Sidecar [3c/3]
anonymous
November 3 2011, 13:32:32 UTC
Alfred let out a pathetic whine as those fingers traced the inside of his thighs. His body pressed back into the touch again, as if trying to coax that hand to move elsewhere... When he turned his head over his shoulder to look up at Arthur, his face was a bit flushed, though it was hard to determine how much of it was from the alcohol itself and how much was from the consequences he'd suffered for drinking it. His eyebrows were raised almost impossibly high, pupils dilated in an exaggerated, sloppy attempt at a puppy-dog look. Arthur was admittedly weak to that puppy-dog expression, but right now, it merely seemed desperate. Not that he didn’t enjoy that as well, but the Brit did have standards, no matter what anyone said. Unless he was also drunk, he had no excuse to take advantage of an inebriated person! The whiny "Please!" that spilled from Alfred’s lips next was also tainted with pathetic, inebriated want. "C'monnn, you know what I want, Arthur." He swallowed, his voice still a whine. "Don' make me say it."
"Say what Alfred?" Arthur prodded, fingers sliding up and over the curve of one shapely cheek, teasing. His middle finger traced down along the cleft of those red cheeks, though he made no effort at all to actually slide between them. Up and down, up and down. "I taught you well enough didn't I? If you want something you have to ask for it clearly, or else no one will listen."
Alfred could hear a faint strain of amusement in Arthur's voice as the other slid a finger lightly down the cleft of his ass, though he couldn't tell for certain if it was because the Brit was amused by teasing him or because of something he himself had said or done. And it seemed Alfred would be getting nothing more than teasing unless he spoke his wants aloud. Normally he would be more forward to start with, but there was something about being over Arthur's knees with a still-hot ass that made him uncharacteristically reticent-perhaps it was a carryover from his younger days when he was no stranger to this position, or maybe it was the lack of power that it implied. Still, if Arthur was telling him to ask for it, then there was clearly no harm in it. When he spoke up this time, his voice had lost most of the whiny edge to it, though it still didn't quite match his usual assertive overconfidence. "I want you to fuck me, Arthur..." And here he used 'fuck me' loosely, not implying any act in particular, giving it less emphasis than he might have if he were trying sincerely to seduce. "Wanna have sex, I mean," he clarified, his words still a bit slurred. Even so, his first statement seemed perfectly accurate, given the fact that, though mentally he was in the mood, he hadn't gotten much more than half-hard, damn the booze. His eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher on his face as he continued to look over his shoulder expectantly.
Arthur was more than satisfied with those words, and his grin showed it. On any other day he would have quickly given in and given the American nation just what he wanted: a fuck, fast and hard. It was a wonderful thing, the endurance and strength of his former charge. He had such a high tolerance, the former British Empire never had to hold back even slightly. But as he'd resolved to himself earlier, he had standards. Taking advantage of a drunk and begging American was not within those standards. Even if Alfred wouldn't regret it, this was still a lesson. "I'm afraid I can't do that Alfred," he said with an expression of pity. "You've gotten yourself quite drunk, you see, and I don't fancy a sloppy and half-witless bottom." He patted said 'bottom', which had always indicated that Alfred was allowed get off of his lap. "Up you go, tonight you'll go to bed with a bottom sore only from punishment. And if you still feel like that fuck you want so badly right now, ring me up tomorrow and we'll see if we can't arrange something without breaking your law."
"Say what Alfred?" Arthur prodded, fingers sliding up and over the curve of one shapely cheek, teasing. His middle finger traced down along the cleft of those red cheeks, though he made no effort at all to actually slide between them. Up and down, up and down. "I taught you well enough didn't I? If you want something you have to ask for it clearly, or else no one will listen."
Alfred could hear a faint strain of amusement in Arthur's voice as the other slid a finger lightly down the cleft of his ass, though he couldn't tell for certain if it was because the Brit was amused by teasing him or because of something he himself had said or done. And it seemed Alfred would be getting nothing more than teasing unless he spoke his wants aloud. Normally he would be more forward to start with, but there was something about being over Arthur's knees with a still-hot ass that made him uncharacteristically reticent-perhaps it was a carryover from his younger days when he was no stranger to this position, or maybe it was the lack of power that it implied. Still, if Arthur was telling him to ask for it, then there was clearly no harm in it. When he spoke up this time, his voice had lost most of the whiny edge to it, though it still didn't quite match his usual assertive overconfidence. "I want you to fuck me, Arthur..." And here he used 'fuck me' loosely, not implying any act in particular, giving it less emphasis than he might have if he were trying sincerely to seduce. "Wanna have sex, I mean," he clarified, his words still a bit slurred. Even so, his first statement seemed perfectly accurate, given the fact that, though mentally he was in the mood, he hadn't gotten much more than half-hard, damn the booze. His eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher on his face as he continued to look over his shoulder expectantly.
Arthur was more than satisfied with those words, and his grin showed it. On any other day he would have quickly given in and given the American nation just what he wanted: a fuck, fast and hard. It was a wonderful thing, the endurance and strength of his former charge. He had such a high tolerance, the former British Empire never had to hold back even slightly. But as he'd resolved to himself earlier, he had standards. Taking advantage of a drunk and begging American was not within those standards. Even if Alfred wouldn't regret it, this was still a lesson. "I'm afraid I can't do that Alfred," he said with an expression of pity. "You've gotten yourself quite drunk, you see, and I don't fancy a sloppy and half-witless bottom." He patted said 'bottom', which had always indicated that Alfred was allowed get off of his lap. "Up you go, tonight you'll go to bed with a bottom sore only from punishment. And if you still feel like that fuck you want so badly right now, ring me up tomorrow and we'll see if we can't arrange something without breaking your law."
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