how America takes his tea [1/2]
anonymous
May 5 2009, 03:19:13 UTC
Arthur should have realized something was amiss when Alfred didn’t complain about the scones; only he can’t recall if Alfred actually ate one. He’d been far too focused on how pleasant everything had been. The table by the western window had been bathed in sunlight; warmth had spread through his body as he raised his cup - his finest tea set, used at Alfred’s insistence - the smell of his favourite Darjeeling infusing the air. And it wasn’t that Arthur had tuned Alfred out, oh no, he had listened intently to the crescendo of the other’s voice. Felt each dip in tone as his eyes fell shut and he swooned partially - only Alfred had caught him, hot hands on shoulders and-
Arthur can’t remember who initiated the kiss, but he’s willing to sacrifice the details. The area rug is soft against his cheek and now everything is warm, head to toe, Alfred laying the most delicious path of kisses across his backside.
He probably looks like one of London’s whores, with his ass in the air like this.
But then Alfred hooks a finger inside him and Arthur decides he doesn’t care. And he moans rather shamelessly, or so Alfred tells him - nuzzles the rug even as Alfred pulls back, circling a hand across one ass-cheek. A second finger stretches Arthur open, and he feels Alfred leaning back, free hand rummaging across the table. It’s hard to watch, at this angle. Yet from over his shoulder Arthur can see Alfred grinning - large hand wrapped around the teapot. Arthur’s finest. It was a gift from the king - or maybe the queen, Arthur can’t bother to remember.
“Would you like some?” Alfred asks, grin pressed against Arthur’s ass-cheek. His fingers in Arthur’s ass make one more swipe, circle the tight muscle before withdrawing; Arthur squirms impatiently at their loss.
“Alfred-”
“Say please,” the American chides, voice rich with laughter. “Say please and I’ll serve you.”
“Please,” Arthur keens, still feeling oddly complacent. He licks his lips, catches Alfred’s eye and repeats the word like a mantra until he feels Alfred’s fingers stretching him again. And the sensation that follows catches Arthur off guard, the spout of the teapot slipping into the place Alfred’s fingers had occupied, and there’s a warm splash of liquid as the remaining Darjeeling passes into him.
The spout is gone almost as soon as it enters. Arthur sways, feels his legs giving out but Alfred holds him up. “Feels good, yeah?” Alfred breathes as his mouth ghosts across Arthur’s skin again. Then a tongue tentatively prods at his asshole, covers the opening and suckles. And it’s so lewd Arthur nearly comes then and there - but he bites down on his cheek, wills the sensation to prolong itself.
how America takes his tea [2/2]
anonymous
May 5 2009, 03:20:44 UTC
“Al-Alfred. Milk.”
“Hmm?”
“Y-you only take your tea with milk.”
Alfred is a lot less careful this time. There’s a clatter of china, a wayward spoon falling onto the floor beside them as Alfred secures the milk pitcher. And this time when he pours it’s not into Arthur’s ass but over it. Alfred follows the trails over Arthur’s skin, pushes Arthur’s legs farther apart still so he can work his head between them, down and around to Arthur’s cock, making the most horrendously vulgar sounds Arthur has ever heard. And when Alfred groans - mouth wrapped fully now around Arthur’s cock - the vibration makes the pool of warmth in Arthur’s nether-regions swell. He reaches back awkwardly, tries to work a finger into his own body as Alfred presses kisses against his inner thigh. Only the American catches his hand, chuckles and pushes it back against the rug.
Alfred leans back again, grabs the butter dish and a knife. Smoothing butter over the blunt end of the utensil, he presses it against Arthur’s asshole - barely has to nudge it forward as Arthur moans and constricts. “Careful now,” Alfred warns and his voice sounds far off, blurred with the warm buzz in Arthur’s head. “Don’t let it sink too deep.”
Arthur gasps at that and pushes back, only to feel Alfred working against him. He curls his toes as the knife sinks deeper, hears himself mewl as the heat overwhelms him. “A-Alf-”
And there, finally: Alfred’s length is perched hard against him now, the tip teasing against his asshole as the knife lands somewhere in Arthur’s peripheral vision. Every sensation feels a little bit sharper as Arthur thrusts back against the other nation, fingers tangling in the threads underhand as he arches. It’s Alfred who comes first, hot and heavy, and Arthur takes him like he had the Darjeeling before reaching his own release.
When he finally collapses Alfred joins him. The room is still tilting, hazy and warm in the sunlight, as Alfred intertwines their fingers. For a moment silence reigns, but then, just as Arthur feels himself slipping fully into unconsciousness, he hears Alfred say, “it was good, yeah? So don’t yell at me when the drug wears off.”
*blushes like crazy* O////O-oh my! Th-that's exactly what I wanted! Um, I'm just going to bookmark this if it's okay...Thank you so much, author! Yyou made my day. Ano, I need a cup of tea now...
Arthur can’t remember who initiated the kiss, but he’s willing to sacrifice the details. The area rug is soft against his cheek and now everything is warm, head to toe, Alfred laying the most delicious path of kisses across his backside.
He probably looks like one of London’s whores, with his ass in the air like this.
But then Alfred hooks a finger inside him and Arthur decides he doesn’t care. And he moans rather shamelessly, or so Alfred tells him - nuzzles the rug even as Alfred pulls back, circling a hand across one ass-cheek. A second finger stretches Arthur open, and he feels Alfred leaning back, free hand rummaging across the table. It’s hard to watch, at this angle. Yet from over his shoulder Arthur can see Alfred grinning - large hand wrapped around the teapot. Arthur’s finest. It was a gift from the king - or maybe the queen, Arthur can’t bother to remember.
“Would you like some?” Alfred asks, grin pressed against Arthur’s ass-cheek. His fingers in Arthur’s ass make one more swipe, circle the tight muscle before withdrawing; Arthur squirms impatiently at their loss.
“Alfred-”
“Say please,” the American chides, voice rich with laughter. “Say please and I’ll serve you.”
“Please,” Arthur keens, still feeling oddly complacent. He licks his lips, catches Alfred’s eye and repeats the word like a mantra until he feels Alfred’s fingers stretching him again. And the sensation that follows catches Arthur off guard, the spout of the teapot slipping into the place Alfred’s fingers had occupied, and there’s a warm splash of liquid as the remaining Darjeeling passes into him.
The spout is gone almost as soon as it enters. Arthur sways, feels his legs giving out but Alfred holds him up. “Feels good, yeah?” Alfred breathes as his mouth ghosts across Arthur’s skin again. Then a tongue tentatively prods at his asshole, covers the opening and suckles. And it’s so lewd Arthur nearly comes then and there - but he bites down on his cheek, wills the sensation to prolong itself.
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“Hmm?”
“Y-you only take your tea with milk.”
Alfred is a lot less careful this time. There’s a clatter of china, a wayward spoon falling onto the floor beside them as Alfred secures the milk pitcher. And this time when he pours it’s not into Arthur’s ass but over it. Alfred follows the trails over Arthur’s skin, pushes Arthur’s legs farther apart still so he can work his head between them, down and around to Arthur’s cock, making the most horrendously vulgar sounds Arthur has ever heard. And when Alfred groans - mouth wrapped fully now around Arthur’s cock - the vibration makes the pool of warmth in Arthur’s nether-regions swell. He reaches back awkwardly, tries to work a finger into his own body as Alfred presses kisses against his inner thigh. Only the American catches his hand, chuckles and pushes it back against the rug.
Alfred leans back again, grabs the butter dish and a knife. Smoothing butter over the blunt end of the utensil, he presses it against Arthur’s asshole - barely has to nudge it forward as Arthur moans and constricts. “Careful now,” Alfred warns and his voice sounds far off, blurred with the warm buzz in Arthur’s head. “Don’t let it sink too deep.”
Arthur gasps at that and pushes back, only to feel Alfred working against him. He curls his toes as the knife sinks deeper, hears himself mewl as the heat overwhelms him. “A-Alf-”
And there, finally: Alfred’s length is perched hard against him now, the tip teasing against his asshole as the knife lands somewhere in Arthur’s peripheral vision. Every sensation feels a little bit sharper as Arthur thrusts back against the other nation, fingers tangling in the threads underhand as he arches. It’s Alfred who comes first, hot and heavy, and Arthur takes him like he had the Darjeeling before reaching his own release.
When he finally collapses Alfred joins him. The room is still tilting, hazy and warm in the sunlight, as Alfred intertwines their fingers. For a moment silence reigns, but then, just as Arthur feels himself slipping fully into unconsciousness, he hears Alfred say, “it was good, yeah? So don’t yell at me when the drug wears off.”
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Wonderful fill, anon. I'll never look at tea the same way again. ♥
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...either way, it was just........that was wonderful.
Last line, oh god. XD
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Arthur would never look at his finest tea set in the same light ever again. Kinky bastards <33
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(drugs? oh, al... XP )
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Thus, this anon would love-love-love to see a sequel, with sober Arthur as well! ♥
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