[fanfic] a tale in the pacific - part four
Title: A Tale in the Pacific (aka. damage and silent wrote a fanfic - part four)
Author(s): damagectrl (Diligere Errantem, The Conquistador's Daughter) andsilentside (Longest Holiday,1762: Extranjero)
Pairings: Are Questionable: SpainxEngland, OCPiri x English Spawn
Characters: OCPiri, Australia, America, Canada, Spain, England, & related spawn
Warning: Total mind-dribble x2, implied man-on-man, mature themes
Chapter Summary:
"Yo, Matt, I think reading these entries is right your alley! Matt?!"
"Zzz....maple...I'm not...stupid Alfred..."
Nope, Matthew was still asleep.
"Darn it," Alfred grumbled, turning back to the journals. He grabbed the popcorn bowl from the floor and threw the remnants on the floor. He propped the container beside him, in case he needed to throw up. He grabbed a box of tissues too just in case.
He had to be strong.
He had to if he wanted to find out more on his brother's origins.
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Part Four
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September 1788
Dear Journal
I find it embarrassing that a man of my stature, Arthur Kirkland - a nation who has lorded all seven seas, will be temporarily incapacitated with a mere stick in the thigh. I don't know why I have to swallow my bloody pride and have that man help me out of it. This is a fact that no else should know. To why I'm putting this to paper is rather perplexing....
He stared out at the shore, shading his weary eyes with one hand as the warm ocean breeze caressed his half-naked body. After passing out briefly, Arthur woke up to find Antonio is still out there, trying to retrieve items from the shipwreck. Like Arthur, he was wearing nothing, save for slacks rolled up to muscular thighs. As the Spaniard bent over to lift a large chest, the gentle waves crashed against to his tanned physique. He then turned around, brushing his wet locks of hair from his face before carrying the trunk to the shore. For a brief fleeting moment, he looked like an emerging sea god.
Arthur felt his cheeks burn up and quickly shifted his gaze when their eyes met. He was clearly suffering from heat-induced delusions. As Antonio walked back to their makeshift shade, the blonde turned his attention back scribbling in his journal.
Bollocks, what am I thinking? If I'm to survive, I should have searched for fresh water and foraged for some food. Now I'm having delusions caused by heat and dehydration, with prose rolling out of my head as I, God forbid, I find his body...no!
The blonde nearly jumped when Antonio tossed the trunk carelessly in front of him, placing his hands over his hips.
"Watch the bloody leg, you git!"
"Es propiedad Inglés," he sighed wearily, wiping his brow before glancing at his injured leg. "It's yours, unless you don't want it."
His eyes slowly widened when he recognized the trunk. His naval logs! They were all in there: his plans, his personal thoughts....
His secrets....
Antonio started to break the lock when Arthur let out a strangled scream and threw himself against him, tackling the Spaniard to the ground.
"It's mine!" he screamed. "Get your hands off my bloody property, you wanker!" he continued to scream as he tried to push Antonio down to the sandy floor. Being more physically able among the two, Antonio got up and shoved him roughly back down.
"You don't have to attack me, Inglaterra!" he snarled, glaring at him hard before a small smile slowly curved on his lips. "...I bet this chest of yours holds something important."
"No!" Arthur gasped, crawling on his knees as Antonio proceeded to break the trunk wide open. "Don't you even dare go through my-!"
"Journals?" Antonio disappointingly lifted a few leather-bound logs and tossed them recklessly behind Arthur. The blonde quickly scampered to retrieve them. "THIS is what's so important that you have to kill me for it?"
"Well, what are you expecting?!"
"Loot! Bounty...Gold!"
"Tch...that's what you all ever think about...."
Grumbling and clutching the logs that Antonio tossed, Arthur tried moving and adjusting his pained leg slowly until he was able to sit up beside Antonio. He quickly slapped his hand when he peeked at one of the logs.
"I thought you were not interested?!"
"I'm STILL curious why you don't want me to see it...." He eyed him. "Oh, God...your handwriting...."
Arthur started to think fast. "They're recipes that I gathered from around the world!"
Antonio stared at him for the longest time, not saying a single word. Then he burst into laughter as he tossed a few articles back. The Englishman didn't know whether to feel insulted or be relieved that he bought the excuse. Maybe both.
"Oh, Dios mio, Inglaterra!" he laughed, trying to hold his sides. He then closed the trunk. "If this does not help you improve your cuisine, I don't know what else will!"
Antonio then stood up, stretching his back. He began to head back to the beach when he gave Arthur a loud slap at the back, just as the blonde clambered over the trunk. He quickly spiked up and let out a volley of English curses.
"That bloody hurts!" he shouted, looking miffed as Antonio chuckled. He could almost feel the welt, shaped like Antonio's palm, on his already reddened skin. "I'm already injured, you imbecile! Do you think it's funny?!"
"Heh, that's what you get tackling me on the ground!" he smirked, placing one hand over his hip. The bastard looked like he was striking a pose. "Look at you, you are tickled pink all over! Somebody is not used to the sun!"
"I'm having a sun burn, you git!" Arthur shot back. "Not all of us are ridiculously endowed...with tanned skin...."
"Ridiculously...endowed?"
"No! Not that kind of...," Arthur paled as Antonio quickly unbuckles his belt and dropped his pants down briefly for a minute before pulling them back up. The blonde felt a part of him fizzled out, his pupils dilating thinly at what he have just seen.
"I'm not ridiculously endowed. I'm GLORIOUSLY endowed."
"You rotten, sodding piece of bloody shit!" Arthur screamed, his face beet red.
"I know...I know, I'm just toying with you," Antonio grinned, as he headed back to the waves. "I will go search and salvage items that we can use, just continue being useless there!"
If Arthur could fling the rock underneath him, he would. Wincing, with his pink-sunburned skin and a badly bound up leg, he crawled back to the shade.
What I have seen cannot be unseen, not for another century. That level of perversion is something I could only expect from Francis. I guess this is what happens if one has been in that's frog's company for so long. Then again, anybody would be like him - if one spends most of their years traveling the open seas, charting the unexplored waters for undiscovered territories, long enough to forget what a woman's touch is like and to be constantly surrounded by men, one craves bodily warmth and....
Arthur's eyes drifted back to the sandy shores again. Antonio started shouting something excitedly in Spanish as he ran farther to the water to retrieve smaller boxes. They must've been from his wreck.
Why am I thinking of this?
He shifted his tired green eyes to his leg. The blood had soaked through the linen, but at least the offending piece of wood had been removed and the wound had ceased bleeding. Antonio had bounded up his leg with some makeshift frame just in case he had broken a bone. Arthur regretted having to ruin his good clothes and was now starting to feel cold without any shirt or vest on. And he was wearing that imbecile's shirt. Wrapped around his leg.
It wasn't as if he asked him to help him anyway.
But Antonio insisted. He wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, he would rather smite him in his top form, as Her Majesty's glorious empire-than fight him with one leg as a peg, and an unfair advantage. Not that he would like to have his leg sawed off-
"Haha! I found my diar-I mean my naval logs!" Antonio declared triumphantly, waving the two small boxes. He kissed both of them alternately, muttering a short prayer of thanks in Latin as he lifted his eyes towards the sky.
So, the git also kept naval logs? Arthur started to scribble faster as the Spaniard started to jog in his direction, quickly approaching. This was getting interesting and the best part was, the idiot was not even keeping it a secret. He was shouting it for the whole world to hear and in front of him, his greatest rival.
Antonio could be such a buffoon sometimes.
"Great!" he answered sarcastically, not even bothering to look up as he continued writing. "We need more flammable material to keep the bonfire going."
"Hah, oh, that's funny, Arthur," the dark-haired nation replied, calling him by his other name. "That's exactly why not many nations appreciated your humor."
"I'm not being funny! I'm being realistic!"
Arthur frowned and looked up from his pen and paper, Antonio Carriedo was smiling, panting, and dropping his finds near the Englishman's chest. For someone who declared a truce, he seemed to have adjusted pretty well with it. The blond shook his head, what was next? Would he be sharing stories about his children? Exchanging recipes?
"While you are asleep, I had gathered more wood and caught us some fish," he answered, as if he had read the blonde's disapproving glare. "You have been eyeing that tree bark like you wanted to eat it. So, I guess I'll get it started now."
"I-I'm not eyeing that tree bark! I'm not hungry!"
The words that came out from the Englishman's mouth were immediately rendered meaningless as his stomach emitted a low and loud grumbling sound. Ashamed, he bent his head curtly and muttered a curse under his breath. He could hear Antonio chuckle as he proceeded to prepare the food with ease.
"Your body says otherwise," he said gently, gutting and cleaning the fish with ease with his makeshift blade before placing them on sticks. He then pulled out a small cooking pot and tossed in what seemed to be squid, some green cabbage leaves, and potatoes. How come he hadn't seen him prepare that? And where did he get those vegetables?
"Where did you get that?" Arthur ignored him, pointing at the pot of squid.
"Oh, I got lucky and manage to salvage a small crate of vegetables," Antonio explained. "And those squid? They were latched on them! God has been merciful to us, we are blessed. We are going to have a nice meal tonight!"
Arthur felt weak. One of his two ships carried those crates of vegetables-his Britannia III.
"Tch. I'm not going to eat that."
"And why not?" Antonio frowned, as he chopped and dropped the vegetables in the pot, slowly placing it on the fire. Half of him wanted to remark that even his improvised cooking was far superior to the Englishman's cuisine, but the Spaniard stopped himself.
"Because you are using a chamber pot, stupid," Arthur pointed out, looking at the shiny ivory-white pot as the flames slowly licked its immaculate bottom. "I won't eat where I shit! Haven't you se-"
"It's an unused one."
"How do you even know?"
"Because it's from my ship," Antonio answered, pointing at the small inscription at the handle. It was labeled with "Hecho en España". "I'm supposed to send about ten of these for mi hija, too."
Arthur blanched. Good thing it was unused, but eating in a chamber pot? Disgusting. "You send a lot of things to your daughter. You are spoiling her a bit much, don't you think?"
Antonio fanned the flames with some wide leaves. "It's the least I can do to make it up to her. It's not easy being an absentee father," he explained as he watched the fire roar to life and the water boil in the pot. His was tone serious. He then turned towards Arthur. "Strange, are you still writing recipes?"
Arthur froze with his pen in hand. He didn't realize the Spaniard had noticed it. "Hah! Well, I was-I'm...calamari...."
"It's not good to write in this kind of lighting." He nodded off the horizon, it was almost dark and the setting sun was down, making the skies look like they were on fire. In fact, Arthur could no longer read his legible writing properly.
"If you want to continue that, we will have plenty of time tomorrow."
The Englishman scribbled faster, irritated. Antonio, focusing on him like he was his....
"Sure, whatever you say." A small smile tugged the corner of lips as he peeked from his journal. "Mama España."
The expression on Antonio's face was priceless. A tint of red became evident on his cheeks and he started to shout something irritatingly in Spanish about his hijos and Arthur dodged a coconut shell thrown towards his direction.
Enjoying the git's company? I really have gone mad. But for the past several hours I spent with him, I learned some new things that I can use for blackmail like how his sons calls him 'Mama'-I assumed it's because he likes to cuddle and coo on his boys unnaturally-I mean, who would cuddle their grown sons? It turns out he likes to fuss too much. Taking charge of cooking, the concern over my eyes going bad why does he even care? I'm not his Alfonso, his New Spain. And helping me out with my bloody injury and that's not the only thing he helped me get off, I mean helped me off. Not that he helped me get off like he actually held on my manhood. He felt up my thigh like it was like he was almost touching my...shite! Why can't I....
Goddamn Antonio and his bloody skillful hands, I probably had too much alcohol-lost too much blood-too exhausted, too much of everything...why can't I be stuck with a sultry woman instead in this Godforsaken island? Now I feel like I'm the woman, being tended to like a bloody I...can't think straight anymore. I'm...I...my body cannot forget how his calloused fingers caressed teasingly stroked my thigh, overwhelming me with all this questionable and pleasurable shameful sensations that I...I never felt for the longest time. It's like I'm aching for it, like I wanted more than his hands on my thigh I wanted it to go to.
When he touches me, I never felt so alive.
My pants are constricting as I wri bloody hell...I am straight, Goddamn it. Antonio is leading me to a trap. Clever, he is subtler than that frog, who has already shamelessly tried to make passes on me in numerous occasions-
What is your game, Carriedo?
Maybe that's why they call themselves the Bad Touch....
"Hoy, Arthur!" Antonio called out. "It's almost cooked! Get your share before I finish it all!"
He slammed his pen down the paper, blushing and annoyed. "Y-you wouldn't dare!"
"I did catch and cook them-"
"Fine! I'll just finish this! Then we eat!"
We are going to have supper now. Maybe once I have my fill all these wanton thoughts will fade away. Hopefully.
Arthur Kirkland.
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*drip*
Alfred felt his nose bleed as he read the latest entry. Wiping it off with his sleeve, he found himself staring at the log for the next five minutes in total shock.
"Ew...ew EWWW!" he threw it back in disgust. "Geez Arthur...getting turned on with...oh, God! I can't unread this! Oh, my God! My eyes!"
"Arthur?"
"Oh f-?! Kumajiro? Go to sleep!"
Matthew's polar bear nodded off to sleep once again. Grimacing, Alfred forced himself to go through the old folded sheets of papers once more. Yes, even if the contents were homoerotic-
"Yo, Matt, I think reading these entries is right your alley! Matt?!"
"Zzz....maple...I'm not...stupid Alfred...."
Nope, Matthew was still asleep.
"Darn it," Alfred grumbled, turning back to the journals. He grabbed the popcorn bowl from the floor and threw the remnants on the floor. He propped the container beside him, in case he needed to throw up. He grabbed a box of tissues, too ,just in case.
He had to be strong.
He had to if he wanted to find out more on his brother's origins.
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The two ate their meal in grave silence, with Antonio pausing a couple of times to amusingly observe the blond wolf down his meal like he hadn't eaten for a month. When Arthur noticed this, he quickly turned to his side and avoided looking at him.
"You don't have to be embarrassed that you liked it."
"I'm not! I don't want you looking at me while I eat!"
The Spaniard let him be, Arthur had been-and was, shouting at him for a great amount of time already, ever since they got stranded on the island. All the angry vibes, all the shouting and scolding had deprived Arthur of the air he needed that he literally passed out when Antonio tended on his wounded leg.
He needed to loosen up.
As Arthur finished his bowl of soup, his journal slipped off from his leg. Antonio noticed something fall off in between the pages and quickly reached for it.
"H-hey! Give that back!"
"Is this a portrait sketch of your hijos?"
"Yes!" he blushed scarlet, snatching the small sketch back from Antonio's calloused hands. He also scrambled after his journal, before the brunette realized its contents.
"You took one of Francis' boys."
"It's part of the deal," he replied dryly, grabbing a bottle of scotch to wash everything down. "We agreed to it. It's also the best for Matthew. He is doing well under my care now."
"You also nearly took away my hija."
Arthur ran his palm down his face. The conquistador's bloody daughter again. How many times would Antonio bring her up? It was also because of that bloody lass that they were in that predicament right now.
"I figured it was the only way I could get your attention," he grumbled. "Ironically, you almost forgot about her when we signed the Treaty. Some father nation you are."
It was Antonio's turn to be uncomfortable. "I did not! I was busy! And she is halfway around the world! I cannot keep track of everything and everyone all the time. I had to have my Nueva to look after her!"
"And whose fault is that?" Arthur retorted, rubbing the warm liquid from his lips, smirking. "For someone who upholds religious morals so much, you certainly didn't abstain...heh."
Antonio's mouth was drawn taut. "Your humor is not really funny, you know that?"
"Tch, say what you will." The blond rolled his eyes. "You raised a lot of hell because of your bloody daughter. All of THIS because of that stupid lass and you keep talking about her like she's your only one."
"Because she is my only one," Antonio emphasized, glaring at Arthur's injured leg. Before the Englishman could even react, the brunette gave his wounded leg a kick.
"Oh, bloody f-!" He fell face down on the sand, pounding his fist on the ground as he suppressed the urge to scream. "What the hell is that for, you tomato bastard?!"
"Never call my hija stupid!"
Arthur could feel all the blood rushing to his head. Oh, God almighty. He almost forgot about his injured thigh and there he was, with his big mouth. He mentally kicked himself; he was at a big disadvantage if he chose to argue with Antonio at this point.
"I bound that leg of yours and I can also break it!" Antonio warned, with an ominous look in those green depths of his. He stood up, pointing an accusing finger on him. "Never blame this to my hija! How many times do I have to repeat this, Inglaterra-it's YOUR men who started this whole mess!"
"Oh you dirty ol-," he gasped, choking on the pain. Arthur slowly pushed himself from the sand, only to fall face down again. He turned his reddened face on one side to face the Spaniard. "What happened to your bloody truce?!"
"We need to set some rules then," Antonio breathed. "Don't blame this on mi hija and you will still have a leg that you can walk on, deal?"
"Whatever, you smothering piece of landmass...you're the one who insisted to...."
With one opened eye, Arthur could make out Antonio offering his hand to help him up, again.
"Deal?!"
"Alright! Alright!" he groaned, clawing fistful of sand in both fists before reaching out and grabbing the brunette's hand. Arthur could not believe this, he never felt so helpless; swallowing his pride, literally on his knees, and having his fate decided by the bloody siesta loving git.
Damn his blasted leg.
"Then it's settled," Antonio responded quietly, as Arthur settled in the corner farther from the Spaniard's space.
Both rivals had already finished their meals, but both wouldn't retire, yet.
Awkward silence followed.
Arthur tried to get himself comfortable on an improvised bed of large dried leaves and twigs, but to no avail. He couldn't get to roll in his one side properly because of his bounded leg and he does not want to lie on his back as he can see Antonio's face staring right in front of him.
Fortunately for him, the Spaniard's mind had drifted elsewhere. Antonio's legs were folded up to his chin and his arms were wrapped over his knees as he observed the bonfire burning brightly in front of him.
The blond can't help but wonder what he is thinking. For once, he couldn't read the expression written on his face.
He wouldn't ask him.
He wouldn't.
Just because he cooked them an edible meal and assisted him with his injured leg did not mean he had to fraternize with him.
Arthur didn't realize he had been observing him for quite some time. Antonio cocked his head a little towards his direction. "You want to ask me something."
"Hah!" he snorted. Damn it I'm obvious. He said to himself. "What made you think that? I'm just preparing myself to sleep!"
"I guess that strange duck beaver thing won't mind being your bedding then," Antonio pointed out. "I guess you weren't exactly looking at what you are preparing, Arthur."
Duck beaver thing?
Arthur let out a surprise shout as he saw some strange indistinguishable creature near his flattened pile of dried leaves. It let out a strange grunting sound as he quickly tossed it away from him.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" he screamed, trying to kick himself farther away from where it was thrown.
"Damned if I know." The Spaniard shrugged, picking up the frightened animal and prodded it gently back to a nearby wooded area. "This island is filled with strange creatures, si? I never seen anything like it myself!"
"Well, that's amazing," Arthur grumbled, slightly shaken, but unfazed. "Finally, something even a well-explored nation of the world does not know!'
The blonde scanned his spot once again, trying to make out from the light of the bonfire any other strange animals that might have been crawling underneath his makeshift bed. There was none. Good.
"Heh, and I will be repeating what I said," Antonio countered him. "When I said you shriek like a girl!"
Arthur's cheeks heated up. "I do not!"
"Screams of terror then?"
"Shut up!"
He threw himself back to his bed pile, trying to ignore the Spaniard chuckling from behind him. "You started it~!" he teased. "Oh well, I know you wanted to ask me something, so go ahead...ask me!"
"It's nothing I tell you!"
The blond could see Antonio's shadow hovering behind him. "Then you are delirious, Arthur," he replied. "Because I pretty much heard you say it."
He said it out loud?
Antonio almost laughed as he walked back to his spot near the bonfire after seeing Arthur's all-to-common horrified expression: speechless, his mouth gaping and his pupils dilated so thinly that they looked like he was about to pass out at any minute.
Arthur wished the sand beneath him would swallow him up.
"I'm thinking about my children," Antonio replied. "Mi hijos-my boys and, of course, my sweet petite Maria."
There goes her name again. Trying to recover from the embarrassment, Arthur forced himself to start a conversation as he huddled himself over his bedding. "I assume she calls you Mama too."
Antonio sat up, as if somebody pricked his tight round bottom. "Oh, Dios mio, no! She calls me Papa!" he said defensively. "Nueva raised her from when she was still little, he taught her how!"
"So, Nueva is the Mama then?" he asked dryly, trying to joke. It came out bad.
"No!" The Spaniard frowned, then glancing up to Arthur. " Don't your children address you as their Papa, Inglaterra?"
"No, Spain, they don't," he grumbled. "They have a very liberal upbringing. I let them learn about the world and give them the childhood they deserve." Unlike a certain someone.
"Ah!" the Spaniard's green eyes widened with curiosity. "Of course they call it different in your regions, so they call you 'Father', si?"
"No."
"Daddy?"
"No."
"Dad?"
"No, Antonio!" Arthur growled, sitting up from his bedding. He could see the Spaniard's amused expression and eyes light up. He was about to open his mouth, when the blond cut him off abruptly. "And no, they don't call me Mother, either! Or mom for that matter!"
"So, what do they call you then?"
"Arthur. Or Stupid Arthur...," he mumbled, tucking his head in his arms. He did not want Antonio to pry any further. He regretted starting the conversation. He could see the Spaniard stare back at him in horror.
He almost forgot about how anally conservative Antonio was when it comes to family moral values.
"Hey, they are kids!" he continued before the brunette could react. "They don't call me stupid all the time!"
"How can you call them your own when they don't even respect you?"
Arthur raised his head to face Antonio. "They respect me!" he continued angrily. "Don't even think of bringing Alfred into this-it's a different matter!"
The brunette simply rolled his eyes and grabbed himself a bottle of scotch, uncorking it with ease. "Ahh, glorious Inglaterra. Crusader of imperialism, trying to colonize the world several times over and ransacking your way into history." He could feel the blond nation glaring at him hard as he swung the bottle to his lips. Antonio merely shrugged him off as he wiped his mouth. "If you can't be a boss to your children while they are young, don't expect to be their boss when they grow up."
"Well, sorry if you see it that way," Arthur bitterly retorted. "I'm busy being a nurturing father."
"Are we really going to go through this again, Arthur?" Antonio sighed wearily, eyeing him. "You know, Americas is not your only child--"
"You know, just stop!" he scowled, turning his away from the Spaniard. "This is stupid! We have eaten, I'm going to need my rest!"
"Buenas noches, Inglaterra."
Arthur didn't answer.
"I mean, Good Night, Arthur."
"Tch...'night."
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How long had he been awake?
1 hour?
2 hours?
3 hours?!
It was already late and he hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep yet. The sky was already pitch black, with only the faint glowing of the stars that dotted above them being only the source of his light. The bonfire had long burned down and he could barely make out the silhouette of the Spaniard a few feet away from him.
He was getting cold.
Shaking, Arthur wrapped his arms around himself, curling up in a fetal position and rubbing his exposed shoulders in an effort to get warm. As a nation he had gone through famine, plague, and war before; a mere chill was nothing.
It would be nothing if he hadn't injured his leg.
Which might be already infected.
He might have caught a bloody fever.
"G-Goddamnit," he chattered, kicking the sand beneath his feet. It was a bad idea to use all of what remained of his shirt and his vest for his leg, now he was half-naked and cold with nothing to wrap himself with to keep warm. At least warm enough to sweat it out and to bring back his body temperature to normal.
Arthur recalled how Antonio insisted helping him with his injured leg. Suddenly, the thought of him wrapping himself to 'warm him up' came to his mind.
The blond could feel his groin tighten. He bit his lip hard and hit his head repeatedly on his bedding of dried leaves and soft sand, trying to purge the thoughts out of his head. This was what happened if one was isolated from the world on an undiscovered island, with nothing, but a half-naked Antonio and boxes of liquor as company.
He might've been delirious right, as he could almost feel it vividly: the man breathing heavily against his skin, his calloused and yet gentle hands slowly and skillfully working their way from the small of his back and towards his shoulders. His breathing felt so real and Arthur felt himself shudder when he felt those sensuous lips brush dangerously near his nape.
"You are shaking, Inglaterra."
That was definitely real.
Arthur let out a surprised shout and struggled violently when he realized that Antonio had snuck up silently from behind him.
"You sodding old git!" he screamed. "Are you trying to rape me?! I'm going to kill you! I will disembowel you if I can see yo-"
Antonio responded with snickering that eventually escalated to a full-blown laughter, making the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickle. The Spaniard had gone mad. In the blinding darkness, physically handicapped and under his mercy, Arthur was now a dead man.
"Inglaterra, don't flatter yourself!"
"W-what?!"
"As much as I want to get back at you after all those years for beating me up and tea-bagging me every chance you got during your pirate days, it will be a cold day in hell before I'll take interest in you physically!"
"That's exactly what you are doing right now!" he screamed, wriggling harder against Antonio's grip. "Get your bloody hands off me!"
"I can explain!" It was an unexpected response. "I can hear your teeth chattering from where I was, so I came to check on you. Technically, I can't see in the darkness, so I had to crawl my way towards your breathing and feel you up."
"Feel me up...."
"Si! That sounds wrong, does it? I think I'm on top of you now!"
If only the Spaniard could see the deadly glare Arthur was sending over his shoulder. "It bloody does! Now get off me, will you? I'm fine! Leave!"
Antonio wouldn't budge. Curses. If he was in his better form, he could kick the persistent git away from him that instant.
"You have a fever," he said, as if the blond had asked him to diagnose him. "You are having chills despite the fact that your body is really hot. Tch...," he continued. "...This is what happens if you ignore your injury and let it get soaked!"
"Seawater has healing properties!"
"Not in wounds as big as that," Antonio insisted. "You know what, you need body heat. You need to sweat it out your system so your temperature will go down."
Arthur's eyes widened; that was exactly what was going in his mind few minutes earlier. "A-are you suggesting that we...?"
"Press on each others' half-naked bodies? Yes, Arthur," he reassured him, sliding down slowly and folding his arms across the Englishman's bare back as he leaned his chin over it. The blond felt as if he was being treated like a couch. "...Or I won't get a good night's sleep hearing you shake and chatter!"
"No!" Arthur retorted, wriggling against him. "Even if you say you are not going to take advantage of me, I still won't allow it!
"You are so stubborn!" Antonio grumbled, pushing himself briefly away from him. "I do this to my hijos when they catch a flu during long voyages and they don't complain!"
"Well, that might explain why some of them have violent tendencies!"
"They don't!" He frowned, as if Arthur could see it through the darkness. "If you feel uncomfortable, then turn around!"
"No!"
"Turn, AROUND. Inglaterra!" It was almost an order. Antonio didn't wait for him to respond, he simply pushed and turned around the cursing Arthur. He could feel the blond stiffen as he leaned his warm body against Arthur's heated and shaking form. Their skins touched, their chests pressed against each other. Arthur kicked and shifted uncomfortably and almost froze when he felt their noses touch briefly in the dark. The brunette could feel himself smiling - if he could only see the idiot's flustered face right now.
"Oh God...oh bloody hell...," Arthur choked. He could feel his cheeks heat up as he felt the nearness of their breaths and their noses touching.
Just a fraction closer and he can almost taste him. "Your chest hair...oh God, I can feel your hair-it's like steel wool rubbing against me and your breath smells like dog urine! You stink! Stop rubbing yourself unnaturally against me, you hairy son of a-!"
Antonio slapped him across the face.
"For once, Arthur. Quit your bickering!" he hissed lowly, clamping his hand over Arthur's mouth. "You want to survive? You need me!"
You need me....
He hated the truth in those words. Nodding mutely, Antonio slowly released him. "Good, then just let me at least lie on top of you...see, you are sweating out now...," he drifted his calloused hands over Arthur's arms. "It feels good, does it?"
And sounded so wrong. Arthur wriggled his arms away from the man's touch. "D-don't...will you stop that!"
"Rest assured, I'm not like Francis," Antonio chuckled softly. The blond certainly had a thick skull. How many times did he have to tell him he won't 'touch' him? He was certainly not his type, either. He wasn't cute. He had those hideous brows that looked like they had a life of their own. "Dios Mio, Inglaterra...you tire me...I think I will sleep now."
Arthur could still feel the weight on top of him grew heavier. He stiffened up when he felt the brunette's head rested lazily by the crook of his neck.
"Oh, you got to be kidding me!"
"Arthur...," Antonio mumbled, turning his head slightly, his lips moving against the blonde's alabaster skin. "You...could have told me you have a pistol in your pants. At least we could have used the gunpowder to keep the fire go...."
Arthur did not have a pistol in his pants.
"ingg...zzz...zzngg...ngoorkkk...zzz..."
Arthur clamped his hand over his mouth. He could feel his face growing beet red as he tried to fight a wave of nausea from overwhelming him. He wanted the sand beneath them to swallow him up that instant.
"Oh, dear mother of mercy...," he groaned, feeling shame. "I didn't ask for this!"
He was fortunate that at times like those, Antonio could be incredibly dense.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
He thanked his lucky stars that the Spaniard happened to be a heavy sleeper. As the sun slowly rose early that morning, Arthur found himself with the heavy, hairy Spanish blanket still snoring loudly on top of him. He looked down his pants.
"Oh thank God...," he sighed nervously, before wearily tossing the Spaniard to his side. He wouldn't know what to do if Antonio woke up and discovered he grew hard over their 'body warming' encounter.
He would probably kill himself.
Quickly, he brought up his palm over his forehead. His fever had also gone down. He slowly folded his injured leg. He could now move it slightly-he could probably walk later, if he tried. He might also need to change the dressing and the cast, though. It was worn out with all the wriggling and the kicking he did the night before.
Furrowing his brows, Arthur scanned his surroundings. It was relatively quiet, their things are still strewn around and the faint smoke from their bonfire has long died down. And, there across Antonio's bedding of dried leaves, were his scattered diaries.
The Spaniard's diaries. His secrets. His innermost thoughts and plans are all written in there.
A part of him wanted nothing to do with it. Antonio did go through his things, but never did he look at them without letting him know. He also had his own logs with him, but quickly lied about them being recipe books that he had gathered from around the world.
But it won't hurt to peek.
And Antonio was still asleep.
Licking his lips, Arthur silently crept towards Antonio's journals. He quickly grabbed the first one within his reach and sifted through it. He scanned through the pages, looking for military blueprints, important notes-anything. There was nothing but sketched portraits of his children-and there are a lot of them. Half of the entire book probably was only filled with his favorite: the frowning round faced brat, Lovino.
"Worthless," he grumbled, sifting some more until he came across some text.
Francisco me preguntó si puede cumplir con mi hijo, Alfonso, algún tiempo, han tomado cariño al niño tanto que bromeó en torno a si que estoy bien si él apoderarse de su territorio, ya sabes, si se convierte en muy difícil de controlar ....
(Francis asked me if he can meet with my son Alfonso some time, he have taken a liking to the boy so much that he joked around that I'm if fine if he seize his territory, you know, if he becomes too much to handle....)
"Oh great...," he mumbled. "There is nothing to see here, but his days with that frog!"
"What else should be there?" Came a voice from behind Arthur. He was so surprised that he nearly tossed the journal away like it was on fire.
The blond quickly turned his head around. Antonio was sitting up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Snooping around, Arthur?"
"No!"
The Spaniard smirked. He rose to his feet. "You are a bad liar, you know that?"
He stepped forward, hovering above the blond with ease as he deliberately stepped on Arthur's hand. He could hear Arthur let out a string of curses as he gingerly bent over and scooped up his journals.
"I won't bring this out for you to see if it's a secret. I'd rather keep my secrets in my head!" he explained pointing at his head, while Arthur watched in horror as the pages slowly slipped from his fingertips. "Now, let me have that."
"Bollocks...!" he gasped, as Antonio casually started ripping the pages and tossing them to the pile of burnt branches. "What are you doing?! Those are your journals!!"
"Making fire!" he replied, answering the obvious. Antonio bent over and started to do just that. "We might be able to signal any ships that will pass by."
It wasn't worthless information; sure it was not what Arthur was expecting, but still, any information was still information!
Antonio smiled confidently as he watched Arthur's irises slowly dilate again as he gaped over the torn pages catching fire. The man looked pathetic. "I keep a copy of them back home! I make extras of my favorites to keep me company during my travels!"
Arthur blinked. He made extras of his journals?! The thought of re-writing and re-sketching his favorite logs was already time consuming. What was next: he could play the piano with his toes?
Green eyes darkened briefly "...And of course, if someone is planning to steal them."
The blond swallowed. "You retrieved them just so you can burn them...."
"Not exactly," he mused, fanning the small fire until it steadily grew. "I wanted to read them last night, but I had to tend to you, remember?"
Arthur's face grew red. He could see the amused look in Antonio's eyes. Embarrassed, he turned his head around and slowly staggered to his feet.
"I didn't ask for it, Antonio!" he scowled. Limping steadily with his good leg. "I didn't ask for you to look after me or warm me up for that matter! I don't w-"
"Don't what, Inglaterra?"
I don't want to owe you anything and be obligated to do something in return...you fruit.
"I can manage by myself if you only let me!"
"I kind of expected that, too," Antonio answered, his attention still on the bonfire, fanning it until dark smoke started to billow into the air. "...From a former pirate."
The Spaniard didn't care as Arthur continued to stare at him in complete disbelief. "You have certainly softened during the years, Inglaterra. You have kids, you have to set a good example. You left your own former crew to DO the dirty work, though...."
"And what about you?!" Arthur snapped. "It's not like you are any better!"
"What about me?" The brunette answered mockingly. "I'm still the same Antonio Fernandez Carriedo you still despise: the red fury, the conquistador - but like wine, I become refined and better with age-and better with kids! Do you know that by handling more than 10 colonies in one household can make one a master of chaos?"
"Oh, shut up!" Arthur screamed, turning around to slowly limp away from him. "This argument is pointless!"
"You started it." Antonio answered quietly. He slowly stood up, dusting his pants, and turned towards the agitated blond. "You are worse than a woman about to have her menstrual cycle. I'd rather have my hija scream around me about broken promises than you bicker about your pride!"
"Heh, your hija never screamed when she was under my care for 2 years!" Arthur yelled.
"Make that one," the Spaniard corrected him. "You had to pay up your share for damaging her property; you had no choice but to stay." His expression darkened once more. "...And her screaming fits got worse since you came along."
"You are the one who said that, not me," Arthur turned his head, emerald eyes clashing with furious ones. " And for the record, you are keeping her too cooped up. Imagine the wealth of knowledge she learned when I came along!"
"That's what I'm preventing, you idiot! She learned too much-unnecessary things!"
"And those clothes! Have you even realized how humid it is in the equator? I can go walking in my unmentionables in an average day in Filipinas!"
"You didn't do that!"
"Well, of course not, not when she is around...," Arthur rolled his eyes, I'm just toying with you. He could hear Antonio pacing towards his direction, angrily demanding that all he just said about his hija are lies. But the blonde isn't paying attention at him; Arthur could see something dark steadily approaching from the horizon amongst the heavy morning mist. Antonio's voice also trailed off as he slowly stopped dead on his tracks. They both recognized it. It was a naval ship!
"It's my ship!" he exclaimed excitedly, rushing towards it. But Arthur was quick to elbow him and pushed him back.
"No, it's mine!" he shouted, limping steadily and fast towards the approaching vessel. He grabbed what seems to be a torn canvas washed ashore.
"Over here! Over here!"
"Gillapolas! That's not your Rainbow Unicorn!" Antonio barked, rising from his feet, shoving Arthur. "I know that form! It's my Nuestra Señora de la Victoria!"
"It's the Majestic Unicorn, you git!" Arthur growled, balancing himself with his good leg and catching up with the Spaniard. "It's my ship!"
"Don't be stubborn! It's mine!"
Angrily, the Englishman mustered the strength to surge forward, not minding if every step with his injured leg sent him into hot burning pain. It had to be his ship. He briefly remembered how his Britannia and Royal George dodged the canons by a thin line as the Majestic Unicorn surged forward, firing all its might as it locked to one of Antonio's ships. Yes. It could be his Royal George.
The ship weighed anchor as the two hurried towards the shore. They felt like they had been running down the whole expanse of the beach forever. Arthur was a few feet ahead of Antonio, trying to catch a glimpse of the men lowering their longboats and rowing towards the shore.
The mists were clearing out now. He started to slow down as he saw a handful of sailors fast approaching; none of them seemed to don the colors of a British naval uniform. They were shouting something, but he couldn't understand them....
Must be his privateers....
He then lifted his gaze to the banner. The flag-of course!
Whipping strongly against the wind, were the colors of red and yellow.
Arthur felt his knees grow weak. The sailors-Antonio's men, who recognized him by now were not only running towards at the sight of their fatherland, but they were also charging towards him, ready to release their fury.
He wanted to turn back, to run away, but that will only make him a coward. Arthur just froze in his tracks.
They were coming to him now.
He wondered why Antonio hadn't breathed a word. Wasn't he supposed to be crying tears of joy? Shouldn't he be telling him 'I told you so' and laugh it off like the arrogant fool that he was?
And wasn't he supposed to be behind him?
"Lo siento."
Those were the words that were breathed down his neck.
"You son of a...!"
Arthur was struck with a strong, heavy blow to the back of the head and then everything went black.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
A.N. (silentside) - There you have it, half-nakedness and so much UST that hurts. This nautical nonsense is something you just wished! What fate awaits Arthur? And does he really have a gun? And will there be more sexual innuendos like you guys don't even? Stay tuned :D
A.N. (damagectrl) - Thank you for reading! Hehehe...guess which part of the chapter above I wrote and you win a one-shot fanfic. First person to respond correctly wins. :D I know I posted it this a good 12 hours earlier that usual, but I'm very busy at work, so I thought I would try to update it today instead. Hope you guys like it! :)
Random Comparison Chart IV
Know your writers! In this "special" chart, we'll give tell you a little more about us with random questions we blindly selected. If you have any questions you'd like to ask us, please feel free to comment and we'll answer it! Until then, here is "Interview with the Writers" (Parte Dos?).
Why "damagectrl"?
I've often been given the task of curbing the tempers/bad choices of friends (damage control) and I wanted to change the girlier online aliases I've had. This seemed like a safe bet.
Why "silentside"?
It used to be a part of a longer alias I have since 2003. But I stick to silentside because it sounds like a cooler definition of "Lurker".
Why do you write?
It's a hobby, so generally, it's because I get bored. It's also to relieve stress from real life and temporarily escape everyday madness. I also have a rather over-active imagination.
Why do you write?
Because I'm better with it than drawing c: (I learned to draw first, but adapting to writing was faster).
I can express my feelings more clearly with writing and take people to places with it and only their imagination as the limit. Enjoy the ride~!
Why do you enjoy writing?
It relieves my stress, gives me a creative focus, and makes myself (and if I'm lucky, sometimes others) happy.
Why do you enjoy writing?
Same answer as above, it express my feelings (and same time I amuse my readers).
Why do you detest writing?
Sometimes, the pressure to keep up with the standards I/the readers hold for me become a bit overwhelming and I start to hesitate. Also: hate mail, flames, trolls, and numerous long reviews pointing out "why (my) story is wrong".
Why do you detest writing?
Because it takes out the little free time I have left.
How do you become inspired?
I'm not sure. It just kind of happens. Travel, music, lectures, random events; it just happens sometimes.
How do you become inspired?
Usually I get inspired with every day events. It could be the movie I watched, a book I've read, or overhearing someone's conversation...or simply while taking a shower.
How do you get past writer's block?
I sit down and force myself to write notes on the plot. As I write, I tend to put down particular points and details that I can later go back and change and then later fill out into a full story.
How do you get past writer's block?
Sleep, retail therapy, listening to music and reading dribbles from my writing idols (who are both in relationship with each other, how awesome is that) : puella_nerdii and mithrigil
What existing works (books)/genres inspires you to write?
I tend to like thrillers with a little bit of romance - fiction-wise. Non-fiction, I end up reading random things on countries and culture, ancient civilizations, museum books, and Asian-American history.
What existing works (books)/genres inspires you to write?
Reading romance / goth novels, any books on World History, current events and iconic people...and De Sade's compiled works.
Favorite fanfic(s) here that you've written?
I don't have a favorite, but I do enjoy writing the random Australia-related fics best. This is mainly because they have no set plot, no set update schedule, and it's basically a 'whatever I feel like writing' fic "series". Notice that after I write something really dramatic or that causes emotional distress, I tend to balance it with something random and cracky.
Favorite fanfic(s) here that you've written?
Favorite comments from a reader (so far)?
A few years ago, I got an email from a girl who thanked me for writing a 25 chapter fic that I had written in 40 days. Her friend was suffering from depression at the time and the fanfic gave her something to look forward to every day instead of hurting herself or worse. She thanked me many times over and said "If you didn't write this, she wouldn't be here right now." I've received fanfics on my fanfics, fanart on both fanfics and original pieces, inspired others to draw, write, compose music, and try to make a trailer for a fic, but by far, that's the best comment I've ever received.
Favorite comments from a reader (so far)?
I can't remember who said who in particular but I guess when some of them told me that my pieces are inspiring enough to make them do beautiful fan art and dream nice things. Others told me its good enough to bring them out from lurking and make a comment on how awesome my updates are. I think most of my readers are lurkers (idk, it's creepy and flattering at the same time). >_>'
Your hobbies/interests?Writing, sleeping, world travel, people watching, museums (cultural, religious, or pre-modern art specifically), and anything else that randomly catches my attention.
Your hobbies/interests?
Crossplay (I cosplay, but male characters only), photoshoots, just hanging out, writing, drawing, hoarding cheap finds, causing trouble, planning trouble and probably drinking XD.
Favorite APH Character?I don't have favorite. I like the usual blondes (Al, Art, Francis, etc.), but I do feel for Germany. I mean, look who he's hanging out with. Can you imagine the frustration and stress?
Favorite APH Character?At first I liked Japan/Honda Kiku, he sort of remind me of myself (serious, quiet and secretly perverted /bricked) but now it's Canada/Matthew Williams...it have something to do with my not so secret crush to migrate to his regions since...after 9/11...
Least favorite APH Character & Why?I don't have any strong negative feelings for a particular character.
Least favorite APH Character & Why?Italy bros (Yes, I consider them singular XD) I dunno, Lovi is such a brat and Feli is so uke that it hurts.
Favorite book/movie/music-based thing?
Favorite book/movie/music-based thing?
Your favorite personal quote:
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
(translated to: "Don't piss me off. Bad things happen to you when you piss me off.")
Your favorite personal quote:
"Oh, crap."
If I were a bird, I'd be a:
Hawk
If I were a bird, I'd be a:
Vulture
Favorite color?
Dark Purple-Indigo
Favorite color?
Blue
As older members of this comma, what would you like to say to the younger members?
Shit happens. Deal with it in as positive a mindset as you can, learn something from it, and move on.
Write/Draw/Dance/Do whatever creative outlet you do for YOURSELF.
As older members of this comma, what would you like to say to the younger members?
I'm so sorry for breaking your brains to things unimaginable. But yes, you can do that with a tomato....and grapes...and...you have to read Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty series to understand.
Author(s): damagectrl (Diligere Errantem, The Conquistador's Daughter) andsilentside (Longest Holiday,1762: Extranjero)
Pairings: Are Questionable: SpainxEngland, OCPiri x English Spawn
Characters: OCPiri, Australia, America, Canada, Spain, England, & related spawn
Warning: Total mind-dribble x2, implied man-on-man, mature themes
Chapter Summary:
"Yo, Matt, I think reading these entries is right your alley! Matt?!"
"Zzz....maple...I'm not...stupid Alfred..."
Nope, Matthew was still asleep.
"Darn it," Alfred grumbled, turning back to the journals. He grabbed the popcorn bowl from the floor and threw the remnants on the floor. He propped the container beside him, in case he needed to throw up. He grabbed a box of tissues too just in case.
He had to be strong.
He had to if he wanted to find out more on his brother's origins.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
Part Four
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
September 1788
Dear Journal
I find it embarrassing that a man of my stature, Arthur Kirkland - a nation who has lorded all seven seas, will be temporarily incapacitated with a mere stick in the thigh. I don't know why I have to swallow my bloody pride and have that man help me out of it. This is a fact that no else should know. To why I'm putting this to paper is rather perplexing....
He stared out at the shore, shading his weary eyes with one hand as the warm ocean breeze caressed his half-naked body. After passing out briefly, Arthur woke up to find Antonio is still out there, trying to retrieve items from the shipwreck. Like Arthur, he was wearing nothing, save for slacks rolled up to muscular thighs. As the Spaniard bent over to lift a large chest, the gentle waves crashed against to his tanned physique. He then turned around, brushing his wet locks of hair from his face before carrying the trunk to the shore. For a brief fleeting moment, he looked like an emerging sea god.
Arthur felt his cheeks burn up and quickly shifted his gaze when their eyes met. He was clearly suffering from heat-induced delusions. As Antonio walked back to their makeshift shade, the blonde turned his attention back scribbling in his journal.
Bollocks, what am I thinking? If I'm to survive, I should have searched for fresh water and foraged for some food. Now I'm having delusions caused by heat and dehydration, with prose rolling out of my head as I, God forbid, I find his body...no!
The blonde nearly jumped when Antonio tossed the trunk carelessly in front of him, placing his hands over his hips.
"Watch the bloody leg, you git!"
"Es propiedad Inglés," he sighed wearily, wiping his brow before glancing at his injured leg. "It's yours, unless you don't want it."
His eyes slowly widened when he recognized the trunk. His naval logs! They were all in there: his plans, his personal thoughts....
His secrets....
Antonio started to break the lock when Arthur let out a strangled scream and threw himself against him, tackling the Spaniard to the ground.
"It's mine!" he screamed. "Get your hands off my bloody property, you wanker!" he continued to scream as he tried to push Antonio down to the sandy floor. Being more physically able among the two, Antonio got up and shoved him roughly back down.
"You don't have to attack me, Inglaterra!" he snarled, glaring at him hard before a small smile slowly curved on his lips. "...I bet this chest of yours holds something important."
"No!" Arthur gasped, crawling on his knees as Antonio proceeded to break the trunk wide open. "Don't you even dare go through my-!"
"Journals?" Antonio disappointingly lifted a few leather-bound logs and tossed them recklessly behind Arthur. The blonde quickly scampered to retrieve them. "THIS is what's so important that you have to kill me for it?"
"Well, what are you expecting?!"
"Loot! Bounty...Gold!"
"Tch...that's what you all ever think about...."
Grumbling and clutching the logs that Antonio tossed, Arthur tried moving and adjusting his pained leg slowly until he was able to sit up beside Antonio. He quickly slapped his hand when he peeked at one of the logs.
"I thought you were not interested?!"
"I'm STILL curious why you don't want me to see it...." He eyed him. "Oh, God...your handwriting...."
Arthur started to think fast. "They're recipes that I gathered from around the world!"
Antonio stared at him for the longest time, not saying a single word. Then he burst into laughter as he tossed a few articles back. The Englishman didn't know whether to feel insulted or be relieved that he bought the excuse. Maybe both.
"Oh, Dios mio, Inglaterra!" he laughed, trying to hold his sides. He then closed the trunk. "If this does not help you improve your cuisine, I don't know what else will!"
Antonio then stood up, stretching his back. He began to head back to the beach when he gave Arthur a loud slap at the back, just as the blonde clambered over the trunk. He quickly spiked up and let out a volley of English curses.
"That bloody hurts!" he shouted, looking miffed as Antonio chuckled. He could almost feel the welt, shaped like Antonio's palm, on his already reddened skin. "I'm already injured, you imbecile! Do you think it's funny?!"
"Heh, that's what you get tackling me on the ground!" he smirked, placing one hand over his hip. The bastard looked like he was striking a pose. "Look at you, you are tickled pink all over! Somebody is not used to the sun!"
"I'm having a sun burn, you git!" Arthur shot back. "Not all of us are ridiculously endowed...with tanned skin...."
"Ridiculously...endowed?"
"No! Not that kind of...," Arthur paled as Antonio quickly unbuckles his belt and dropped his pants down briefly for a minute before pulling them back up. The blonde felt a part of him fizzled out, his pupils dilating thinly at what he have just seen.
"I'm not ridiculously endowed. I'm GLORIOUSLY endowed."
"You rotten, sodding piece of bloody shit!" Arthur screamed, his face beet red.
"I know...I know, I'm just toying with you," Antonio grinned, as he headed back to the waves. "I will go search and salvage items that we can use, just continue being useless there!"
If Arthur could fling the rock underneath him, he would. Wincing, with his pink-sunburned skin and a badly bound up leg, he crawled back to the shade.
What I have seen cannot be unseen, not for another century. That level of perversion is something I could only expect from Francis. I guess this is what happens if one has been in that's frog's company for so long. Then again, anybody would be like him - if one spends most of their years traveling the open seas, charting the unexplored waters for undiscovered territories, long enough to forget what a woman's touch is like and to be constantly surrounded by men, one craves bodily warmth and....
Arthur's eyes drifted back to the sandy shores again. Antonio started shouting something excitedly in Spanish as he ran farther to the water to retrieve smaller boxes. They must've been from his wreck.
Why am I thinking of this?
He shifted his tired green eyes to his leg. The blood had soaked through the linen, but at least the offending piece of wood had been removed and the wound had ceased bleeding. Antonio had bounded up his leg with some makeshift frame just in case he had broken a bone. Arthur regretted having to ruin his good clothes and was now starting to feel cold without any shirt or vest on. And he was wearing that imbecile's shirt. Wrapped around his leg.
It wasn't as if he asked him to help him anyway.
But Antonio insisted. He wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, he would rather smite him in his top form, as Her Majesty's glorious empire-than fight him with one leg as a peg, and an unfair advantage. Not that he would like to have his leg sawed off-
"Haha! I found my diar-I mean my naval logs!" Antonio declared triumphantly, waving the two small boxes. He kissed both of them alternately, muttering a short prayer of thanks in Latin as he lifted his eyes towards the sky.
So, the git also kept naval logs? Arthur started to scribble faster as the Spaniard started to jog in his direction, quickly approaching. This was getting interesting and the best part was, the idiot was not even keeping it a secret. He was shouting it for the whole world to hear and in front of him, his greatest rival.
Antonio could be such a buffoon sometimes.
"Great!" he answered sarcastically, not even bothering to look up as he continued writing. "We need more flammable material to keep the bonfire going."
"Hah, oh, that's funny, Arthur," the dark-haired nation replied, calling him by his other name. "That's exactly why not many nations appreciated your humor."
"I'm not being funny! I'm being realistic!"
Arthur frowned and looked up from his pen and paper, Antonio Carriedo was smiling, panting, and dropping his finds near the Englishman's chest. For someone who declared a truce, he seemed to have adjusted pretty well with it. The blond shook his head, what was next? Would he be sharing stories about his children? Exchanging recipes?
"While you are asleep, I had gathered more wood and caught us some fish," he answered, as if he had read the blonde's disapproving glare. "You have been eyeing that tree bark like you wanted to eat it. So, I guess I'll get it started now."
"I-I'm not eyeing that tree bark! I'm not hungry!"
The words that came out from the Englishman's mouth were immediately rendered meaningless as his stomach emitted a low and loud grumbling sound. Ashamed, he bent his head curtly and muttered a curse under his breath. He could hear Antonio chuckle as he proceeded to prepare the food with ease.
"Your body says otherwise," he said gently, gutting and cleaning the fish with ease with his makeshift blade before placing them on sticks. He then pulled out a small cooking pot and tossed in what seemed to be squid, some green cabbage leaves, and potatoes. How come he hadn't seen him prepare that? And where did he get those vegetables?
"Where did you get that?" Arthur ignored him, pointing at the pot of squid.
"Oh, I got lucky and manage to salvage a small crate of vegetables," Antonio explained. "And those squid? They were latched on them! God has been merciful to us, we are blessed. We are going to have a nice meal tonight!"
Arthur felt weak. One of his two ships carried those crates of vegetables-his Britannia III.
"Tch. I'm not going to eat that."
"And why not?" Antonio frowned, as he chopped and dropped the vegetables in the pot, slowly placing it on the fire. Half of him wanted to remark that even his improvised cooking was far superior to the Englishman's cuisine, but the Spaniard stopped himself.
"Because you are using a chamber pot, stupid," Arthur pointed out, looking at the shiny ivory-white pot as the flames slowly licked its immaculate bottom. "I won't eat where I shit! Haven't you se-"
"It's an unused one."
"How do you even know?"
"Because it's from my ship," Antonio answered, pointing at the small inscription at the handle. It was labeled with "Hecho en España". "I'm supposed to send about ten of these for mi hija, too."
Arthur blanched. Good thing it was unused, but eating in a chamber pot? Disgusting. "You send a lot of things to your daughter. You are spoiling her a bit much, don't you think?"
Antonio fanned the flames with some wide leaves. "It's the least I can do to make it up to her. It's not easy being an absentee father," he explained as he watched the fire roar to life and the water boil in the pot. His was tone serious. He then turned towards Arthur. "Strange, are you still writing recipes?"
Arthur froze with his pen in hand. He didn't realize the Spaniard had noticed it. "Hah! Well, I was-I'm...calamari...."
"It's not good to write in this kind of lighting." He nodded off the horizon, it was almost dark and the setting sun was down, making the skies look like they were on fire. In fact, Arthur could no longer read his legible writing properly.
"If you want to continue that, we will have plenty of time tomorrow."
The Englishman scribbled faster, irritated. Antonio, focusing on him like he was his....
"Sure, whatever you say." A small smile tugged the corner of lips as he peeked from his journal. "Mama España."
The expression on Antonio's face was priceless. A tint of red became evident on his cheeks and he started to shout something irritatingly in Spanish about his hijos and Arthur dodged a coconut shell thrown towards his direction.
Enjoying the git's company? I really have gone mad. But for the past several hours I spent with him, I learned some new things that I can use for blackmail like how his sons calls him 'Mama'-I assumed it's because he likes to cuddle and coo on his boys unnaturally-I mean, who would cuddle their grown sons? It turns out he likes to fuss too much. Taking charge of cooking, the concern over my eyes going bad why does he even care? I'm not his Alfonso, his New Spain. And helping me out with my bloody injury and that's not the only thing he helped me get off, I mean helped me off. Not that he helped me get off like he actually held on my manhood. He felt up my thigh like it was like he was almost touching my...shite! Why can't I....
Goddamn Antonio and his bloody skillful hands, I probably had too much alcohol-lost too much blood-too exhausted, too much of everything...why can't I be stuck with a sultry woman instead in this Godforsaken island? Now I feel like I'm the woman, being tended to like a bloody I...can't think straight anymore. I'm...I...my body cannot forget how his calloused fingers caressed teasingly stroked my thigh, overwhelming me with all this questionable and pleasurable shameful sensations that I...I never felt for the longest time. It's like I'm aching for it, like I wanted more than his hands on my thigh I wanted it to go to.
When he touches me, I never felt so alive.
My pants are constricting as I wri bloody hell...I am straight, Goddamn it. Antonio is leading me to a trap. Clever, he is subtler than that frog, who has already shamelessly tried to make passes on me in numerous occasions-
What is your game, Carriedo?
Maybe that's why they call themselves the Bad Touch....
"Hoy, Arthur!" Antonio called out. "It's almost cooked! Get your share before I finish it all!"
He slammed his pen down the paper, blushing and annoyed. "Y-you wouldn't dare!"
"I did catch and cook them-"
"Fine! I'll just finish this! Then we eat!"
We are going to have supper now. Maybe once I have my fill all these wanton thoughts will fade away. Hopefully.
Arthur Kirkland.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
*drip*
Alfred felt his nose bleed as he read the latest entry. Wiping it off with his sleeve, he found himself staring at the log for the next five minutes in total shock.
"Ew...ew EWWW!" he threw it back in disgust. "Geez Arthur...getting turned on with...oh, God! I can't unread this! Oh, my God! My eyes!"
"Arthur?"
"Oh f-?! Kumajiro? Go to sleep!"
Matthew's polar bear nodded off to sleep once again. Grimacing, Alfred forced himself to go through the old folded sheets of papers once more. Yes, even if the contents were homoerotic-
"Yo, Matt, I think reading these entries is right your alley! Matt?!"
"Zzz....maple...I'm not...stupid Alfred...."
Nope, Matthew was still asleep.
"Darn it," Alfred grumbled, turning back to the journals. He grabbed the popcorn bowl from the floor and threw the remnants on the floor. He propped the container beside him, in case he needed to throw up. He grabbed a box of tissues, too ,just in case.
He had to be strong.
He had to if he wanted to find out more on his brother's origins.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
The two ate their meal in grave silence, with Antonio pausing a couple of times to amusingly observe the blond wolf down his meal like he hadn't eaten for a month. When Arthur noticed this, he quickly turned to his side and avoided looking at him.
"You don't have to be embarrassed that you liked it."
"I'm not! I don't want you looking at me while I eat!"
The Spaniard let him be, Arthur had been-and was, shouting at him for a great amount of time already, ever since they got stranded on the island. All the angry vibes, all the shouting and scolding had deprived Arthur of the air he needed that he literally passed out when Antonio tended on his wounded leg.
He needed to loosen up.
As Arthur finished his bowl of soup, his journal slipped off from his leg. Antonio noticed something fall off in between the pages and quickly reached for it.
"H-hey! Give that back!"
"Is this a portrait sketch of your hijos?"
"Yes!" he blushed scarlet, snatching the small sketch back from Antonio's calloused hands. He also scrambled after his journal, before the brunette realized its contents.
"You took one of Francis' boys."
"It's part of the deal," he replied dryly, grabbing a bottle of scotch to wash everything down. "We agreed to it. It's also the best for Matthew. He is doing well under my care now."
"You also nearly took away my hija."
Arthur ran his palm down his face. The conquistador's bloody daughter again. How many times would Antonio bring her up? It was also because of that bloody lass that they were in that predicament right now.
"I figured it was the only way I could get your attention," he grumbled. "Ironically, you almost forgot about her when we signed the Treaty. Some father nation you are."
It was Antonio's turn to be uncomfortable. "I did not! I was busy! And she is halfway around the world! I cannot keep track of everything and everyone all the time. I had to have my Nueva to look after her!"
"And whose fault is that?" Arthur retorted, rubbing the warm liquid from his lips, smirking. "For someone who upholds religious morals so much, you certainly didn't abstain...heh."
Antonio's mouth was drawn taut. "Your humor is not really funny, you know that?"
"Tch, say what you will." The blond rolled his eyes. "You raised a lot of hell because of your bloody daughter. All of THIS because of that stupid lass and you keep talking about her like she's your only one."
"Because she is my only one," Antonio emphasized, glaring at Arthur's injured leg. Before the Englishman could even react, the brunette gave his wounded leg a kick.
"Oh, bloody f-!" He fell face down on the sand, pounding his fist on the ground as he suppressed the urge to scream. "What the hell is that for, you tomato bastard?!"
"Never call my hija stupid!"
Arthur could feel all the blood rushing to his head. Oh, God almighty. He almost forgot about his injured thigh and there he was, with his big mouth. He mentally kicked himself; he was at a big disadvantage if he chose to argue with Antonio at this point.
"I bound that leg of yours and I can also break it!" Antonio warned, with an ominous look in those green depths of his. He stood up, pointing an accusing finger on him. "Never blame this to my hija! How many times do I have to repeat this, Inglaterra-it's YOUR men who started this whole mess!"
"Oh you dirty ol-," he gasped, choking on the pain. Arthur slowly pushed himself from the sand, only to fall face down again. He turned his reddened face on one side to face the Spaniard. "What happened to your bloody truce?!"
"We need to set some rules then," Antonio breathed. "Don't blame this on mi hija and you will still have a leg that you can walk on, deal?"
"Whatever, you smothering piece of landmass...you're the one who insisted to...."
With one opened eye, Arthur could make out Antonio offering his hand to help him up, again.
"Deal?!"
"Alright! Alright!" he groaned, clawing fistful of sand in both fists before reaching out and grabbing the brunette's hand. Arthur could not believe this, he never felt so helpless; swallowing his pride, literally on his knees, and having his fate decided by the bloody siesta loving git.
Damn his blasted leg.
"Then it's settled," Antonio responded quietly, as Arthur settled in the corner farther from the Spaniard's space.
Both rivals had already finished their meals, but both wouldn't retire, yet.
Awkward silence followed.
Arthur tried to get himself comfortable on an improvised bed of large dried leaves and twigs, but to no avail. He couldn't get to roll in his one side properly because of his bounded leg and he does not want to lie on his back as he can see Antonio's face staring right in front of him.
Fortunately for him, the Spaniard's mind had drifted elsewhere. Antonio's legs were folded up to his chin and his arms were wrapped over his knees as he observed the bonfire burning brightly in front of him.
The blond can't help but wonder what he is thinking. For once, he couldn't read the expression written on his face.
He wouldn't ask him.
He wouldn't.
Just because he cooked them an edible meal and assisted him with his injured leg did not mean he had to fraternize with him.
Arthur didn't realize he had been observing him for quite some time. Antonio cocked his head a little towards his direction. "You want to ask me something."
"Hah!" he snorted. Damn it I'm obvious. He said to himself. "What made you think that? I'm just preparing myself to sleep!"
"I guess that strange duck beaver thing won't mind being your bedding then," Antonio pointed out. "I guess you weren't exactly looking at what you are preparing, Arthur."
Duck beaver thing?
Arthur let out a surprise shout as he saw some strange indistinguishable creature near his flattened pile of dried leaves. It let out a strange grunting sound as he quickly tossed it away from him.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" he screamed, trying to kick himself farther away from where it was thrown.
"Damned if I know." The Spaniard shrugged, picking up the frightened animal and prodded it gently back to a nearby wooded area. "This island is filled with strange creatures, si? I never seen anything like it myself!"
"Well, that's amazing," Arthur grumbled, slightly shaken, but unfazed. "Finally, something even a well-explored nation of the world does not know!'
The blonde scanned his spot once again, trying to make out from the light of the bonfire any other strange animals that might have been crawling underneath his makeshift bed. There was none. Good.
"Heh, and I will be repeating what I said," Antonio countered him. "When I said you shriek like a girl!"
Arthur's cheeks heated up. "I do not!"
"Screams of terror then?"
"Shut up!"
He threw himself back to his bed pile, trying to ignore the Spaniard chuckling from behind him. "You started it~!" he teased. "Oh well, I know you wanted to ask me something, so go ahead...ask me!"
"It's nothing I tell you!"
The blond could see Antonio's shadow hovering behind him. "Then you are delirious, Arthur," he replied. "Because I pretty much heard you say it."
He said it out loud?
Antonio almost laughed as he walked back to his spot near the bonfire after seeing Arthur's all-to-common horrified expression: speechless, his mouth gaping and his pupils dilated so thinly that they looked like he was about to pass out at any minute.
Arthur wished the sand beneath him would swallow him up.
"I'm thinking about my children," Antonio replied. "Mi hijos-my boys and, of course, my sweet petite Maria."
There goes her name again. Trying to recover from the embarrassment, Arthur forced himself to start a conversation as he huddled himself over his bedding. "I assume she calls you Mama too."
Antonio sat up, as if somebody pricked his tight round bottom. "Oh, Dios mio, no! She calls me Papa!" he said defensively. "Nueva raised her from when she was still little, he taught her how!"
"So, Nueva is the Mama then?" he asked dryly, trying to joke. It came out bad.
"No!" The Spaniard frowned, then glancing up to Arthur. " Don't your children address you as their Papa, Inglaterra?"
"No, Spain, they don't," he grumbled. "They have a very liberal upbringing. I let them learn about the world and give them the childhood they deserve." Unlike a certain someone.
"Ah!" the Spaniard's green eyes widened with curiosity. "Of course they call it different in your regions, so they call you 'Father', si?"
"No."
"Daddy?"
"No."
"Dad?"
"No, Antonio!" Arthur growled, sitting up from his bedding. He could see the Spaniard's amused expression and eyes light up. He was about to open his mouth, when the blond cut him off abruptly. "And no, they don't call me Mother, either! Or mom for that matter!"
"So, what do they call you then?"
"Arthur. Or Stupid Arthur...," he mumbled, tucking his head in his arms. He did not want Antonio to pry any further. He regretted starting the conversation. He could see the Spaniard stare back at him in horror.
He almost forgot about how anally conservative Antonio was when it comes to family moral values.
"Hey, they are kids!" he continued before the brunette could react. "They don't call me stupid all the time!"
"How can you call them your own when they don't even respect you?"
Arthur raised his head to face Antonio. "They respect me!" he continued angrily. "Don't even think of bringing Alfred into this-it's a different matter!"
The brunette simply rolled his eyes and grabbed himself a bottle of scotch, uncorking it with ease. "Ahh, glorious Inglaterra. Crusader of imperialism, trying to colonize the world several times over and ransacking your way into history." He could feel the blond nation glaring at him hard as he swung the bottle to his lips. Antonio merely shrugged him off as he wiped his mouth. "If you can't be a boss to your children while they are young, don't expect to be their boss when they grow up."
"Well, sorry if you see it that way," Arthur bitterly retorted. "I'm busy being a nurturing father."
"Are we really going to go through this again, Arthur?" Antonio sighed wearily, eyeing him. "You know, Americas is not your only child--"
"You know, just stop!" he scowled, turning his away from the Spaniard. "This is stupid! We have eaten, I'm going to need my rest!"
"Buenas noches, Inglaterra."
Arthur didn't answer.
"I mean, Good Night, Arthur."
"Tch...'night."
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
How long had he been awake?
1 hour?
2 hours?
3 hours?!
It was already late and he hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep yet. The sky was already pitch black, with only the faint glowing of the stars that dotted above them being only the source of his light. The bonfire had long burned down and he could barely make out the silhouette of the Spaniard a few feet away from him.
He was getting cold.
Shaking, Arthur wrapped his arms around himself, curling up in a fetal position and rubbing his exposed shoulders in an effort to get warm. As a nation he had gone through famine, plague, and war before; a mere chill was nothing.
It would be nothing if he hadn't injured his leg.
Which might be already infected.
He might have caught a bloody fever.
"G-Goddamnit," he chattered, kicking the sand beneath his feet. It was a bad idea to use all of what remained of his shirt and his vest for his leg, now he was half-naked and cold with nothing to wrap himself with to keep warm. At least warm enough to sweat it out and to bring back his body temperature to normal.
Arthur recalled how Antonio insisted helping him with his injured leg. Suddenly, the thought of him wrapping himself to 'warm him up' came to his mind.
The blond could feel his groin tighten. He bit his lip hard and hit his head repeatedly on his bedding of dried leaves and soft sand, trying to purge the thoughts out of his head. This was what happened if one was isolated from the world on an undiscovered island, with nothing, but a half-naked Antonio and boxes of liquor as company.
He might've been delirious right, as he could almost feel it vividly: the man breathing heavily against his skin, his calloused and yet gentle hands slowly and skillfully working their way from the small of his back and towards his shoulders. His breathing felt so real and Arthur felt himself shudder when he felt those sensuous lips brush dangerously near his nape.
"You are shaking, Inglaterra."
That was definitely real.
Arthur let out a surprised shout and struggled violently when he realized that Antonio had snuck up silently from behind him.
"You sodding old git!" he screamed. "Are you trying to rape me?! I'm going to kill you! I will disembowel you if I can see yo-"
Antonio responded with snickering that eventually escalated to a full-blown laughter, making the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickle. The Spaniard had gone mad. In the blinding darkness, physically handicapped and under his mercy, Arthur was now a dead man.
"Inglaterra, don't flatter yourself!"
"W-what?!"
"As much as I want to get back at you after all those years for beating me up and tea-bagging me every chance you got during your pirate days, it will be a cold day in hell before I'll take interest in you physically!"
"That's exactly what you are doing right now!" he screamed, wriggling harder against Antonio's grip. "Get your bloody hands off me!"
"I can explain!" It was an unexpected response. "I can hear your teeth chattering from where I was, so I came to check on you. Technically, I can't see in the darkness, so I had to crawl my way towards your breathing and feel you up."
"Feel me up...."
"Si! That sounds wrong, does it? I think I'm on top of you now!"
If only the Spaniard could see the deadly glare Arthur was sending over his shoulder. "It bloody does! Now get off me, will you? I'm fine! Leave!"
Antonio wouldn't budge. Curses. If he was in his better form, he could kick the persistent git away from him that instant.
"You have a fever," he said, as if the blond had asked him to diagnose him. "You are having chills despite the fact that your body is really hot. Tch...," he continued. "...This is what happens if you ignore your injury and let it get soaked!"
"Seawater has healing properties!"
"Not in wounds as big as that," Antonio insisted. "You know what, you need body heat. You need to sweat it out your system so your temperature will go down."
Arthur's eyes widened; that was exactly what was going in his mind few minutes earlier. "A-are you suggesting that we...?"
"Press on each others' half-naked bodies? Yes, Arthur," he reassured him, sliding down slowly and folding his arms across the Englishman's bare back as he leaned his chin over it. The blond felt as if he was being treated like a couch. "...Or I won't get a good night's sleep hearing you shake and chatter!"
"No!" Arthur retorted, wriggling against him. "Even if you say you are not going to take advantage of me, I still won't allow it!
"You are so stubborn!" Antonio grumbled, pushing himself briefly away from him. "I do this to my hijos when they catch a flu during long voyages and they don't complain!"
"Well, that might explain why some of them have violent tendencies!"
"They don't!" He frowned, as if Arthur could see it through the darkness. "If you feel uncomfortable, then turn around!"
"No!"
"Turn, AROUND. Inglaterra!" It was almost an order. Antonio didn't wait for him to respond, he simply pushed and turned around the cursing Arthur. He could feel the blond stiffen as he leaned his warm body against Arthur's heated and shaking form. Their skins touched, their chests pressed against each other. Arthur kicked and shifted uncomfortably and almost froze when he felt their noses touch briefly in the dark. The brunette could feel himself smiling - if he could only see the idiot's flustered face right now.
"Oh God...oh bloody hell...," Arthur choked. He could feel his cheeks heat up as he felt the nearness of their breaths and their noses touching.
Just a fraction closer and he can almost taste him. "Your chest hair...oh God, I can feel your hair-it's like steel wool rubbing against me and your breath smells like dog urine! You stink! Stop rubbing yourself unnaturally against me, you hairy son of a-!"
Antonio slapped him across the face.
"For once, Arthur. Quit your bickering!" he hissed lowly, clamping his hand over Arthur's mouth. "You want to survive? You need me!"
You need me....
He hated the truth in those words. Nodding mutely, Antonio slowly released him. "Good, then just let me at least lie on top of you...see, you are sweating out now...," he drifted his calloused hands over Arthur's arms. "It feels good, does it?"
And sounded so wrong. Arthur wriggled his arms away from the man's touch. "D-don't...will you stop that!"
"Rest assured, I'm not like Francis," Antonio chuckled softly. The blond certainly had a thick skull. How many times did he have to tell him he won't 'touch' him? He was certainly not his type, either. He wasn't cute. He had those hideous brows that looked like they had a life of their own. "Dios Mio, Inglaterra...you tire me...I think I will sleep now."
Arthur could still feel the weight on top of him grew heavier. He stiffened up when he felt the brunette's head rested lazily by the crook of his neck.
"Oh, you got to be kidding me!"
"Arthur...," Antonio mumbled, turning his head slightly, his lips moving against the blonde's alabaster skin. "You...could have told me you have a pistol in your pants. At least we could have used the gunpowder to keep the fire go...."
Arthur did not have a pistol in his pants.
"ingg...zzz...zzngg...ngoorkkk...zzz..."
Arthur clamped his hand over his mouth. He could feel his face growing beet red as he tried to fight a wave of nausea from overwhelming him. He wanted the sand beneath them to swallow him up that instant.
"Oh, dear mother of mercy...," he groaned, feeling shame. "I didn't ask for this!"
He was fortunate that at times like those, Antonio could be incredibly dense.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
He thanked his lucky stars that the Spaniard happened to be a heavy sleeper. As the sun slowly rose early that morning, Arthur found himself with the heavy, hairy Spanish blanket still snoring loudly on top of him. He looked down his pants.
"Oh thank God...," he sighed nervously, before wearily tossing the Spaniard to his side. He wouldn't know what to do if Antonio woke up and discovered he grew hard over their 'body warming' encounter.
He would probably kill himself.
Quickly, he brought up his palm over his forehead. His fever had also gone down. He slowly folded his injured leg. He could now move it slightly-he could probably walk later, if he tried. He might also need to change the dressing and the cast, though. It was worn out with all the wriggling and the kicking he did the night before.
Furrowing his brows, Arthur scanned his surroundings. It was relatively quiet, their things are still strewn around and the faint smoke from their bonfire has long died down. And, there across Antonio's bedding of dried leaves, were his scattered diaries.
The Spaniard's diaries. His secrets. His innermost thoughts and plans are all written in there.
A part of him wanted nothing to do with it. Antonio did go through his things, but never did he look at them without letting him know. He also had his own logs with him, but quickly lied about them being recipe books that he had gathered from around the world.
But it won't hurt to peek.
And Antonio was still asleep.
Licking his lips, Arthur silently crept towards Antonio's journals. He quickly grabbed the first one within his reach and sifted through it. He scanned through the pages, looking for military blueprints, important notes-anything. There was nothing but sketched portraits of his children-and there are a lot of them. Half of the entire book probably was only filled with his favorite: the frowning round faced brat, Lovino.
"Worthless," he grumbled, sifting some more until he came across some text.
Francisco me preguntó si puede cumplir con mi hijo, Alfonso, algún tiempo, han tomado cariño al niño tanto que bromeó en torno a si que estoy bien si él apoderarse de su territorio, ya sabes, si se convierte en muy difícil de controlar ....
(Francis asked me if he can meet with my son Alfonso some time, he have taken a liking to the boy so much that he joked around that I'm if fine if he seize his territory, you know, if he becomes too much to handle....)
"Oh great...," he mumbled. "There is nothing to see here, but his days with that frog!"
"What else should be there?" Came a voice from behind Arthur. He was so surprised that he nearly tossed the journal away like it was on fire.
The blond quickly turned his head around. Antonio was sitting up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Snooping around, Arthur?"
"No!"
The Spaniard smirked. He rose to his feet. "You are a bad liar, you know that?"
He stepped forward, hovering above the blond with ease as he deliberately stepped on Arthur's hand. He could hear Arthur let out a string of curses as he gingerly bent over and scooped up his journals.
"I won't bring this out for you to see if it's a secret. I'd rather keep my secrets in my head!" he explained pointing at his head, while Arthur watched in horror as the pages slowly slipped from his fingertips. "Now, let me have that."
"Bollocks...!" he gasped, as Antonio casually started ripping the pages and tossing them to the pile of burnt branches. "What are you doing?! Those are your journals!!"
"Making fire!" he replied, answering the obvious. Antonio bent over and started to do just that. "We might be able to signal any ships that will pass by."
It wasn't worthless information; sure it was not what Arthur was expecting, but still, any information was still information!
Antonio smiled confidently as he watched Arthur's irises slowly dilate again as he gaped over the torn pages catching fire. The man looked pathetic. "I keep a copy of them back home! I make extras of my favorites to keep me company during my travels!"
Arthur blinked. He made extras of his journals?! The thought of re-writing and re-sketching his favorite logs was already time consuming. What was next: he could play the piano with his toes?
Green eyes darkened briefly "...And of course, if someone is planning to steal them."
The blond swallowed. "You retrieved them just so you can burn them...."
"Not exactly," he mused, fanning the small fire until it steadily grew. "I wanted to read them last night, but I had to tend to you, remember?"
Arthur's face grew red. He could see the amused look in Antonio's eyes. Embarrassed, he turned his head around and slowly staggered to his feet.
"I didn't ask for it, Antonio!" he scowled. Limping steadily with his good leg. "I didn't ask for you to look after me or warm me up for that matter! I don't w-"
"Don't what, Inglaterra?"
I don't want to owe you anything and be obligated to do something in return...you fruit.
"I can manage by myself if you only let me!"
"I kind of expected that, too," Antonio answered, his attention still on the bonfire, fanning it until dark smoke started to billow into the air. "...From a former pirate."
The Spaniard didn't care as Arthur continued to stare at him in complete disbelief. "You have certainly softened during the years, Inglaterra. You have kids, you have to set a good example. You left your own former crew to DO the dirty work, though...."
"And what about you?!" Arthur snapped. "It's not like you are any better!"
"What about me?" The brunette answered mockingly. "I'm still the same Antonio Fernandez Carriedo you still despise: the red fury, the conquistador - but like wine, I become refined and better with age-and better with kids! Do you know that by handling more than 10 colonies in one household can make one a master of chaos?"
"Oh, shut up!" Arthur screamed, turning around to slowly limp away from him. "This argument is pointless!"
"You started it." Antonio answered quietly. He slowly stood up, dusting his pants, and turned towards the agitated blond. "You are worse than a woman about to have her menstrual cycle. I'd rather have my hija scream around me about broken promises than you bicker about your pride!"
"Heh, your hija never screamed when she was under my care for 2 years!" Arthur yelled.
"Make that one," the Spaniard corrected him. "You had to pay up your share for damaging her property; you had no choice but to stay." His expression darkened once more. "...And her screaming fits got worse since you came along."
"You are the one who said that, not me," Arthur turned his head, emerald eyes clashing with furious ones. " And for the record, you are keeping her too cooped up. Imagine the wealth of knowledge she learned when I came along!"
"That's what I'm preventing, you idiot! She learned too much-unnecessary things!"
"And those clothes! Have you even realized how humid it is in the equator? I can go walking in my unmentionables in an average day in Filipinas!"
"You didn't do that!"
"Well, of course not, not when she is around...," Arthur rolled his eyes, I'm just toying with you. He could hear Antonio pacing towards his direction, angrily demanding that all he just said about his hija are lies. But the blonde isn't paying attention at him; Arthur could see something dark steadily approaching from the horizon amongst the heavy morning mist. Antonio's voice also trailed off as he slowly stopped dead on his tracks. They both recognized it. It was a naval ship!
"It's my ship!" he exclaimed excitedly, rushing towards it. But Arthur was quick to elbow him and pushed him back.
"No, it's mine!" he shouted, limping steadily and fast towards the approaching vessel. He grabbed what seems to be a torn canvas washed ashore.
"Over here! Over here!"
"Gillapolas! That's not your Rainbow Unicorn!" Antonio barked, rising from his feet, shoving Arthur. "I know that form! It's my Nuestra Señora de la Victoria!"
"It's the Majestic Unicorn, you git!" Arthur growled, balancing himself with his good leg and catching up with the Spaniard. "It's my ship!"
"Don't be stubborn! It's mine!"
Angrily, the Englishman mustered the strength to surge forward, not minding if every step with his injured leg sent him into hot burning pain. It had to be his ship. He briefly remembered how his Britannia and Royal George dodged the canons by a thin line as the Majestic Unicorn surged forward, firing all its might as it locked to one of Antonio's ships. Yes. It could be his Royal George.
The ship weighed anchor as the two hurried towards the shore. They felt like they had been running down the whole expanse of the beach forever. Arthur was a few feet ahead of Antonio, trying to catch a glimpse of the men lowering their longboats and rowing towards the shore.
The mists were clearing out now. He started to slow down as he saw a handful of sailors fast approaching; none of them seemed to don the colors of a British naval uniform. They were shouting something, but he couldn't understand them....
Must be his privateers....
He then lifted his gaze to the banner. The flag-of course!
Whipping strongly against the wind, were the colors of red and yellow.
Arthur felt his knees grow weak. The sailors-Antonio's men, who recognized him by now were not only running towards at the sight of their fatherland, but they were also charging towards him, ready to release their fury.
He wanted to turn back, to run away, but that will only make him a coward. Arthur just froze in his tracks.
They were coming to him now.
He wondered why Antonio hadn't breathed a word. Wasn't he supposed to be crying tears of joy? Shouldn't he be telling him 'I told you so' and laugh it off like the arrogant fool that he was?
And wasn't he supposed to be behind him?
"Lo siento."
Those were the words that were breathed down his neck.
"You son of a...!"
Arthur was struck with a strong, heavy blow to the back of the head and then everything went black.
xXx________xXx_______xXx________xXx________xXx
A.N. (silentside) - There you have it, half-nakedness and so much UST that hurts. This nautical nonsense is something you just wished! What fate awaits Arthur? And does he really have a gun? And will there be more sexual innuendos like you guys don't even? Stay tuned :D
A.N. (damagectrl) - Thank you for reading! Hehehe...guess which part of the chapter above I wrote and you win a one-shot fanfic. First person to respond correctly wins. :D I know I posted it this a good 12 hours earlier that usual, but I'm very busy at work, so I thought I would try to update it today instead. Hope you guys like it! :)
Random Comparison Chart IV
Know your writers! In this "special" chart, we'll give tell you a little more about us with random questions we blindly selected. If you have any questions you'd like to ask us, please feel free to comment and we'll answer it! Until then, here is "Interview with the Writers" (Parte Dos?).
Why "damagectrl"?
I've often been given the task of curbing the tempers/bad choices of friends (damage control) and I wanted to change the girlier online aliases I've had. This seemed like a safe bet.
Why "silentside"?
It used to be a part of a longer alias I have since 2003. But I stick to silentside because it sounds like a cooler definition of "Lurker".
Why do you write?
It's a hobby, so generally, it's because I get bored. It's also to relieve stress from real life and temporarily escape everyday madness. I also have a rather over-active imagination.
Why do you write?
Because I'm better with it than drawing c: (I learned to draw first, but adapting to writing was faster).
I can express my feelings more clearly with writing and take people to places with it and only their imagination as the limit. Enjoy the ride~!
Why do you enjoy writing?
It relieves my stress, gives me a creative focus, and makes myself (and if I'm lucky, sometimes others) happy.
Why do you enjoy writing?
Same answer as above, it express my feelings (and same time I amuse my readers).
Why do you detest writing?
Sometimes, the pressure to keep up with the standards I/the readers hold for me become a bit overwhelming and I start to hesitate. Also: hate mail, flames, trolls, and numerous long reviews pointing out "why (my) story is wrong".
Why do you detest writing?
Because it takes out the little free time I have left.
How do you become inspired?
I'm not sure. It just kind of happens. Travel, music, lectures, random events; it just happens sometimes.
How do you become inspired?
Usually I get inspired with every day events. It could be the movie I watched, a book I've read, or overhearing someone's conversation...or simply while taking a shower.
How do you get past writer's block?
I sit down and force myself to write notes on the plot. As I write, I tend to put down particular points and details that I can later go back and change and then later fill out into a full story.
How do you get past writer's block?
Sleep, retail therapy, listening to music and reading dribbles from my writing idols (who are both in relationship with each other, how awesome is that) : puella_nerdii and mithrigil
What existing works (books)/genres inspires you to write?
I tend to like thrillers with a little bit of romance - fiction-wise. Non-fiction, I end up reading random things on countries and culture, ancient civilizations, museum books, and Asian-American history.
What existing works (books)/genres inspires you to write?
Reading romance / goth novels, any books on World History, current events and iconic people...and De Sade's compiled works.
Favorite fanfic(s) here that you've written?
I don't have a favorite, but I do enjoy writing the random Australia-related fics best. This is mainly because they have no set plot, no set update schedule, and it's basically a 'whatever I feel like writing' fic "series". Notice that after I write something really dramatic or that causes emotional distress, I tend to balance it with something random and cracky.
Favorite fanfic(s) here that you've written?
- 1762: Extranjero (finished) - Because it has romance/drama/action and comedy. Something I usually don't write often XD
- In The Name of The Father (finished) - I'd say, this is the most wicked thing I have written. I think I lost a lot of viewers with this one. It's about Mafia: Heavy Violence, Explicit Sex Scenes, Incest, Psychological Trauma uhh...yeah then forgetting most of my readers are minors.
Favorite comments from a reader (so far)?
A few years ago, I got an email from a girl who thanked me for writing a 25 chapter fic that I had written in 40 days. Her friend was suffering from depression at the time and the fanfic gave her something to look forward to every day instead of hurting herself or worse. She thanked me many times over and said "If you didn't write this, she wouldn't be here right now." I've received fanfics on my fanfics, fanart on both fanfics and original pieces, inspired others to draw, write, compose music, and try to make a trailer for a fic, but by far, that's the best comment I've ever received.
Favorite comments from a reader (so far)?
I can't remember who said who in particular but I guess when some of them told me that my pieces are inspiring enough to make them do beautiful fan art and dream nice things. Others told me its good enough to bring them out from lurking and make a comment on how awesome my updates are. I think most of my readers are lurkers (idk, it's creepy and flattering at the same time). >_>'
Your hobbies/interests?Writing, sleeping, world travel, people watching, museums (cultural, religious, or pre-modern art specifically), and anything else that randomly catches my attention.
Your hobbies/interests?
Crossplay (I cosplay, but male characters only), photoshoots, just hanging out, writing, drawing, hoarding cheap finds, causing trouble, planning trouble and probably drinking XD.
Favorite APH Character?I don't have favorite. I like the usual blondes (Al, Art, Francis, etc.), but I do feel for Germany. I mean, look who he's hanging out with. Can you imagine the frustration and stress?
Favorite APH Character?At first I liked Japan/Honda Kiku, he sort of remind me of myself (serious, quiet and secretly perverted /bricked) but now it's Canada/Matthew Williams...it have something to do with my not so secret crush to migrate to his regions since...after 9/11...
Least favorite APH Character & Why?I don't have any strong negative feelings for a particular character.
Least favorite APH Character & Why?Italy bros (Yes, I consider them singular XD) I dunno, Lovi is such a brat and Feli is so uke that it hurts.
Favorite book/movie/music-based thing?
- Inferno (Dante) - for imagery
- Bloodroots (RT Cusick)
- Zoolander, Shrek 2, Kung Fu Panda
Favorite book/movie/music-based thing?
- MidSummer Night Madness (several authors)
- If Tomorrow Comes (Sidney Sheldon)
- Zoolander, The Hangover (mtm actually)
Your favorite personal quote:
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
(translated to: "Don't piss me off. Bad things happen to you when you piss me off.")
Your favorite personal quote:
"Oh, crap."
If I were a bird, I'd be a:
Hawk
If I were a bird, I'd be a:
Vulture
Favorite color?
Dark Purple-Indigo
Favorite color?
Blue
As older members of this comma, what would you like to say to the younger members?
Shit happens. Deal with it in as positive a mindset as you can, learn something from it, and move on.
Write/Draw/Dance/Do whatever creative outlet you do for YOURSELF.
As older members of this comma, what would you like to say to the younger members?
I'm so sorry for breaking your brains to things unimaginable. But yes, you can do that with a tomato....and grapes...and...you have to read Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty series to understand.