In Vino Veritas [4/?]
anonymous
March 19 2009, 14:04:45 UTC
He lured Francis away, just a little distance, by volunteering that he might have a bottle of red wine. "Canadian vintage," he added, in what might have been an apology or may have been just a piece of information. Francis made appropriate sounds of encouragement and didn't say a word about the superiority of his vineyards, and Matthew smiled at him for it as he poured the red.
Behind him, he could see Arthur, pale skin already flushed from drink (and it had taken an ungodly amount of ale to get him that buzzed - Matthew was glad he'd gotten a lot). The older Nation was just within hearing range, and Matthew already knew that the mere mention of Alfred's name, even when it seemed too far for Arthur to hear, was enough to capture England's attention. Usually it was so he could inject some scathing remark about him, but really...they all knew why.
Matthew did the mental equivalent of rubbing his hands together. The play began. He let out a dramatic sigh, trying to make it sound like how Francis did when England did something particularly annoying. On cue, Francis asked, "What is wrong, Mathieu?" and there was actual concern in his eyes. Whoa. His acting was really good!
"It's Alfred," he confessed instead, and out of the corner of his eye saw Arthur perk up, like a dog' scenting. "I think I annoyed him again."
"Your brother loves you," Francis reassured him. "It is true that of late, young Alfred has been acting rather - shall we say, gracelessly. But you are his brother, he depends on you so...." He was so earnest in his attempts to reassure Matthew that the Canadian felt rather guilty.
He nodded. "Alfred's been doing the same thing since he was a kid. When he gets like this, he'll be an absolute brat for a while."
"Why?"
"He was jealous of Arthur smiling at me." (An odd look flashed over France's face.) "He always gets like that. Don't even make me tell you how snide he can get when we have meetings right after I come home from sessions with the Commonwealth. I guess," he paused, as if to take a sip, really to stretch the dreams. "He's still as obsessed with England as when we were kids. I wonder if he'll ever get over it? I mean, he's been independent a long while now. And sometimes he can be so childish. I'm convinced he makes England angry on purpose..."
He peeked over Francis's shoulder again and grinned. England was gone - probaby, he thought, making a bee-line to his former Colony. And he, Matthew Williams, was an undiluted genius in love. When Alfred thanked him later, he was sooo going to make Alfred say, "Canada was the hero in this part." He was so busy congratulating himself, he didn't notice the odd look still on Francis's face.
In Vino Veritas [5/?]
anonymous
March 21 2009, 10:43:05 UTC
Oh god, I was so out of it when I typed up the last part.
***
Alfred was pacing the porch of Matthew's house, a bottle of Molson's (which was _not_ better than Budweiser's, it _wasn't_) clenched in one hand. He took another swig of the ice-cold drink, glared out into the cool twilight dimness, trying to find something to focus his mind on. The sky, trees, snow. The trees. Softwood lumber. He needed to hit Matt up for another talk about that...
Arthur smiling at his brother. Arthur had used to smile at him like that! Arthur had used to LIKE him....
He shook his head as if to clear it. He was the United States of America, not some small sniveling Colony. He didn't need Arthur to like him! He took another swig and glared at Matt's stupid trees and blinked because the wind stinging his eyes was making him tear up.
That was when a pair of bare arms slid around him from behind and squeezed him tightly. Alfred, startled out of his reverie, almost dropped his beer, and ended up slopping a good bit of it onto himself.
"Shit!" he cursed, and then froze as a familiar-unfamiliar (it had been familiar, once - but had it ever had that low, throaty note?) chuckle sounded from behind him.
"Still clumsy, Alfred."
"Arthur," Alfred gritted out, livid with himself for acting so - so _unheroic_ in front of his former mentor. He wasn't clumsy anymore, he wasn't! He wasn't that little child who had to be picked up and carried everywhere. He wasn't...
He wrenched away angrily, violently, gripping the bottle hard and fighting the urge to - to smash it against something. He glared at the older Nation. "What do you w-want..." His words fell into a stutter as he caught his first good look at Arthur.
Who was bare-chested. Bare-chested, here in the cold of one of Matthew's early winter evenings! And he was - almost as unbelievably - smiling at Alfred. Not one of those small tight smirks, or the cool, dangerous smiles when they were about to defeat an enemy (the ones Alfred had seen in both dream and nightmare, the ones that he wondered about, if Arthur had smiled like that in his days of being a pirate) or the angry one or....what the hell, why did he have a, like, Sear's Catalog of Arthur Smiles in his head. But he was sure that he'd never seen that particular smile directed at him....
Arthur then _leered_ at him, and it suddenly became clear. The weird tone in his laugh, the out-of-character affectionate manner, the weird gleam in his eyes, and the flushed skin. And why he was half-naked.
Obviously the stupid Nation was drunk.
Alfred sighed in exasperation. "Drunk already, Arthur? Jeez." Why did he have to go bother him anyway? Weren't there enough members of the Commonwealth inside to take care of their 'big brother'? And Japan was there, and Germany and England were his EU allies nowadays, right? Why did it have to be up to him to handle a drunk and, frankly, disconcerting Arthur?
He sighed once more, for good measure, and pasted his most put-upon and I-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-awesome expression on his face. "Come on, let's get you inside. You're going to be so embarrassed later," he taunted, brightening as he thought of that. "Not even an hour into Matthew's party and you're already _so_ drunk."
" I'm not," Arthur said in a low voice, peering up at Alfred. From this position, and with that angle of Arthur's head, the way he was looking up, through his dark, thick lashes, it looked almost....coquettish....? No, that couldn't be the right word.
"Arthur," Alfred explained in a slow, patient voice. "You're drunk. You're outside shirtless in a Canadian winter, you're all flushed, and you're being all touchy-feely." In a softer, quicker voice, more an aside to himself than anything else, he added, "Also, you're seeking out my company willingly. You are drunk as a skunk," He concluded.
Arthur ducked his head for a moment. Then: "I don't need to be drunk to want to be with you." He looked up then, and something in Alfred's face made Arthur`s go all still for a moment.
Alfred was about to reply that yes, yes he did need to be drunk, or else forced, but then Arthur leaned in close and suckled lightly on a patch of Alfred's shirt, where the beer had soaked in, and all he could do was gasp.
In Vino Veritas [6/?]
anonymous
March 25 2009, 11:42:34 UTC
AN: I'm sorry that I'm slow, but - I AM slow. ^^;;
***
Arthur was feeling very affectionate towards the world. Look at Matthew. Wasn't he the nicest, nicest son-brother-friend, going to all that trouble to get him the drinks he liked best. Wasn't France nice - okay, less bastard than usual - to comfort poor Matthew when he was upset. And Alfred - oh, poor Alfred. Who - according to dear, sweet Matthew - treasured his smiles. Who wanted Arthur to smile at him, who wanted Arthur's attention. Alfred who was, secretly, deep deep down, missed him! Alfred who still was HIS Alfred, his little blue-eyed limpet...
(If Arthur hadn't been so drunk, and if he hadn't been so distraught at Alfred's dismissive behavior at the last meeting, he might not have been so eager to believe these things. His innate pessimism might not have allowed him to believe it. But he was that drunk, and that distraught, and he was now happily operating on said principles: that Alfred, deep down, still liked him.)
The thought, and the ale, brought on a pleasant, warm flush to his skin. He did the logical (to him) thing, therefore, and stripped his shirt off as he walked towards the sliding glass doors that led to Matthew's porch. (There were a few appreciative glances but little surprise - Arthur stripping down when he was drunk was not an unknown phenomenon.) The cool air felt refreshing, sharp, on his flushed skin, and he felt the blood rush even more strongly to his cheeks when he saw Alfred glaring out into the night. The look on his face was distinctly pouty, and Arthur gave a fond thought back to old days, to Alfred's upset behavior whenever Arthur had to leave. It had hurt both him and Alfred, these partings and the way the world conspired to tear him away from his boys, but he had to admit that it had felt good to see someone want his company so desperately.
He was remembering those days, remembering Alfred standing at the edge of the docks and crying as he watched Arthur's ship leave, and not really thinking about what he was doing. So it was almost as much a surprise for him as for Alfred when he found his arms around the taller Nation, but he certainly didn't mind.
He smiled up at Alfred and prepared to reclaim America for England.
***
"I don't need to be drunk to want to be with you."
The look of naked disbelief on Alfred's face made something tight and cold twist in Arthur's chest. Was that really what Alfred thought of him? Didn't he see how Arthur felt.....
Then, _he'd_ assumed the same thing about Alfred, so. Well.
It was time to erase all those years of unresolved sexual tension enmity.
He leaned closer to Alfred, felt the cold wetness of the beer Alfred had spilled on his hand, and decided to take advantage. He sucked at the beer-soaked cloth, loving the breathy sound of Alfred's gasp as he did so. He moved forward, pressing himself against Alfred, felt him step back, lean, sway. He grinned against the skin of Alfred's neck, which he was currently tonguing a warm, languid path up, and nipped at the sun-tanned skin. That, he was pleased to see, earned him a delicious shudder, one he could feel communicated to his own.
"A-arthur," Alfred said, shakily, and his hands slid up Arthur's bare chest. He made a soft, growling sound of approval, and ignored it when said hands began to exert pressure, trying to push him away - instead, he nipped again at Alfred's throat, and felt Alfred's hands spasm a bit, slide up some more to clutch at his shoulders.
He paused in his fervent attentions to Alfred's throat, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Alfred's face was now as flushed as his own, and one hand was flung back to steady himself, as he leaned into the wooden railing enclosing Matthew's elevated porch. His glasses hung lopsided, one arm slipping off a bright red ear, and he stared at Arthur with dazed eyes.
He looked delicious. So uncharacteristically off-guard. So dumbstruck, so helpless - and all for - all because -
of him.
There were so many words Arthur wanted to say to him, so many things he wanted Alfred to know. And all of them got jumbled up in his head, so he ended up saying nothing at all as he leaned forward and kissed his former colony on the mouth.
He lured Francis away, just a little distance, by volunteering that he might have a bottle of red wine. "Canadian vintage," he added, in what might have been an apology or may have been just a piece of information. Francis made appropriate sounds of encouragement and didn't say a word about the superiority of his vineyards, and Matthew smiled at him for it as he poured the red.
Behind him, he could see Arthur, pale skin already flushed from drink (and it had taken an ungodly amount of ale to get him that buzzed - Matthew was glad he'd gotten a lot). The older Nation was just within hearing range, and Matthew already knew that the mere mention of Alfred's name, even when it seemed too far for Arthur to hear, was enough to capture England's attention. Usually it was so he could inject some scathing remark about him, but really...they all knew why.
Matthew did the mental equivalent of rubbing his hands together. The play began. He let out a dramatic sigh, trying to make it sound like how Francis did when England did something particularly annoying. On cue, Francis asked, "What is wrong, Mathieu?" and there was actual concern in his eyes. Whoa. His acting was really good!
"It's Alfred," he confessed instead, and out of the corner of his eye saw Arthur perk up, like a dog' scenting. "I think I annoyed him again."
"Your brother loves you," Francis reassured him. "It is true that of late, young Alfred has been acting rather - shall we say, gracelessly. But you are his brother, he depends on you so...." He was so earnest in his attempts to reassure Matthew that the Canadian felt rather guilty.
He nodded. "Alfred's been doing the same thing since he was a kid. When he gets like this, he'll be an absolute brat for a while."
"Why?"
"He was jealous of Arthur smiling at me." (An odd look flashed over France's face.) "He always gets like that. Don't even make me tell you how snide he can get when we have meetings right after I come home from sessions with the Commonwealth. I guess," he paused, as if to take a sip, really to stretch the dreams. "He's still as obsessed with England as when we were kids. I wonder if he'll ever get over it? I mean, he's been independent a long while now. And sometimes he can be so childish. I'm convinced he makes England angry on purpose..."
He peeked over Francis's shoulder again and grinned. England was gone - probaby, he thought, making a bee-line to his former Colony. And he, Matthew Williams, was an undiluted genius in love. When Alfred thanked him later, he was sooo going to make Alfred say, "Canada was the hero in this part." He was so busy congratulating himself, he didn't notice the odd look still on Francis's face.
***
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it kills.
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Can't wait for the next part!!! ♥
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Do continue! <3333
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***
Alfred was pacing the porch of Matthew's house, a bottle of Molson's (which was _not_ better than Budweiser's, it _wasn't_) clenched in one hand. He took another swig of the ice-cold drink, glared out into the cool twilight dimness, trying to find something to focus his mind on. The sky, trees, snow. The trees. Softwood lumber. He needed to hit Matt up for another talk about that...
Arthur smiling at his brother. Arthur had used to smile at him like that! Arthur had used to LIKE him....
He shook his head as if to clear it. He was the United States of America, not some small sniveling Colony. He didn't need Arthur to like him! He took another swig and glared at Matt's stupid trees and blinked because the wind stinging his eyes was making him tear up.
That was when a pair of bare arms slid around him from behind and squeezed him tightly. Alfred, startled out of his reverie, almost dropped his beer, and ended up slopping a good bit of it onto himself.
"Shit!" he cursed, and then froze as a familiar-unfamiliar (it had been familiar, once - but had it ever had that low, throaty note?) chuckle sounded from behind him.
"Still clumsy, Alfred."
"Arthur," Alfred gritted out, livid with himself for acting so - so _unheroic_ in front of his former mentor. He wasn't clumsy anymore, he wasn't! He wasn't that little child who had to be picked up and carried everywhere. He wasn't...
He wrenched away angrily, violently, gripping the bottle hard and fighting the urge to - to smash it against something. He glared at the older Nation. "What do you w-want..." His words fell into a stutter as he caught his first good look at Arthur.
Who was bare-chested. Bare-chested, here in the cold of one of Matthew's early winter evenings! And he was - almost as unbelievably - smiling at Alfred. Not one of those small tight smirks, or the cool, dangerous smiles when they were about to defeat an enemy (the ones Alfred had seen in both dream and nightmare, the ones that he wondered about, if Arthur had smiled like that in his days of being a pirate) or the angry one or....what the hell, why did he have a, like, Sear's Catalog of Arthur Smiles in his head. But he was sure that he'd never seen that particular smile directed at him....
Arthur then _leered_ at him, and it suddenly became clear. The weird tone in his laugh, the out-of-character affectionate manner, the weird gleam in his eyes, and the flushed skin. And why he was half-naked.
Obviously the stupid Nation was drunk.
Alfred sighed in exasperation. "Drunk already, Arthur? Jeez." Why did he have to go bother him anyway? Weren't there enough members of the Commonwealth inside to take care of their 'big brother'? And Japan was there, and Germany and England were his EU allies nowadays, right? Why did it have to be up to him to handle a drunk and, frankly, disconcerting Arthur?
He sighed once more, for good measure, and pasted his most put-upon and I-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-awesome expression on his face. "Come on, let's get you inside. You're going to be so embarrassed later," he taunted, brightening as he thought of that. "Not even an hour into Matthew's party and you're already _so_ drunk."
" I'm not," Arthur said in a low voice, peering up at Alfred. From this position, and with that angle of Arthur's head, the way he was looking up, through his dark, thick lashes, it looked almost....coquettish....? No, that couldn't be the right word.
"Arthur," Alfred explained in a slow, patient voice. "You're drunk. You're outside shirtless in a Canadian winter, you're all flushed, and you're being all touchy-feely." In a softer, quicker voice, more an aside to himself than anything else, he added, "Also, you're seeking out my company willingly. You are drunk as a skunk," He concluded.
Arthur ducked his head for a moment. Then: "I don't need to be drunk to want to be with you." He looked up then, and something in Alfred's face made Arthur`s go all still for a moment.
Alfred was about to reply that yes, yes he did need to be drunk, or else forced, but then Arthur leaned in close and suckled lightly on a patch of Alfred's shirt, where the beer had soaked in, and all he could do was gasp.
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Of course it's the wind making you cry, Alfred. It's not like you have feelings for Arthur or anything...hahahaha!
More, soon, please?
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this is HOT and funny and oh so YUMMY.
i apologise for the rhyme
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***
Arthur was feeling very affectionate towards the world. Look at Matthew. Wasn't he the nicest, nicest son-brother-friend, going to all that trouble to get him the drinks he liked best. Wasn't France nice - okay, less bastard than usual - to comfort poor Matthew when he was upset. And Alfred - oh, poor Alfred. Who - according to dear, sweet Matthew - treasured his smiles. Who wanted Arthur to smile at him, who wanted Arthur's attention. Alfred who was, secretly, deep deep down, missed him! Alfred who still was HIS Alfred, his little blue-eyed limpet...
(If Arthur hadn't been so drunk, and if he hadn't been so distraught at Alfred's dismissive behavior at the last meeting, he might not have been so eager to believe these things. His innate pessimism might not have allowed him to believe it. But he was that drunk, and that distraught, and he was now happily operating on said principles: that Alfred, deep down, still liked him.)
The thought, and the ale, brought on a pleasant, warm flush to his skin. He did the logical (to him) thing, therefore, and stripped his shirt off as he walked towards the sliding glass doors that led to Matthew's porch. (There were a few appreciative glances but little surprise - Arthur stripping down when he was drunk was not an unknown phenomenon.) The cool air felt refreshing, sharp, on his flushed skin, and he felt the blood rush even more strongly to his cheeks when he saw Alfred glaring out into the night. The look on his face was distinctly pouty, and Arthur gave a fond thought back to old days, to Alfred's upset behavior whenever Arthur had to leave. It had hurt both him and Alfred, these partings and the way the world conspired to tear him away from his boys, but he had to admit that it had felt good to see someone want his company so desperately.
He was remembering those days, remembering Alfred standing at the edge of the docks and crying as he watched Arthur's ship leave, and not really thinking about what he was doing. So it was almost as much a surprise for him as for Alfred when he found his arms around the taller Nation, but he certainly didn't mind.
He smiled up at Alfred and prepared to reclaim America for England.
***
"I don't need to be drunk to want to be with you."
The look of naked disbelief on Alfred's face made something tight and cold twist in Arthur's chest. Was that really what Alfred thought of him? Didn't he see how Arthur felt.....
Then, _he'd_ assumed the same thing about Alfred, so. Well.
It was time to erase all those years of unresolved sexual tension enmity.
He leaned closer to Alfred, felt the cold wetness of the beer Alfred had spilled on his hand, and decided to take advantage. He sucked at the beer-soaked cloth, loving the breathy sound of Alfred's gasp as he did so. He moved forward, pressing himself against Alfred, felt him step back, lean, sway. He grinned against the skin of Alfred's neck, which he was currently tonguing a warm, languid path up, and nipped at the sun-tanned skin. That, he was pleased to see, earned him a delicious shudder, one he could feel communicated to his own.
"A-arthur," Alfred said, shakily, and his hands slid up Arthur's bare chest. He made a soft, growling sound of approval, and ignored it when said hands began to exert pressure, trying to push him away - instead, he nipped again at Alfred's throat, and felt Alfred's hands spasm a bit, slide up some more to clutch at his shoulders.
He paused in his fervent attentions to Alfred's throat, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Alfred's face was now as flushed as his own, and one hand was flung back to steady himself, as he leaned into the wooden railing enclosing Matthew's elevated porch. His glasses hung lopsided, one arm slipping off a bright red ear, and he stared at Arthur with dazed eyes.
He looked delicious. So uncharacteristically off-guard. So dumbstruck, so helpless - and all for - all because -
of him.
There were so many words Arthur wanted to say to him, so many things he wanted Alfred to know. And all of them got jumbled up in his head, so he ended up saying nothing at all as he leaned forward and kissed his former colony on the mouth.
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i love you for this, so hot!
CONTINUE ON ANON!
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