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.
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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