Re: Do You Have a Flag? [Part 3a]
anonymous
July 9 2011, 23:44:07 UTC
“Will you drop the matter, Alfred?” England snapped irritably, yanking on the door of his house, and letting it swing open as the American trailed after him into the house, (“Shut the ruddy door; I didn’t raise you in a barn.”) obviously distressed. England tossed a heap of files to a chiffonier, and continued on his way, trying to evade America’s skittery footfalls.
“How am I meant to drop it!” Alfred protested, eyes wide, and mouth open in objection to everything, and anything Arthur had to say. Really, things hadn’t changed that much since America was a boy, he still would never listen. “How come you never told me about her?” America jerked back, gasping in shock. “Ohmygod, you two are actually twins, separated at birth and she doesn’t know but you do and it’s really awkward and hard for you and-?”
“What the fuck?” England whipped round suddenly, and found himself inches from America. He took a step back, jumping slightly. Damn tall bastard; he walked too quickly.
“I’m kidding.” America narrowed his eyes, and followed after England, who continued stepping back. “But how come I don’t know anything about her? You two have had an alliance for years, and I’ve never once heard you mention her at all. So. What’s the game?” England edged back, and America kept perfect pace, until England’s back bumped gently into the wall, and America shoved his face (long bridge of the nose, girlish lashes, glint of Texas and flare of blue eyes) right up to England’s face. “Well?” He demanded.
England paused, brows furrowed, and flushed slightly. The pause shifted and slid into an uncomfortable silence, England wilting under America’s gaze, and America’s good hand took England’s chin in his hands. The raw strength of the country simmered; even under the current economic strain, America’s infrastructure, ferocity, military, resources, confidence, gold standard, beliefs, and education system writhed, and roiled in his skin. America was hardly being gentle, as he tipped England’s head either way.
“You’re so secretive…” America murmured, somewhere between the eager and anxious country that had followed him home, and the dark, reserved one that had Arthur pressed up against his own wall. Alfred’s index finger brushed against Arthur’s lips. “Especially about your past.” Alfred pushed closer, tasting the heat of England’s body through the gauze of his shirt, weave of his jacket, before stopping short at the hard bulge between them.
The two glanced down at America’s injured arm, bumping between their bodies. “Ah.” England murmured, his voice pale like weak tea, brewing in his throat. “Your arm…” His voice drained. Alfred leaned away for a moment, scanning up and down England, blue eyes harsh and probing; a physical thing sliding over The United Kingdom. Arthur shivered without entirely meaning to.
Re: Do You Have a Flag? [Part 3b]
anonymous
July 9 2011, 23:45:18 UTC
With careful, and unwavering precision, America undid England’s tie from his arm, drew the splint away, and tossed both tie and splint to the side. Arthur watched the stick clatter and bounce across the floorboards, distracting himself with remembering what trees, what stain, what grain, and America pulled England’s crumpled jacket away from his arm, coolly tossing it after the tie. Arthur haplessly stuttered a nonsensical phrase, before clearing his throat. “Everything has its place Alfred, including my clothes.”
Alfred shrugged his own jacket off, loosened his tie, and undid his top button with a nonchalance that had shivers bubbling down England’s spine. Slowly he flexed the injured arm, then with a more confident flourish; completely healed, and strong as ever. Satisfied, he returned his piercing gaze to Arthur; “How exactly do you know her?” America pressed forward again, nose almost brushing against England, Texas glinting fiercely, and the intensity alone had England colouring, sliding his hands up the wall to hold them up in front of him defensively. This America, England’s lukewarm blood murmured, was the one who had kicked and kicked at Japan to stop the Pacific front, before finally, and irrevocably altering the nation, securing for himself the title of the only nation to actually deploy nuclear warheads in an attack on civilians. This America, England’s panicking and pounding head informed him, could be brought to the point where he would fight completely, and raze his opponent to the ground. This America, England’s brain (slightly confounded by the razor-sharp eyes) added, was the one he would have shot.
They stared at one another for a few moments, Arthur’s mouth falling unceremoniously open as he grasped and groped for words. Alfred’s fingertips fluttered across England’s face again, much more restrained now, but the tension in them was enough to have Arthur shiverjolt from the action, feeling like someone was dancing a jig on his grave - probably Ireland, he reflected wryly. The tension slipped in, as Alfred tilted England’s face up to look at him, and America coolly stared at England, who flushed, held his own arms between them. This did not stop America’s onslaught of pressure, and America pressed, leaned, and laid his body fiercely against England’s. “What history do you two have?” America added once more, voice almost furious if the emotion had not been quite so subtly different.
The jarring sound of the doorbell, fanciful but ‘proper’ as befitted the residence of a nation, made them both turn to look down the winding corridors, looking after the sound. Already, the palpable sensation of Alfred’s intensity was dimming, and when Alfred turned to look back at Arthur, his eyes once more had the look of the one England would never have shot. Arthur lifted his arms, shoved America away from him, and stalked past: “My history is hardly secret, you cretin, take out a bloody library book on it.”
England’s voice carried down the corridor, full of far too much ire for it not to be a cover-up for the waver in it. “And pick up those clothes!”
Re: Do You Have a Flag? [Part 3b]
anonymous
July 13 2011, 12:52:42 UTC
The style of writing is...amusing. I'm trying to get used to the 'run off the mill' conversational sentences. And Alfred is damn full of himself eh.
Pip. An interesting OC. I'm so used to Candesceres' smooth, smart, strong privateer Gabriel dos Anjos and the hot-piratey-sexy-sista in pixiv, this petite-tomboyish-older-sista takes some time getting used to, too. Pip is refreshing, tho. And I've never really interacted with real Portuguese, so I don't know which is more accurate to RL.
Just one thing. The scene where America cornered England. It doesn't seem as tho Alfred is jealous of Pip. Contrarily, it seems as though America is astonished by Pip, quickly fell for the quirky, energetic, confident woman and is jealous by England. May be because Alfred is described so coldly and his touches are described as a way to show power, and not so much with possessiveness or the intent to seduce. And Arthur's interactions with Pip are described like those of siblings, with Pip as an older sister (Arthur isn't really blushing so much, and Pip isn't romancing him)
“How am I meant to drop it!” Alfred protested, eyes wide, and mouth open in objection to everything, and anything Arthur had to say. Really, things hadn’t changed that much since America was a boy, he still would never listen. “How come you never told me about her?” America jerked back, gasping in shock. “Ohmygod, you two are actually twins, separated at birth and she doesn’t know but you do and it’s really awkward and hard for you and-?”
“What the fuck?” England whipped round suddenly, and found himself inches from America. He took a step back, jumping slightly. Damn tall bastard; he walked too quickly.
“I’m kidding.” America narrowed his eyes, and followed after England, who continued stepping back. “But how come I don’t know anything about her? You two have had an alliance for years, and I’ve never once heard you mention her at all. So. What’s the game?” England edged back, and America kept perfect pace, until England’s back bumped gently into the wall, and America shoved his face (long bridge of the nose, girlish lashes, glint of Texas and flare of blue eyes) right up to England’s face. “Well?” He demanded.
England paused, brows furrowed, and flushed slightly. The pause shifted and slid into an uncomfortable silence, England wilting under America’s gaze, and America’s good hand took England’s chin in his hands. The raw strength of the country simmered; even under the current economic strain, America’s infrastructure, ferocity, military, resources, confidence, gold standard, beliefs, and education system writhed, and roiled in his skin. America was hardly being gentle, as he tipped England’s head either way.
“You’re so secretive…” America murmured, somewhere between the eager and anxious country that had followed him home, and the dark, reserved one that had Arthur pressed up against his own wall. Alfred’s index finger brushed against Arthur’s lips. “Especially about your past.” Alfred pushed closer, tasting the heat of England’s body through the gauze of his shirt, weave of his jacket, before stopping short at the hard bulge between them.
The two glanced down at America’s injured arm, bumping between their bodies. “Ah.” England murmured, his voice pale like weak tea, brewing in his throat. “Your arm…” His voice drained. Alfred leaned away for a moment, scanning up and down England, blue eyes harsh and probing; a physical thing sliding over The United Kingdom. Arthur shivered without entirely meaning to.
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Alfred shrugged his own jacket off, loosened his tie, and undid his top button with a nonchalance that had shivers bubbling down England’s spine. Slowly he flexed the injured arm, then with a more confident flourish; completely healed, and strong as ever. Satisfied, he returned his piercing gaze to Arthur; “How exactly do you know her?” America pressed forward again, nose almost brushing against England, Texas glinting fiercely, and the intensity alone had England colouring, sliding his hands up the wall to hold them up in front of him defensively. This America, England’s lukewarm blood murmured, was the one who had kicked and kicked at Japan to stop the Pacific front, before finally, and irrevocably altering the nation, securing for himself the title of the only nation to actually deploy nuclear warheads in an attack on civilians. This America, England’s panicking and pounding head informed him, could be brought to the point where he would fight completely, and raze his opponent to the ground. This America, England’s brain (slightly confounded by the razor-sharp eyes) added, was the one he would have shot.
They stared at one another for a few moments, Arthur’s mouth falling unceremoniously open as he grasped and groped for words. Alfred’s fingertips fluttered across England’s face again, much more restrained now, but the tension in them was enough to have Arthur shiverjolt from the action, feeling like someone was dancing a jig on his grave - probably Ireland, he reflected wryly. The tension slipped in, as Alfred tilted England’s face up to look at him, and America coolly stared at England, who flushed, held his own arms between them. This did not stop America’s onslaught of pressure, and America pressed, leaned, and laid his body fiercely against England’s. “What history do you two have?” America added once more, voice almost furious if the emotion had not been quite so subtly different.
The jarring sound of the doorbell, fanciful but ‘proper’ as befitted the residence of a nation, made them both turn to look down the winding corridors, looking after the sound. Already, the palpable sensation of Alfred’s intensity was dimming, and when Alfred turned to look back at Arthur, his eyes once more had the look of the one England would never have shot. Arthur lifted his arms, shoved America away from him, and stalked past: “My history is hardly secret, you cretin, take out a bloody library book on it.”
England’s voice carried down the corridor, full of far too much ire for it not to be a cover-up for the waver in it. “And pick up those clothes!”
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Is the title an Ediie Izzard reference? Because if it is, well, awesome.
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please continue!
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Pip. An interesting OC. I'm so used to Candesceres' smooth, smart, strong privateer Gabriel dos Anjos and the hot-piratey-sexy-sista in pixiv, this petite-tomboyish-older-sista takes some time getting used to, too. Pip is refreshing, tho. And I've never really interacted with real Portuguese, so I don't know which is more accurate to RL.
Just one thing. The scene where America cornered England. It doesn't seem as tho Alfred is jealous of Pip. Contrarily, it seems as though America is astonished by Pip, quickly fell for the quirky, energetic, confident woman and is jealous by England. May be because Alfred is described so coldly and his touches are described as a way to show power, and not so much with possessiveness or the intent to seduce. And Arthur's interactions with Pip are described like those of siblings, with Pip as an older sister (Arthur isn't really blushing so much, and Pip isn't romancing him)
I'm liking it so far, will read more.
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