with both hands full.
Tosser 1b/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:45:03 UTC
“Open the door, you bastard!” Arthur growled. A bit of shuffling could be heard, and he shifted the dead weight in his arms impatiently. Francis finally opened the door, and England thrust the Canadian into his arms.
“This is your fault, I’m sure,” he sniffed haughtily as France reflexively embraced the mumbling mass of drunken limbs. He looked somewhat perplexed, but amused as well as he looked their child over. Turning on his heel, Arthur stormed off down the hall and felt vaguely satisfied when he heard Canada wretch. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see he’d falsely accused America, and if he couldn’t drink his beer it may as well go to use fouling up France’s office.
Theirs was an extremely tentative friendship.
He hurried to the stairwell and walked down a flight to the third floor, and America’s office. Unhappy as it might be for him to admit it; he owed the boy an apology. Of course, he might get lucky and the American may not have heard his message as of yet.
He knocked thrice and waited. When there was no answer he pressed his ear to the wood. There came no sounds from inside the office. Arthur glanced slyly down the hall in either direction. Completely deserted.
He was not above breaking and entering if it meant saving face.
Checking to make sure the hall was still clear, Arthur quickly persuaded the lock and darted through the door.
He took note of how warm the office was, and the fact that Alfred’s computer was not off, but in sleep mode. He’d obviously stepped out for a break, and only just recently. There was really no telling how long he’d be gone, which meant he ought to work quickly. Swearing under his breath he picked up the phone and activated the voicemail system, only to be taken aback when it asked for a password.
Fucking paranoid Americans. It was a sodding office phone for fuck’s sake.
Hmm. The boy’s birthday perhaps? He tried 0704, then 0407. Neither was successful. Perhaps an important year? 1776, 1812 and 1946 all yielded unsuccessful results. The only thing it did do was lock Arthur out of the mailbox. The automated voice promised he would be able to try again in five minutes, and he groaned. Looking at his watch he felt himself start to sweat. Five minutes? If Alfred had just left to have a piss he’d be back long before then. Maybe he was taking his lunch? It was half after noon…
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made him freeze, blood running cold. He began looking around for a good spot to hide in, but found nothing other than Alfred’s rather large desk. He could hide under it, he supposed, but by the time he’d judged that as his best option, the footsteps were continuing on past the door and away down the hall.
Four minutes.
England sat down heavily in Alfred’s chair and stared at the offending technology. He remembered the days of letters and notes, and wondered what arsehole had thought instantaneous communication over long distances was a good idea. Fucker. The fact that they could all communicate with each other was what allowed them to fight with such frequency.
Two minutes.
Arthur began investigating the drawers of Alfred’s desk. The ones which weren’t locked, anyway. He found quite a lot of candy bars (and empty wrappers) as well as an impossible number of pens and paper clips strewn messily about with no sense of organization at all whatsoever. Slob.
Tosser 1c/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:47:17 UTC
His five minutes being up, England lifted the receiver and prepared to make a second attempt at conquering the voicemail system, when he once again heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. He tried to convince himself to remain calm, remembering the last passerby, but he knew in his heart it was America. It had to be. It couldn’t not be.
England remained steadfast in the chair and began trying some of the new passwords he’d thought of, until the footsteps stopped outside the office door. He quickly hung the phone up and jumped under the desk, just as he heard the lock tumbler work, though the door was already open. If America thought this strange, he didn’t voice it as he walked in.
It was a rather large desk, but Arthur still scrambled backwards as Al took his seat, back pressing against the panel which covered the front of the desk. Alfred’s feet rested near him, and Arthur found himself admiring the way the boy’s trousers clung to his nicely shaped thighs. His heart pounding in his throat, Arthur looked up the line of Alfred’s body right up to where Alfred’s legs met his torso and he really should have been focusing on not getting caught instead of staring at Alfred’s crotch. It wasn’t like he’d never seen it before, anyway.
His heart stopped when he heard the younger nation lift his phone and dial a short number. A moment later he heard his own voice shouting from the ear piece. Arthur winced, and chewed his lower lip.
“What?” He could hear America’s frown. “I didn’t steal anything. Hmm…whatever.”
He could reveal himself, perhaps spin some story about hiding to surprise Alfred with a very fantastic, very distracting blowjob, and escape the office without having to apologize. Perhaps he could even send Alfred away afterward to clean up in the bathroom, and take the opportunity the delete the message before Al could actually listen to it. Only Alfred was already moving, leaning forward more than likely to hit the erase button.
England held his breath, the silence oppressive, until he noticed it actually wasn’t silent. The sound of his screaming had only been buffered by the sound of Alfred shifting in his chair. In fact, was it now louder. He couldn’t actually have turned up the volume, could he? Of course not. Arthur felt stupid for even allowing the thought to enter his panicked brain.
America’s legs parted slightly as he relaxed back into his seat and listened to England’s tirade. Why wasn’t he just deleting the message? Was he…was he actually listening to an authority figure? Listening to England? He felt his heart skip a beat as it hesitantly resumed its pulse.
“Oh, England, I’m sorry,” Alfred breathed quietly. His legs parted further.
“-arsehole for a brain! You’re lucky I don’t take you over my fucking knee sometimes!” he heard himself shouting.
“Oh God,” he groaned, and one hand slipped under the desk into England’s view where it began massaging his crotch. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.
What?
“Yes, please, I-I deserve it,” Alfred whispered near inaudibly. His cock was slowly thickening under his touch, becoming visible through his pants. He pinched the swelling head harshly, and hissed in pleasure. “You’re right England, I’m hopeless. Oh please, please punish me…”
Tosser 1d/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:49:55 UTC
A/N: Fucking character limit sorry for lame post's lameness...
Arthur stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, bit down to keep from whimpering. What?
The boy unbuttoned his pants and took down the zipper. His hand ventured into his pants, and he began stroking himself with quick flicks of his wrist. Just the tip of his cock was visible through the peephole of his open fly. Arthur licked his lips and wondered very much how that cock would taste. And fuck, had Alfred really just asked him to punish him? England bit back a groan. God how he’d wanted to paddle that tight little ass of Alfred’s, how he’d longed to fuck instead of being fucked the few times they’d tumbled haphazardly into bed.
America didn’t last long, pumping himself with hard intention, making short work of bringing himself to orgasm. England remained stubbornly quiet as thick ropes of cum shot upward into Alfred’s waiting palm, didn’t moan or sigh when the boy let out a strangled, “A-Arthur!” the catching of his voice on his name enough to make England’s thick erection twitch in his pants. All he could think was fuck. And then it happened; Alfred reached the end of the message mid-orgasm and cried out softly, “oh shit, Daddy! I-I’m sorry, I’ll remember, oh God…”
England was unable to stifle a gasp, though it was thankfully drowned out by America’s babbling as he drew out the last of his climax and slumped down against his desk.
Silence.
What could he do? Honestly, what?
Arthur thought on this for a moment, and found himself smirking.
Tosser 2a/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:52:34 UTC
It all made sense, now that he thought about it. Really made sense. Alfred wasn’t a complete waste of oxygen; he had his good ideas too. He’d always make the most idiotic suggestions…before making a reasonable, doable one which many nations found agreeable. He was ever clumsy, spilling his coffee all down Arthur’s front or bumping him in the hallways so Arthur’s papers went fluttering everywhere. Yet the very next moment he’d artfully side-step Russia or become inexplicably more aware of his surroundings if it meant spotting a burger joint tucked in the back of some side alley or dodging one of France’s groping hands.
He’d been such an eloquent, articulate child. Insightful, purposeful…England had been so disappointed to see what his son had become. Gluttonous, ignorant, arrogant as all hell, and completely oblivious to anything but skinny blondes and super heroes.
But now?
He’s only been playing stupid.
Arthur thought on this as he watched America from across the conference table. Surely no one was as incompetent as Alfred acted. Not when he could appear almost magically between Arthur and the floor when he tripped, or remember the brand of cigarettes he liked, or his favorite pub.
England glared at him.
America seemed to have noticed his gaze, which he now returned. He checked to his right and left, as though he was sure England couldn’t be focusing that glare on him. Point of fact, America frowned and jerked his thumb back at his own chest with a questioning look. England’s eyes narrowed further, and he nodded. Centuries and centuries of careful schooling meant it wasn’t hard to keep the smile bubbling just under the surface from breaking out across his face. America swallowed nervously, anticipating the lecture which was sure to come all too soon. Arthur felt a thrill run down his spine to his cock. He was anticipating it quite a lot, as well.
England had suffered through nearly ninety minutes of Alfred “working” after he’d watched his boy jerk off under his desk. Mostly, “working” seemed to mean singing a terrifying mix of the Beatles and Katy Perry under his breath whilst shuffling around a lot of papers far too quickly to be doing anything productive with them. England had really needed to use the loo too, and he’d been debating going through the awful process of revealing himself and admitting to being in the room for the entire (brilliant, wonderful, marvelous, mind-blowingly erotic) show Alfred had unwittingly put on. Fortunately, the boy had had similar thoughts and exited his office after murmuring to himself about the toll having a Starbucks in the UN lobby was taking on his bladder. Arthur had scurried back up to his office to discover Francis had left Canada on his couch, wrapped up in his latest knitting project.
“You always fuck the girls I like,” Canada had sobered up enough to speak an actual language. “Why d’you do that? Seychelles, Lichtenstein, Ukraine, Poland…why d’you do that? You told me you loved me, ya fuckin’ shit disturber. Fuckin’ hate you…”
England simply walked out of his office and back down the hall to the conference room. It was thankfully quiet enough for him to get a bit more work done before the afternoon meeting, although as soon as America sauntered in he completely lost his focus.
Alfred clapped him (too hard) on the shoulder, said a brief hello and took his seat across the table. And thusly Arthur began to glare.
The meeting began and Alfred stared in confusion as Arthur shot him angry, meaningful looks.
“I didn’t drink your beer,” he hissed over the table. Germany threw a pen at him in retaliation, which Al dodged and ignored.
Arthur said nothing, but harrumphed loudly.
Alfred licked his lips, England’s stomach fluttered. Good lord what he was going to do to those lips. Bite them until they were swollen and paint them with his cum. He’d fuck that beautiful throat raw.
The meeting dragged on this way, with neither of them taking notes, paying attention or contributing, but aroused beyond belief. Canada stumbled in twenty minutes late, though no one noticed. It was two endless hours in before they had their first break, at which point Alfred was desperately seeking England out.
Tosser 2b/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:55:45 UTC
“My office. Now.”
“Uh sure, Iggy. Ya know-”
“Belt up, boy. My office.”
The two walked in silence until Arthur had the door safely closed and locked behind them.
“Like I said, I didn’t-”
“I’m sorry, did I say you could speak? If I did, I assure you it was purely by accident.”
Alfred’s mouth gaped open as he stared in astonishment, then snapped shut.
“In all honestly, it doesn’t really matter if you drank it or not, does it?” Arthur asked quietly. Dangerously. Alfred swallowed thickly. His gaze darted all over the room as England spoke, to the locked door, the recently napped on couch, the antique light fixture, anywhere but at England himself. Arthur repressed his smirk with a scowl and continued, “in the end I’m always scolding you for something, aren’t I? In the end you’re always titting about when there’s serious work to be done, or making a right mess of things when they’d just been put in order, aren’t you? Why is that, America? Why do you test me, so?”
“I…uh, um, well, I-”
“You see, Alfred, you fucking ballache, I have a theory on how it is you can be such a spectacular arse. You see, I believe you do it…on purpose.”
Alfred’s eyes went comically, deliciously wide. Arthur took a bold step forward, and Alfred took one back.
“Of course, all children do this. Don’t they? All children talk back to their fathers, their superiors, even when they’ve been taught better. All children insist vehemently that they are independent,” he spat the word, “before they even know what that truly means. That’s what you are, Alfred; a child talking back to his superior.”
“You-” America seemed to have found his voice as England took another step forward. This time he held his ground, “you self-righteous old man. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Yes,” England replied softly, stepping forward so their bodies were mere centimeters apart, “you do.”
America shuddered visibly, “you know what, England? I am really tired of you acting like such a fucking bitch all the-”
England slapped him hard across the face.
America’s head snapped to the side.
“Shut your bloody noise, you insolent, little cunt!” England roared, straightening to his full height. Stunned, Alfred could do nothing but stare. Arthur pressed him backward into the edge of his desk, then pressed him farther still until Alfred either had to prop himself up or grab Arthur to keep from falling backward. England repressed another smirk when Al opted to grab his lapels for balance.
“I am sick of this behavior! It is positively, undeniably, unacceptable in every way! You are a fucking WORLD POWER, Alfred! Grow the fuck up!”
They stared at each other in heated silence for a long moment. Alfred’s body was rigid. Taut with lust and anticipation and perhaps just the tiniest hint of fear. It made Arthur shiver with want against the juxtaposition of hard muscle and sweetly yielding fat that was America’s body. His boy looked up at him, face hard, eyes irrevocably blue and enthralling. He took a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves enough to get the last of his speech out, to make this as good for Alfred as he could before he took the tightly wound string that was the United States and very gently snapped it.
“I have tried, desperately in fact, to be your friend, but it seems that the only thing you’re capable of understanding is a raised voice and a hard hand. You do it for the same reason as any other child, don’t you? Do you know that reason?”
Alfred opened his mouth. Arthur clapped a hand over it and whispered, “no talking.”
America nodded, and Arthur braced both his hands against the desk on either side of the boy’s hips.
“You want attention, don’t you love? You want daddy to pay attention to you, to take care of you and nothing else, don’t you?” England breathed, leaning just a hair closer to America. The North American nation began squirming minutely. “But unlike a child, you know you can get positive attention, if only you behaved yourself. You know how I’ll praise you, how I’ll dote upon you if you stopped acting like a right arsehole. Yet you do it anyway...”
Alfred’s lips parted in a silent gasp as England crashed their hips together. His erection pulsed between them, undeniable and irresistible.
“You like being scolded, don’t you?” Arthur purred low and slow. Alfred remained silent, so Arthur screamed at him, “ANSWER!”
“Damnable little twat! Don’t you take His name!” Arthur slapped Alfred again, and his boy groaned beneath him. He rocked their hips together, rubbing his own hardening cock into America’s. Grasping him by the hair at the nape of his neck, he yanked Al’s head back to whisper against his throat, “when you beg, you will beg me.”
Tosser 2d/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 19:59:38 UTC
A/N: Lol @ title fail above. For serious.
America mewled in earnest, tugging England farther forward, bringing their chests together.
“Punish you?” England spoke slowly, tasting the words. Alfred nodded fervently. England took great delight in leaning into his welcoming body to whisper against the shell of his ear, “no.”
“N-no?”
“No. The meeting is about to restart,” Arthur murmured. He kissed Alfred on the cheek, smiled and toddled out of the office. He’d made it a fair distance down the hall before America caught up to him.
“Are you off your fucking rocker?!” Alfred hissed.
England snorted a laugh and straightened his tie, “if I am I’m sure you’re to blame.”
“You can’t just-! I mean, it’s not-! What the fuck?!”
England halted mid-stride to slam America into the wall. The force of it made several pictures rattle in their frames, and America struggled to regain his breath. Arthur pressed their bodies flush and let his lips glide over America’s as he whispered, “watch your mouth, you little shit. Or you’ll have no treats from me this avvy.”
“Um…what?”
“Good Lord, just be good during the meeting, hmm?” Arthur chuckled, and began walking away. Alfred trotted sullenly along beside him, and England couldn’t stop the hand that reached out to touch his shoulder softly. “Don’t look so put-out, love, I’ll indulge you later.”
Alfred brightened considerably at this. He reached down to adjust the bulge in his pants before they rounded the corner into the conference room, and Arthur took the opportunity to pinch the boy’s arse, “there’s a good lad.”
Tosser 3a/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 20:01:30 UTC
There was only another ten minutes left in the meeting, and as far as Arthur was concerned they couldn’t pass fast enough. He’d been sincere when he’d advised Alfred to behave himself, but instead the younger nation took it as an invitation to be absolutely incorrigible. It was positively ghastly. Germany had run out of things to throw about half an hour into America’s rambunctious shifting, giggling, doodling and headache-inducing. It was all very entertaining.
“AMERICA! GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THERE, YOU STUPID SOD!”
Francis giggled. Arthur ignored him.
“Make me, ya old coot!”
“Oh, THAT is IT!” England growled, pushed his chair back so hard it fell over. He stomped over to America, grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out of the meeting. They practically ran back to Arthur’s office, where he promptly shoved America down on the floor.
“Pants off,” Arthur demanded. Alfred scrambled to obey. His cock bounced free, gleeful as the rest of him. America panted and looked up at him expectantly. Arthur straddled his thighs and tore his shirt open, buttons skittering all about the office. Al grinned.
“Wipe that fucking smile off your face, you stupid fucking arsehole cunt,” Arthur snarled, “toss off for me. Show me how dirty you are, boy.”
“Um…toss off what?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “what is it you lot say? Spank your monkey. Rub one out. Whack off. Have a wank, you silly bastard!”
America sucked in a breath and wrapped his hand around his erection.
“Nasty boy, lying there on the floor having a wank. Get up,” America hesitated for a moment, giving England an opportunity to raise his voice, “Get up! UP!”
He yanked America to his feet and dragged him to the chair at his desk for guests, Al tripping over the pants around his ankles the whole way. He pushed the boy down into his chair and moved to stand behind him.
“Nasty, nasty boy. Dirty little twat. Why I put up with your shit day after day I’ll never know.”
Alfred threw his head back and moaned. Little, “hah hah,” noises escaped his lax mouth as his hand worked furiously over his length. The sight alone was intoxicating to England, but Al had squeezed his eyes shut to focus more on Arthur’s voice, and that just wouldn’t do.
Tosser 3b/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 20:02:38 UTC
“Open your eyes!” England flicked his ear to get his attention. “Or do you prefer not to see me? Hmm, you pathetic fuck? Maybe you’d like it better if I were lecturing you, say, in a voicemail?”
America’s face flushed.
“Oh yes, Alfred. I know. You naughty little thing. I saw you having a nice thrap over Daddy’s lecture.”
“Ah hah a thraah…a-a thrap?”
“A thrap, a wank, idiot. Jesus Christ. Denser than pig shit, you are. The point is, I saw you and you are a very bad boy.”
“Mind…speaking fucking…English?” Alfred laughed breathlessly.
England sighed and slapped him lightly once more. Alfred moaned.
“Who said you could fucking talk, you little shit?! It’s my fucking language! You need to learn to fucking speak it!”
“I-I know what a toss pot is.”
“Hmph. And I know what a cum bucket is. Your point?” Arthur stepped around the chair so he was in front of Alfred, then leaned forward so they were eye to eye. “Or is that what you want? You want to be Daddy’s toss pot?”
“P-please, Arthur,” Alfred looked away from him and flushed a further red. “Please just…just scream at me, please…”
England grabbed the boy’s face and forced their gazes to meet.
“Look at you! Manner deprived little fuck! Always doing as you fucking please without regard for anyone but yourself. Sitting at MY sodding desk, in MY sodding office and stroking YOUR fucking cock?!”
“Ungh more!”
“You want to be a toss pot, eh? You want to be used you needy fucking shit? Open that mouth! OPEN IT.”
Alfred obliged as Arthur quickly whipped down his own pants and palmed his cock, stroking it as hard as Alfred was his own.
“Arthur, please, hit me again.”
England slapped him harder. Alfred gasped and panted, sweet noises of ecstasy. Both their hearts raced, Arthur’s voice felt weak with desire, though the pure lasciviousness of their current positions spurred him on, sent his mind reeling as he searched desperately for more. For words to satisfy his current lover. For words that would bring them both to fulfillment. His palm throbbed with heat where it connected once more with Alfred’s face. He used it to cup his balls, push him further toward the edge.
Tosser 3c/3
anonymous
February 24 2011, 20:04:12 UTC
“Don’t you dare come before me. You fucking wait for your superior, boy.”
“Ye-yessir!” America was breathless, and it was driving England crazy with want. “Tell me I’m hopeless.”
“You’re hopeless, Alfred! I doubt you can even fucking piss correctly!”
“Tell me I’m useless!”
“As two cunts in a piss factory! Oh fuck, Alfred, you fucking whore! Oh, I’m going to-to-!”
“Tell me I’m yours!”
Arthur’s entire body tensed. He fisted his cock furiously, pressing the thumb of his free hand against the corner of Alfred’s mouth, hooking it open and guiding him roughly forward.
He felt his toes curl in his shoes as Al stuck his tongue out, let Arthur hold his mouth open as he shot his load on that precious face. His America. His. Sweating hard, face red from being struck, begging and desperate and he’d fucking kill him for not telling him he wanted this sooner because he was bloody breathtaking with cum dripping down his face and coating his tongue until he swallowed it down, licked at his lips for more even as Arthur milked his cock for every drop. The hard jets became dribbles and finally ceased, Arthur sinking down to his knees in front of America.
“Come. Come you…you wanker,” he breathed.
Alfred bit his lower lip harshly. His hips came up off the chair as he let himself go, hot spunk splashing into his palm. Arthur shot forward, tore away the hand and returned the favor he’d just been paid; greedily engulfing the head of America’s cock and slurping up his seed. He looked up to see Al’s eyes roll back, his mouth open in a strangled whimper, fucking gorgeous. Fucking delicious on his tongue. He swallowed hungrily until America offered him no more and went limp below him.
England let his head drop to America’s thigh while he caught his breath. After a few moments of just their breathing, America laughed quietly and offered Arthur the hand he’d been using to catch his cum, which was eagerly licked clean. With his other hand he stroked England’s hair gently.
Tosser 3d/3 [final part]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 20:05:04 UTC
“Holy crap,” he kept laughing.
Arthur groaned, “now how in the bloody hell am I supposed to punish you when you actually need it?”
America sank off the chair to more fully embrace Arthur.
“You silly, silly English man,” he smiled fondly. Al nipped at his earlobe playfully, “I always need to be punished.”
“Christ, boy! At least let me catch my breath before you try for another round, you silly sod.”
“Mmm I love it when you talk British to me…” America purred, then nudged his forehead against Arthur’s.
England smirked up at him from below his eyelashes, “come home with me, darling, and I’ll do everything you love.”
“Sounds fun,” Alfred yawned and stretched.
“It will be. Get your clothes on and let me gather my things.”
America stopped Arthur as he tried to stand. “Okay but…but first…”
England looked back up at him, recalling suddenly how much larger his little colony had become. And then they were kissing, salt and lips and tongue. So softly, it made Arthur shiver and not from lust.
“Thank you,” America whispered, very quiet and very vulnerable. “No one’s ever, um, ya know. And it’s not like I can just ask Matt to do it or something. I knew I wanted that but fuck…you were so good. It was so good. Thank you.”
“Of course, my love,” Arthur murmured between kisses. Little movements of lips over lips that neither lingered nor strayed. “Of course.”
Alfred’s embrace tightened around him, “can I be your love?”
England pulled away from the kiss, and instead let his head come to rest on America’s shoulder. “Tonight, you may be whatever you please. But I will always love you, you tosser. Now get the hell off me.”
Sweet Jesus, anon, this is hot as hell. I thought nobody would ever fill this request, but this is fucking amazing. And so in-character, too! I mean, seriously? That last paragraph just killed me with how in-character it was. XD And Alfred still having his special sense of humor during the sex scene, too. <3
And I loved England sneaking around like a freaking super spy trying to erase the evidence of his own mistake. LOL
... I kind of randomly want to write Belgium/Canada someday because I think that would be strangely cute.
Augh. I can't write a coherent-sounding comment, but I'm adding this to my short list of USUK fics. Such a sexy little gem of a fic. <3
Re: Tosser 3d/3 [final part]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 20:54:53 UTC
... I didn't notice that. Oh Canada, honey, why so drunk? (Unless Poland's transgender or something?) But really, those bitchin' skirts are so deceptive! XD
Re: Tosser 3d/3 [final part]
anonymous
February 25 2011, 20:22:54 UTC
lol is that a refrence to Are you there God it's Me Canada? Because if it is, super props. If it's not, well... you get props anyway for writing such a sexy, sexy fill XD
Arthur had tried to keep his blood-pressure down.
Really, he had. He’d started going on holiday more frequently, carefully monitored his diet, even gone so far as entertaining the idea of cutting back on his favorite hobby (picking fights with that damnable Frog).
The last wasn’t a particularly difficult a task; Francis had managed to take a hint and found better ways of releasing his sexual frustration than stalking the over worked Englishman, their respective governments were actually getting along and even coordinating joint military efforts. Centuries of bloody warfare and reluctant alliance had dissolved into a tentative friendship, which was actually starting to seem rather…pleasant.
Not entirely, of course, but the point was that Arthur had done quite a lot to lower his blood pressure, and he was putting on a rather good show of it, until that fucking cock sucker had to go and fucking ruin it.
“-and FURTHERMORE,” he continued, keenly attuned to the feeling of his face flushing in scarlet fury and the too-fast throb in his temples as he screamed into the receiver, “you need to start fucking remembering who changed your diapers and pushed your bleeding tram, you ungrateful sod!”
Arthur slammed the office phone back down into its cradle so hard the plastic cracked. He sat there a for a moment in that position, chest heaving with labored breaths from the very loud message he’d spent the last five minutes leaving on Alfred’s voicemail.
Good God he really hated that little shit sometimes.
Honestly, breaking into his hotel room and stealing all his beer? The beer dear Belgium had been sweet enough to set aside just for him? Dear, sweet, young, sexy Belgium. He’d been so looking forward to discussing something other than politics with her. Or rather, he’d been looking forward to an excuse to invite her to London and get her absolutely pissed, and it would have been so easy to insist he return her favor with some of his own Guinness and, “really darling, it just doesn’t taste the same if you’re not in a proper drinking establishment. Do come visit London, won’t you? We’ll go pub hopping, have a positively spectacular time. You’ll stay with me, of course! I wouldn’t hear of making a lady spend an unnecessary penny on overpriced lodging…”
“Dammit, Alfred…” he growled. He then realized the little cunt wasn’t worth him having a stroke over. He began consciously relaxing his body bit by bit, slowing his breathing carefully.
Inhale for a count of six, imagine absorbing the calm of the silent office into your tight muscles, exhale for six. Inhale for six. Exhale, and feel the tension leave with your breath. Inhale, ex-
SMACK!
England jolted out of his meditation as something large and heavy collided with his office door. He listened to it slide noisily down the wood, and resisted the urge to clench his fists or grind his teeth. Instead, Arthur Kirkland calmly got to his feet and walked calmly to the door which he calmly opened before calmly observing a body fall face forward at his feet with a thump.
“AMERICA!” He screamed, instantly enraged.
“Noddamerca…” the body groaned.
He grabbed that blonde head by its messy curls and yanked it up to find he was looking at…Not America. Oh fuck, what was his other kid’s name? Something French. Arthur thought he heard himself growling.
“You! What are you…?! Are you drunk?”
“’smine. Youcn ‘ave ‘er,” Canada replied, one hand coming up to gesture sloppily.
“Excuse me?! Explain yourself this instant, young man!”
“Belgium! ‘smine. Fuck off, old man!” He added with astonishing clarity, before dissolving back into nonsensical grunts, “Gedoutta mahouse.”
And then Arthur was holding an unconscious member of the G8. He picked the boy up, and fuck was he heavy, carried him two doors down and kicked at the wood as a sort of knock with both hands full.
“Come in~!”
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“This is your fault, I’m sure,” he sniffed haughtily as France reflexively embraced the mumbling mass of drunken limbs. He looked somewhat perplexed, but amused as well as he looked their child over. Turning on his heel, Arthur stormed off down the hall and felt vaguely satisfied when he heard Canada wretch. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see he’d falsely accused America, and if he couldn’t drink his beer it may as well go to use fouling up France’s office.
Theirs was an extremely tentative friendship.
He hurried to the stairwell and walked down a flight to the third floor, and America’s office. Unhappy as it might be for him to admit it; he owed the boy an apology. Of course, he might get lucky and the American may not have heard his message as of yet.
He knocked thrice and waited. When there was no answer he pressed his ear to the wood. There came no sounds from inside the office. Arthur glanced slyly down the hall in either direction. Completely deserted.
He was not above breaking and entering if it meant saving face.
Checking to make sure the hall was still clear, Arthur quickly persuaded the lock and darted through the door.
He took note of how warm the office was, and the fact that Alfred’s computer was not off, but in sleep mode. He’d obviously stepped out for a break, and only just recently. There was really no telling how long he’d be gone, which meant he ought to work quickly. Swearing under his breath he picked up the phone and activated the voicemail system, only to be taken aback when it asked for a password.
Fucking paranoid Americans. It was a sodding office phone for fuck’s sake.
Hmm. The boy’s birthday perhaps? He tried 0704, then 0407. Neither was successful. Perhaps an important year? 1776, 1812 and 1946 all yielded unsuccessful results. The only thing it did do was lock Arthur out of the mailbox. The automated voice promised he would be able to try again in five minutes, and he groaned. Looking at his watch he felt himself start to sweat. Five minutes? If Alfred had just left to have a piss he’d be back long before then. Maybe he was taking his lunch? It was half after noon…
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made him freeze, blood running cold. He began looking around for a good spot to hide in, but found nothing other than Alfred’s rather large desk. He could hide under it, he supposed, but by the time he’d judged that as his best option, the footsteps were continuing on past the door and away down the hall.
Four minutes.
England sat down heavily in Alfred’s chair and stared at the offending technology. He remembered the days of letters and notes, and wondered what arsehole had thought instantaneous communication over long distances was a good idea. Fucker. The fact that they could all communicate with each other was what allowed them to fight with such frequency.
Two minutes.
Arthur began investigating the drawers of Alfred’s desk. The ones which weren’t locked, anyway. He found quite a lot of candy bars (and empty wrappers) as well as an impossible number of pens and paper clips strewn messily about with no sense of organization at all whatsoever. Slob.
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England remained steadfast in the chair and began trying some of the new passwords he’d thought of, until the footsteps stopped outside the office door. He quickly hung the phone up and jumped under the desk, just as he heard the lock tumbler work, though the door was already open. If America thought this strange, he didn’t voice it as he walked in.
It was a rather large desk, but Arthur still scrambled backwards as Al took his seat, back pressing against the panel which covered the front of the desk. Alfred’s feet rested near him, and Arthur found himself admiring the way the boy’s trousers clung to his nicely shaped thighs. His heart pounding in his throat, Arthur looked up the line of Alfred’s body right up to where Alfred’s legs met his torso and he really should have been focusing on not getting caught instead of staring at Alfred’s crotch. It wasn’t like he’d never seen it before, anyway.
His heart stopped when he heard the younger nation lift his phone and dial a short number. A moment later he heard his own voice shouting from the ear piece. Arthur winced, and chewed his lower lip.
“What?” He could hear America’s frown. “I didn’t steal anything. Hmm…whatever.”
He could reveal himself, perhaps spin some story about hiding to surprise Alfred with a very fantastic, very distracting blowjob, and escape the office without having to apologize. Perhaps he could even send Alfred away afterward to clean up in the bathroom, and take the opportunity the delete the message before Al could actually listen to it. Only Alfred was already moving, leaning forward more than likely to hit the erase button.
England held his breath, the silence oppressive, until he noticed it actually wasn’t silent. The sound of his screaming had only been buffered by the sound of Alfred shifting in his chair. In fact, was it now louder. He couldn’t actually have turned up the volume, could he? Of course not. Arthur felt stupid for even allowing the thought to enter his panicked brain.
America’s legs parted slightly as he relaxed back into his seat and listened to England’s tirade. Why wasn’t he just deleting the message? Was he…was he actually listening to an authority figure? Listening to England? He felt his heart skip a beat as it hesitantly resumed its pulse.
“Oh, England, I’m sorry,” Alfred breathed quietly. His legs parted further.
“-arsehole for a brain! You’re lucky I don’t take you over my fucking knee sometimes!” he heard himself shouting.
“Oh God,” he groaned, and one hand slipped under the desk into England’s view where it began massaging his crotch. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.
What?
“Yes, please, I-I deserve it,” Alfred whispered near inaudibly. His cock was slowly thickening under his touch, becoming visible through his pants. He pinched the swelling head harshly, and hissed in pleasure. “You’re right England, I’m hopeless. Oh please, please punish me…”
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Arthur stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, bit down to keep from whimpering. What?
The boy unbuttoned his pants and took down the zipper. His hand ventured into his pants, and he began stroking himself with quick flicks of his wrist. Just the tip of his cock was visible through the peephole of his open fly. Arthur licked his lips and wondered very much how that cock would taste. And fuck, had Alfred really just asked him to punish him? England bit back a groan. God how he’d wanted to paddle that tight little ass of Alfred’s, how he’d longed to fuck instead of being fucked the few times they’d tumbled haphazardly into bed.
America didn’t last long, pumping himself with hard intention, making short work of bringing himself to orgasm. England remained stubbornly quiet as thick ropes of cum shot upward into Alfred’s waiting palm, didn’t moan or sigh when the boy let out a strangled, “A-Arthur!” the catching of his voice on his name enough to make England’s thick erection twitch in his pants. All he could think was fuck. And then it happened; Alfred reached the end of the message mid-orgasm and cried out softly, “oh shit, Daddy! I-I’m sorry, I’ll remember, oh God…”
England was unable to stifle a gasp, though it was thankfully drowned out by America’s babbling as he drew out the last of his climax and slumped down against his desk.
Silence.
What could he do? Honestly, what?
Arthur thought on this for a moment, and found himself smirking.
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He’d been such an eloquent, articulate child. Insightful, purposeful…England had been so disappointed to see what his son had become. Gluttonous, ignorant, arrogant as all hell, and completely oblivious to anything but skinny blondes and super heroes.
But now?
He’s only been playing stupid.
Arthur thought on this as he watched America from across the conference table. Surely no one was as incompetent as Alfred acted. Not when he could appear almost magically between Arthur and the floor when he tripped, or remember the brand of cigarettes he liked, or his favorite pub.
England glared at him.
America seemed to have noticed his gaze, which he now returned. He checked to his right and left, as though he was sure England couldn’t be focusing that glare on him. Point of fact, America frowned and jerked his thumb back at his own chest with a questioning look. England’s eyes narrowed further, and he nodded. Centuries and centuries of careful schooling meant it wasn’t hard to keep the smile bubbling just under the surface from breaking out across his face. America swallowed nervously, anticipating the lecture which was sure to come all too soon. Arthur felt a thrill run down his spine to his cock. He was anticipating it quite a lot, as well.
England had suffered through nearly ninety minutes of Alfred “working” after he’d watched his boy jerk off under his desk. Mostly, “working” seemed to mean singing a terrifying mix of the Beatles and Katy Perry under his breath whilst shuffling around a lot of papers far too quickly to be doing anything productive with them. England had really needed to use the loo too, and he’d been debating going through the awful process of revealing himself and admitting to being in the room for the entire (brilliant, wonderful, marvelous, mind-blowingly erotic) show Alfred had unwittingly put on. Fortunately, the boy had had similar thoughts and exited his office after murmuring to himself about the toll having a Starbucks in the UN lobby was taking on his bladder. Arthur had scurried back up to his office to discover Francis had left Canada on his couch, wrapped up in his latest knitting project.
“You always fuck the girls I like,” Canada had sobered up enough to speak an actual language. “Why d’you do that? Seychelles, Lichtenstein, Ukraine, Poland…why d’you do that? You told me you loved me, ya fuckin’ shit disturber. Fuckin’ hate you…”
England simply walked out of his office and back down the hall to the conference room. It was thankfully quiet enough for him to get a bit more work done before the afternoon meeting, although as soon as America sauntered in he completely lost his focus.
Alfred clapped him (too hard) on the shoulder, said a brief hello and took his seat across the table. And thusly Arthur began to glare.
The meeting began and Alfred stared in confusion as Arthur shot him angry, meaningful looks.
“I didn’t drink your beer,” he hissed over the table. Germany threw a pen at him in retaliation, which Al dodged and ignored.
Arthur said nothing, but harrumphed loudly.
Alfred licked his lips, England’s stomach fluttered. Good lord what he was going to do to those lips. Bite them until they were swollen and paint them with his cum. He’d fuck that beautiful throat raw.
The meeting dragged on this way, with neither of them taking notes, paying attention or contributing, but aroused beyond belief. Canada stumbled in twenty minutes late, though no one noticed. It was two endless hours in before they had their first break, at which point Alfred was desperately seeking England out.
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“Uh sure, Iggy. Ya know-”
“Belt up, boy. My office.”
The two walked in silence until Arthur had the door safely closed and locked behind them.
“Like I said, I didn’t-”
“I’m sorry, did I say you could speak? If I did, I assure you it was purely by accident.”
Alfred’s mouth gaped open as he stared in astonishment, then snapped shut.
“In all honestly, it doesn’t really matter if you drank it or not, does it?” Arthur asked quietly. Dangerously. Alfred swallowed thickly. His gaze darted all over the room as England spoke, to the locked door, the recently napped on couch, the antique light fixture, anywhere but at England himself. Arthur repressed his smirk with a scowl and continued, “in the end I’m always scolding you for something, aren’t I? In the end you’re always titting about when there’s serious work to be done, or making a right mess of things when they’d just been put in order, aren’t you? Why is that, America? Why do you test me, so?”
“I…uh, um, well, I-”
“You see, Alfred, you fucking ballache, I have a theory on how it is you can be such a spectacular arse. You see, I believe you do it…on purpose.”
Alfred’s eyes went comically, deliciously wide. Arthur took a bold step forward, and Alfred took one back.
“Of course, all children do this. Don’t they? All children talk back to their fathers, their superiors, even when they’ve been taught better. All children insist vehemently that they are independent,” he spat the word, “before they even know what that truly means. That’s what you are, Alfred; a child talking back to his superior.”
“You-” America seemed to have found his voice as England took another step forward. This time he held his ground, “you self-righteous old man. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Yes,” England replied softly, stepping forward so their bodies were mere centimeters apart, “you do.”
America shuddered visibly, “you know what, England? I am really tired of you acting like such a fucking bitch all the-”
England slapped him hard across the face.
America’s head snapped to the side.
“Shut your bloody noise, you insolent, little cunt!” England roared, straightening to his full height. Stunned, Alfred could do nothing but stare. Arthur pressed him backward into the edge of his desk, then pressed him farther still until Alfred either had to prop himself up or grab Arthur to keep from falling backward. England repressed another smirk when Al opted to grab his lapels for balance.
“I am sick of this behavior! It is positively, undeniably, unacceptable in every way! You are a fucking WORLD POWER, Alfred! Grow the fuck up!”
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“I have tried, desperately in fact, to be your friend, but it seems that the only thing you’re capable of understanding is a raised voice and a hard hand. You do it for the same reason as any other child, don’t you? Do you know that reason?”
Alfred opened his mouth. Arthur clapped a hand over it and whispered, “no talking.”
America nodded, and Arthur braced both his hands against the desk on either side of the boy’s hips.
“You want attention, don’t you love? You want daddy to pay attention to you, to take care of you and nothing else, don’t you?” England breathed, leaning just a hair closer to America. The North American nation began squirming minutely. “But unlike a child, you know you can get positive attention, if only you behaved yourself. You know how I’ll praise you, how I’ll dote upon you if you stopped acting like a right arsehole. Yet you do it anyway...”
Alfred’s lips parted in a silent gasp as England crashed their hips together. His erection pulsed between them, undeniable and irresistible.
“You like being scolded, don’t you?” Arthur purred low and slow. Alfred remained silent, so Arthur screamed at him, “ANSWER!”
Al’s cock twitched, “y-yes! Yes! Please, God, please-!”
“Damnable little twat! Don’t you take His name!” Arthur slapped Alfred again, and his boy groaned beneath him. He rocked their hips together, rubbing his own hardening cock into America’s. Grasping him by the hair at the nape of his neck, he yanked Al’s head back to whisper against his throat, “when you beg, you will beg me.”
“Please, Arthur!”
“Please what?”
“Please punish me!”
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America mewled in earnest, tugging England farther forward, bringing their chests together.
“Punish you?” England spoke slowly, tasting the words. Alfred nodded fervently. England took great delight in leaning into his welcoming body to whisper against the shell of his ear, “no.”
“N-no?”
“No. The meeting is about to restart,” Arthur murmured. He kissed Alfred on the cheek, smiled and toddled out of the office. He’d made it a fair distance down the hall before America caught up to him.
“Are you off your fucking rocker?!” Alfred hissed.
England snorted a laugh and straightened his tie, “if I am I’m sure you’re to blame.”
“You can’t just-! I mean, it’s not-! What the fuck?!”
England halted mid-stride to slam America into the wall. The force of it made several pictures rattle in their frames, and America struggled to regain his breath. Arthur pressed their bodies flush and let his lips glide over America’s as he whispered, “watch your mouth, you little shit. Or you’ll have no treats from me this avvy.”
“Um…what?”
“Good Lord, just be good during the meeting, hmm?” Arthur chuckled, and began walking away. Alfred trotted sullenly along beside him, and England couldn’t stop the hand that reached out to touch his shoulder softly. “Don’t look so put-out, love, I’ll indulge you later.”
Alfred brightened considerably at this. He reached down to adjust the bulge in his pants before they rounded the corner into the conference room, and Arthur took the opportunity to pinch the boy’s arse, “there’s a good lad.”
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“AMERICA! GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THERE, YOU STUPID SOD!”
Francis giggled. Arthur ignored him.
“Make me, ya old coot!”
“Oh, THAT is IT!” England growled, pushed his chair back so hard it fell over. He stomped over to America, grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out of the meeting. They practically ran back to Arthur’s office, where he promptly shoved America down on the floor.
“Pants off,” Arthur demanded. Alfred scrambled to obey. His cock bounced free, gleeful as the rest of him. America panted and looked up at him expectantly. Arthur straddled his thighs and tore his shirt open, buttons skittering all about the office. Al grinned.
“Wipe that fucking smile off your face, you stupid fucking arsehole cunt,” Arthur snarled, “toss off for me. Show me how dirty you are, boy.”
“Um…toss off what?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “what is it you lot say? Spank your monkey. Rub one out. Whack off. Have a wank, you silly bastard!”
America sucked in a breath and wrapped his hand around his erection.
“Nasty boy, lying there on the floor having a wank. Get up,” America hesitated for a moment, giving England an opportunity to raise his voice, “Get up! UP!”
He yanked America to his feet and dragged him to the chair at his desk for guests, Al tripping over the pants around his ankles the whole way. He pushed the boy down into his chair and moved to stand behind him.
“Nasty, nasty boy. Dirty little twat. Why I put up with your shit day after day I’ll never know.”
Alfred threw his head back and moaned. Little, “hah hah,” noises escaped his lax mouth as his hand worked furiously over his length. The sight alone was intoxicating to England, but Al had squeezed his eyes shut to focus more on Arthur’s voice, and that just wouldn’t do.
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America’s face flushed.
“Oh yes, Alfred. I know. You naughty little thing. I saw you having a nice thrap over Daddy’s lecture.”
“Ah hah a thraah…a-a thrap?”
“A thrap, a wank, idiot. Jesus Christ. Denser than pig shit, you are. The point is, I saw you and you are a very bad boy.”
“Mind…speaking fucking…English?” Alfred laughed breathlessly.
England sighed and slapped him lightly once more. Alfred moaned.
“Who said you could fucking talk, you little shit?! It’s my fucking language! You need to learn to fucking speak it!”
“I-I know what a toss pot is.”
“Hmph. And I know what a cum bucket is. Your point?” Arthur stepped around the chair so he was in front of Alfred, then leaned forward so they were eye to eye. “Or is that what you want? You want to be Daddy’s toss pot?”
“P-please, Arthur,” Alfred looked away from him and flushed a further red. “Please just…just scream at me, please…”
England grabbed the boy’s face and forced their gazes to meet.
“Look at you! Manner deprived little fuck! Always doing as you fucking please without regard for anyone but yourself. Sitting at MY sodding desk, in MY sodding office and stroking YOUR fucking cock?!”
“Ungh more!”
“You want to be a toss pot, eh? You want to be used you needy fucking shit? Open that mouth! OPEN IT.”
Alfred obliged as Arthur quickly whipped down his own pants and palmed his cock, stroking it as hard as Alfred was his own.
“Arthur, please, hit me again.”
England slapped him harder. Alfred gasped and panted, sweet noises of ecstasy. Both their hearts raced, Arthur’s voice felt weak with desire, though the pure lasciviousness of their current positions spurred him on, sent his mind reeling as he searched desperately for more. For words to satisfy his current lover. For words that would bring them both to fulfillment. His palm throbbed with heat where it connected once more with Alfred’s face. He used it to cup his balls, push him further toward the edge.
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“Ye-yessir!” America was breathless, and it was driving England crazy with want. “Tell me I’m hopeless.”
“You’re hopeless, Alfred! I doubt you can even fucking piss correctly!”
“Tell me I’m useless!”
“As two cunts in a piss factory! Oh fuck, Alfred, you fucking whore! Oh, I’m going to-to-!”
“Tell me I’m yours!”
Arthur’s entire body tensed. He fisted his cock furiously, pressing the thumb of his free hand against the corner of Alfred’s mouth, hooking it open and guiding him roughly forward.
“Yes! Yes! Oh fuck mine, mineminemine! A-America you filthy, dirty, nasty, fu-! Ah ah hah!”
He felt his toes curl in his shoes as Al stuck his tongue out, let Arthur hold his mouth open as he shot his load on that precious face. His America. His. Sweating hard, face red from being struck, begging and desperate and he’d fucking kill him for not telling him he wanted this sooner because he was bloody breathtaking with cum dripping down his face and coating his tongue until he swallowed it down, licked at his lips for more even as Arthur milked his cock for every drop. The hard jets became dribbles and finally ceased, Arthur sinking down to his knees in front of America.
“Come. Come you…you wanker,” he breathed.
Alfred bit his lower lip harshly. His hips came up off the chair as he let himself go, hot spunk splashing into his palm. Arthur shot forward, tore away the hand and returned the favor he’d just been paid; greedily engulfing the head of America’s cock and slurping up his seed. He looked up to see Al’s eyes roll back, his mouth open in a strangled whimper, fucking gorgeous. Fucking delicious on his tongue. He swallowed hungrily until America offered him no more and went limp below him.
England let his head drop to America’s thigh while he caught his breath. After a few moments of just their breathing, America laughed quietly and offered Arthur the hand he’d been using to catch his cum, which was eagerly licked clean. With his other hand he stroked England’s hair gently.
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Arthur groaned, “now how in the bloody hell am I supposed to punish you when you actually need it?”
America sank off the chair to more fully embrace Arthur.
“You silly, silly English man,” he smiled fondly. Al nipped at his earlobe playfully, “I always need to be punished.”
“Christ, boy! At least let me catch my breath before you try for another round, you silly sod.”
“Mmm I love it when you talk British to me…” America purred, then nudged his forehead against Arthur’s.
England smirked up at him from below his eyelashes, “come home with me, darling, and I’ll do everything you love.”
“Sounds fun,” Alfred yawned and stretched.
“It will be. Get your clothes on and let me gather my things.”
America stopped Arthur as he tried to stand. “Okay but…but first…”
England looked back up at him, recalling suddenly how much larger his little colony had become. And then they were kissing, salt and lips and tongue. So softly, it made Arthur shiver and not from lust.
“Thank you,” America whispered, very quiet and very vulnerable. “No one’s ever, um, ya know. And it’s not like I can just ask Matt to do it or something. I knew I wanted that but fuck…you were so good. It was so good. Thank you.”
“Of course, my love,” Arthur murmured between kisses. Little movements of lips over lips that neither lingered nor strayed. “Of course.”
Alfred’s embrace tightened around him, “can I be your love?”
England pulled away from the kiss, and instead let his head come to rest on America’s shoulder. “Tonight, you may be whatever you please. But I will always love you, you tosser. Now get the hell off me.”
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And I loved England sneaking around like a freaking super spy trying to erase the evidence of his own mistake. LOL
... I kind of randomly want to write Belgium/Canada someday because I think that would be strangely cute.
Augh. I can't write a coherent-sounding comment, but I'm adding this to my short list of USUK fics. Such a sexy little gem of a fic. <3
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hahaha.
This was great, anon.
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