Fuck, A Sequel.
Title: Communism Ruined My Father's Day (but not really)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: UK/US
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,900
THIS FANFICTION IS DEDICATED TO MON ANGLETERRE, ESPECIALLY THE PARTS WITH ALFRED'S PENIS.
Another year gone by, another year France bragged about how much Canada and Seychelles loved him. Fuck France, and no he did not mean that one literally. England fumbled with the door, slamming his door open and noticing it was surprisingly dark. He liked to leave lights on. It wasn’t wasteful, he just never knew when he would be robbed or the like.
“What the hell is this,” he deadpanned, shutting the door with his foot and rolling his sleeves up. Not that this action was particularly threatening in the least, since England was a scrawny British man in a sweater vest. He heard nothing, except some giggling. Damnit, France had broken into his house again.
“You stupid frog, put your pants on and leave.” The giggling got a little louder and there was the sound of restrained laughter. England scowled, his eyebrows nearly consuming his face, as they threatened to do on a daily basis. The action of scowling only endangered his eyes even further as they were exposed to the magnificent horror of his facial hair. But it seemed like the only thing that would get the ruffian in his house to leave was if he went upstairs and showed him business. He was a gentleman, but he was also a fighter, sometimes. So he stormed upstairs (and, he added in his head, looked nothing like a pissed housewife as Prussia claimed he did when upset) and flipped on the lights in his living room.
His living room was empty. He furrowed his brow, giving the appearance of a small cat resting on his forehead, and tapped his foot, arms crossed.
“Francis, you ass, you had better come out right now and if you try anything I’m calling the police. For real this time!” When no Frenchmen leapt from the shadows of his living room, he cocked his head and pondered who else would hide in his house for shits and giggles.
“Ivan, I swear to God…”
“For Chrissake , Arthur! You’re worse at guessing games than Sweden!” Someone leapt up behind him, from the kitchen and Arthur screamed in a manly way, flailing in the ways of English self-defense, and falling in an early form of counter-attack.
Why the hell wasn’t Alfred wearing any clothing, was the first thing Arthur thought of before he realized Alfred in fact, was very naked. And he was on the ground, next to his crotch.
“AGH,” he screeched in a typically articulate British manner, scurrying back, not thinking to stand up because he didn’t need to, he was Arthur Kirkland.
“Happy Father’s Day, England!” Alfred threw his hands up in the air and wriggled his hips, making England shudder in a non-aroused way.
“What the-“ England’s mistake, however, was letting America open his mouth at any point.
“So, see, Mattie was tellin’ me about how he gave Francis a special Father’s Day present, and I was like ‘whaaat, Matthew? What are you talkin’ about?’ So Matt told me what that meant, because I really didn’t get it, and it turned out he gave him his body! I was like ‘woaaaaaaaaah’ because really, what a whore, and he had hickies too and I made this awesome joke about them being from his bear,” Alfred said, giggling and taking a breath, giving Arthur the misconception he was done, so he opened his mouth but Alfred just put a hand up, continuing.
“Really, England, respect, Goddamn. You always said to not interrupt so stop trying to interrupt. Okay, so where was I? Uh…uh…oh yeah, um, so Matt was like ‘no, you ass’ and I laughed and it was really funny and then I got some Starbucks and thought about how I didn’t get you anything for Father’s Day because I for--…because the economy is bad and I didn’t have any money, but Mattie gave Francis a present with no money, except he did take him out to dinner, and he said it was really nice…but that’s not the point! The point is, stop trying to distract me, I decided I would give you that gift too! It’s free! And I know you must be really happy to get it!” England waited. He sat there for a good two minutes.
“Aren’t you gonna say anything, Iggy?” England rubbed his temples, sighing.
“Let me…try and sort out this mess you call words strung together in sentences. You were talking with Matthew, and he had sex with Francis for Father’s Day, oh God, I will have to have a talk with him later, and so you decided to…put a bow on your vital regions and hide in my house naked?” It was indeed true; Alfred had tied a bow on his penis, with red, white and blue ribbon. England could only hope he was thinking of the Union Jack when he did that, but chances were he was thinking of his own flag or that’s the only kind of ribbon he owns. Most likely the latter. Alfred nodded vigorously, putting his hands on his hips proudly.
“Yep! I wrapped up my package all nice for you! See, look how clever that is, England, because it can mean two things! It can mean a package like a present or like my ju-“ England was fed up with this, honestly.
“You fucking youth and your fucking…argh,” he growled in frustration, standing up. Apparently America had been taking lessons from France, because he took this as a signal to throw himself all over England, hugging him.
“Ge’off me, you’re naked, you bloody fool!” England squirmed about but wherever his legs went he couldn’t shake the sensation of feeling America’s present nearby.
“THIS IS NOT CRICKET!” It really wasn’t at all. America had used his only-slightly-superior size and weight to push him on the ground, and was looming over him.
“No, this is sex. What’s it got to do with a cricket?”
“I do not want sex, you idiot! If you do not get your uncouth ass off me, I will be forced to make you!” America erupted into a fit of giggles. England honestly couldn’t understand why. Just because he was a few inches (just a few!) shorter, and just because he was a little less muscular (just a little!) did not mean he couldn’t overpower America any day.
He could, honestly.
“But don’t you wanna unwrap your present?”
“I already know what I got.”
“Unwrapping is the fun part, though!” England glared at him. Not like anyone could see behind the curtain of eyebrow hair, though.
“Maybe to a 10 year old child, or somebody with the mentality of one. Like you.” America pouted, reaffirming this statement entirely, and kissed England, shoving his tongue into the British man’s mouth in a completely unromantic and unarousing way.
Why was England aroused?
“Damn…damn kids,” he said, his voice losing most of the bite it had as America licked his jawline, starting to pull up his sweater vest. Then he reached under the couch and pulled out--…a gun? England looked at him in what was not fear, but instead just morbid curiosity.
“What the fuck, Alfred?”
“This is how people do it, right?”
Then England remembered that Alfred’s only other partner had been Communists. Which explained everything. So he took the gun and put it on the coffee table and dragged America off into the bedroom.
“Git…making me have this Talk with you on Father’s Day. I hate you for this just so you know,” he mumbled, as America chattered happily about how much his furniture tastes sucked. Fucker.
“Hey, hey Arthur?”
“Yes, Alfred,” he answered almost hesitantly.
“Did you bring the knife? I thought you had to have a knife too…”
It occurred to England that completely unknowingly, Russia had ruined his Father’s Day. And America’s sexual education, but that was going to be corrected soon enough. It was also less important than England’s Father’s Day. He pushed America onto the bed, stripping out of his sweater vest (which was sexy, France and Italy just had no taste in fashion) and unbuttoning his shirt before standing over America, frowning.
“Sex should not hurt.”
“That’s not what I know,” America returned, as if he knew fucking everything about everyone and everything in the universe. It made England’s frown deepen, and his nose was in danger now of being swallowed by the black holes separating his eyes from his forehead.
“Fuck what you know; you learned from a Chinese girly boy who most likely made you wear a Hello Kitty condom and a man who attempts to have intercourse with vodka bottles when he’s drunk.” America nodded, unbuttoning England’s trousers and pushing them down, letting England step out of them and brush them aside, uncaring of the poor things’ feelings, or their desire to be folded because they had never done anything wrong. England was abusive, of course, to his clothing. Not as much as France, but the damage was done forever.
“That is true…I guess if you can be right about other obvious stuff I should trust you.” For once England loved the American Way. America sat up suddenly.
“I brought my stereo into your room so we could put on music and stuff….I heard that we’re supposed to do that.” England appreciated the thought. He looked around the bedroom, and saw the…difficult to notice stereo. It looked more like America had thrown the thing at the wall and glued wires to random places (actually, he had, but it hadn’t worked so he took the spare wires off) but when he turned it on, it worked fine.
“Oh Thank you, Mary,” England said, letting out a near-silent prayer as the music started playing.
“Oh, Queen, Alfred? What the hell.”
“Whaaat? It’s perfect! It’s gay, and it’s British, and Americans love it! So it’s like you!” England fumed, turning a few different shades of red, but was never one to deny Queen in his household, and let the music stay, returning to Alfred.
“Now, shut up. That is the first thing you have to know. Nobody wants to hear about ‘your totally amazing movie’ with whatever the fuck you write movies about nobody cares, so please just be quiet.” America nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but instead England just stuck two fingers in it instead, scowling.
“Focus on these,” he said and America was surprisingly agreeable, coating them with saliva. It made England sneer a little, but it would be fine, and he pulled America’s legs up, putting one over his shoulder and holding the other one up while he slowly pushed both fingers in, feeling America squirm a little but make no noise. Was he really that-England nodded when he remembered America’s past lover had been…monstrously well-endowed. And it was unlikely this little twink topped, ever. So he pulled out his fingers and looked at Alfred, picturesque nonchalance as he silently sang along to “Bohemian Rhapsody”. It was decidedly unfair that he was still so tight, Arthur decided, and added another finger. This made Alfred squirm a little, frowning.
“Wha-“
“Shut up, Alfred.” The American frowned, but did as he asked, hands straying to his cock, bow still in place. He started to untie but England smacked his hand away.
“I don’t think I want to unwrap it all the way yet. No touching, or I’ll wrap you up more,” he growled, pulling his fingers out and leaning over America, kissing down his body, dipping his tongue into the man’s navel making him gasp and run a hand in England’s hair.
“Ah…En-England…” The English man pinched him, making him yelp.
“Don’t talk…in fact…” He leaned down and picked up his tie, that he had removed earlier and tied it around Alfred’s mouth, silencing him.
“There we go.” America glared at him, blue eyes fierce and he writhed under England, who honestly did not care and the silence was the most wonderful thing ever. He resumed his previous action and eventually got down to America’s manhood, erect and still tied up. England took one of the ends of the ribbon in his mouth, pulling it out and holding the red ribbon in his teeth, winking at America, who moaned from behind England’s tie and bucked up. England held onto his hips tightly and torturously lowered his mouth on America’s cock, hot breath hitting it before his mouth. America shut his eyes tightly, letting out a feathery moan and trying to wrench his hips up again, but was stopped by England’s iron grip on his hips. England licked his lips, took one last lusty glance at America and gave him one long, hot lick over his shaft, sucking at the tip softly. Still holding America’s hips, he took his whole length in his mouth, bobbing eagerly. The muffled moans and whimpers from America were arousing him more than he would have liked, and it made him realize exactly how hard he was. The English man pleasured Alfred with skill that denoted it was not his first time, and he sat up to smile at America, a cruel smirk on his lips.
“Do you enjoy that, Alfred?” He undid the tie now, and America did not, thankfully, say a thing. He was blushing deeply and breathless.
“Ah…uh…Canada said that…I should…call you daddy?” England reared up, mildly-offended but mostly horrified at what that did to him.
“You most certainly do not!” Alfred sighed, looking down. As if that kind of adorable tenderness would get him anything. What an idiot. To distract him, England took hold of his arousal, making him groan and keen into England’s touch.
“Oh, Arthur…” England smiled, kissing him once and spreading America’s legs, positioning himself at his entrance.
“You’re lucky I untied you, but I did it for my own gain, I promise.” America had time to sigh and roll his eyes before England plunged into him, making a scream slip out his lips. England smirked at him, thrusting slowly, and America wrenched his hands into the bedsheets. He pushed himself against Arthur, working with the pain quite well.
“Such a good lad,” Arthur cooed, ramming into Alfred again.
“Fuck!” The American trembled underneath him, tossing and turning as England thrust hard into him again, staring to move faster.
“Harder, Arthur! Oh God, harder!” Arthur smacked his thigh, having time to scowl at him.
“Shush, it’s my Father’s Day, I’ll fuck you however the hell I want.” America found this more erotic than he should have, and instead of protesting, he just moaned and shivered under England’s touch as the British man tweaked a nipple.
“Yes, that’s fine. Moan as much as you like, boy,” he reassured Alfred as he thrust as hard as he could, eliciting a moan himself in agonizing pleasure, watching Alfred’s face as he tossed his head back and let out a loud, lingering throaty groan, mumbling something as he reached to touch himself. Arthur didn’t stop him this time, enjoying the scene of his son jerking himself off as he fucked him.
“Ah…” Alfred stared at Arthur’s face as he stroked himself, pupils dilated and what he could see of those blue eyes cloudy.
“D-dad…” Arthur swallowed nervously as Alfred began this new mantra, whispering ‘dad’ over and over as he jacked himself off, making Arthur mewl in a completely un-dominating way as he thrust faster into Alfred, getting closer to release.
“Ah! Yes, Arthur! Dad!” America released into his hand, coating it with white fluid. He held it out and Arthur took it in his mouth, sucking on it as he thrust a final time into Alfred, pulling out to come, completely ruining all the effort he took to clean him up by getting semen on Alfred’s hips and cock.
“Fuuuuck, Arthur,” Alfred whined, trying to wipe it off but making more of a mess. Not caring because he had just finished his orgasm, he just lazily smacked Alfred on the knee and told him to get out of the bed and clean it off himself.
“Ass,” Alfred complained, falling out of bed and going into the bathroom to find a washcloth.
After he came back, he flopped on the bed, landing on Arthur’s leg, making him swear and kick Alfred in the ribs.
“By the way, Arthur…” The man in question glanced in Alfred’s direction, arms crossed on the farthest possible side of the bed from Alfred.
“Happy Father’s Day,” he said softly, grabbing Arthur by the waist and pulling him back to his side where he completely forced a cuddle.
“Le’go!” Arthur squirmed, clawing at him like a particularly frustrated old cat.
“Awww, please….daddy?” Arthur scowled but stopped resisting.
“Fine, but only because…I’m too tired to deal with your…annoying behavior,” he murmured into Alfred’s shoulder, cuddling against him.
“Yep, sure,” Alfred said, completely convinced, just as Arthur thought, as he dropped off to sleep, snoring loudly. Luckily, Arthur could not hear because he was already asleep when this happened, making that the Best Father’s Day Ever.
If he didn’t think Alfred was such an idiot.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: UK/US
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,900
THIS FANFICTION IS DEDICATED TO MON ANGLETERRE, ESPECIALLY THE PARTS WITH ALFRED'S PENIS.
Another year gone by, another year France bragged about how much Canada and Seychelles loved him. Fuck France, and no he did not mean that one literally. England fumbled with the door, slamming his door open and noticing it was surprisingly dark. He liked to leave lights on. It wasn’t wasteful, he just never knew when he would be robbed or the like.
“What the hell is this,” he deadpanned, shutting the door with his foot and rolling his sleeves up. Not that this action was particularly threatening in the least, since England was a scrawny British man in a sweater vest. He heard nothing, except some giggling. Damnit, France had broken into his house again.
“You stupid frog, put your pants on and leave.” The giggling got a little louder and there was the sound of restrained laughter. England scowled, his eyebrows nearly consuming his face, as they threatened to do on a daily basis. The action of scowling only endangered his eyes even further as they were exposed to the magnificent horror of his facial hair. But it seemed like the only thing that would get the ruffian in his house to leave was if he went upstairs and showed him business. He was a gentleman, but he was also a fighter, sometimes. So he stormed upstairs (and, he added in his head, looked nothing like a pissed housewife as Prussia claimed he did when upset) and flipped on the lights in his living room.
His living room was empty. He furrowed his brow, giving the appearance of a small cat resting on his forehead, and tapped his foot, arms crossed.
“Francis, you ass, you had better come out right now and if you try anything I’m calling the police. For real this time!” When no Frenchmen leapt from the shadows of his living room, he cocked his head and pondered who else would hide in his house for shits and giggles.
“Ivan, I swear to God…”
“For Chrissake , Arthur! You’re worse at guessing games than Sweden!” Someone leapt up behind him, from the kitchen and Arthur screamed in a manly way, flailing in the ways of English self-defense, and falling in an early form of counter-attack.
Why the hell wasn’t Alfred wearing any clothing, was the first thing Arthur thought of before he realized Alfred in fact, was very naked. And he was on the ground, next to his crotch.
“AGH,” he screeched in a typically articulate British manner, scurrying back, not thinking to stand up because he didn’t need to, he was Arthur Kirkland.
“Happy Father’s Day, England!” Alfred threw his hands up in the air and wriggled his hips, making England shudder in a non-aroused way.
“What the-“ England’s mistake, however, was letting America open his mouth at any point.
“So, see, Mattie was tellin’ me about how he gave Francis a special Father’s Day present, and I was like ‘whaaat, Matthew? What are you talkin’ about?’ So Matt told me what that meant, because I really didn’t get it, and it turned out he gave him his body! I was like ‘woaaaaaaaaah’ because really, what a whore, and he had hickies too and I made this awesome joke about them being from his bear,” Alfred said, giggling and taking a breath, giving Arthur the misconception he was done, so he opened his mouth but Alfred just put a hand up, continuing.
“Really, England, respect, Goddamn. You always said to not interrupt so stop trying to interrupt. Okay, so where was I? Uh…uh…oh yeah, um, so Matt was like ‘no, you ass’ and I laughed and it was really funny and then I got some Starbucks and thought about how I didn’t get you anything for Father’s Day because I for--…because the economy is bad and I didn’t have any money, but Mattie gave Francis a present with no money, except he did take him out to dinner, and he said it was really nice…but that’s not the point! The point is, stop trying to distract me, I decided I would give you that gift too! It’s free! And I know you must be really happy to get it!” England waited. He sat there for a good two minutes.
“Aren’t you gonna say anything, Iggy?” England rubbed his temples, sighing.
“Let me…try and sort out this mess you call words strung together in sentences. You were talking with Matthew, and he had sex with Francis for Father’s Day, oh God, I will have to have a talk with him later, and so you decided to…put a bow on your vital regions and hide in my house naked?” It was indeed true; Alfred had tied a bow on his penis, with red, white and blue ribbon. England could only hope he was thinking of the Union Jack when he did that, but chances were he was thinking of his own flag or that’s the only kind of ribbon he owns. Most likely the latter. Alfred nodded vigorously, putting his hands on his hips proudly.
“Yep! I wrapped up my package all nice for you! See, look how clever that is, England, because it can mean two things! It can mean a package like a present or like my ju-“ England was fed up with this, honestly.
“You fucking youth and your fucking…argh,” he growled in frustration, standing up. Apparently America had been taking lessons from France, because he took this as a signal to throw himself all over England, hugging him.
“Ge’off me, you’re naked, you bloody fool!” England squirmed about but wherever his legs went he couldn’t shake the sensation of feeling America’s present nearby.
“THIS IS NOT CRICKET!” It really wasn’t at all. America had used his only-slightly-superior size and weight to push him on the ground, and was looming over him.
“No, this is sex. What’s it got to do with a cricket?”
“I do not want sex, you idiot! If you do not get your uncouth ass off me, I will be forced to make you!” America erupted into a fit of giggles. England honestly couldn’t understand why. Just because he was a few inches (just a few!) shorter, and just because he was a little less muscular (just a little!) did not mean he couldn’t overpower America any day.
He could, honestly.
“But don’t you wanna unwrap your present?”
“I already know what I got.”
“Unwrapping is the fun part, though!” England glared at him. Not like anyone could see behind the curtain of eyebrow hair, though.
“Maybe to a 10 year old child, or somebody with the mentality of one. Like you.” America pouted, reaffirming this statement entirely, and kissed England, shoving his tongue into the British man’s mouth in a completely unromantic and unarousing way.
Why was England aroused?
“Damn…damn kids,” he said, his voice losing most of the bite it had as America licked his jawline, starting to pull up his sweater vest. Then he reached under the couch and pulled out--…a gun? England looked at him in what was not fear, but instead just morbid curiosity.
“What the fuck, Alfred?”
“This is how people do it, right?”
Then England remembered that Alfred’s only other partner had been Communists. Which explained everything. So he took the gun and put it on the coffee table and dragged America off into the bedroom.
“Git…making me have this Talk with you on Father’s Day. I hate you for this just so you know,” he mumbled, as America chattered happily about how much his furniture tastes sucked. Fucker.
“Hey, hey Arthur?”
“Yes, Alfred,” he answered almost hesitantly.
“Did you bring the knife? I thought you had to have a knife too…”
It occurred to England that completely unknowingly, Russia had ruined his Father’s Day. And America’s sexual education, but that was going to be corrected soon enough. It was also less important than England’s Father’s Day. He pushed America onto the bed, stripping out of his sweater vest (which was sexy, France and Italy just had no taste in fashion) and unbuttoning his shirt before standing over America, frowning.
“Sex should not hurt.”
“That’s not what I know,” America returned, as if he knew fucking everything about everyone and everything in the universe. It made England’s frown deepen, and his nose was in danger now of being swallowed by the black holes separating his eyes from his forehead.
“Fuck what you know; you learned from a Chinese girly boy who most likely made you wear a Hello Kitty condom and a man who attempts to have intercourse with vodka bottles when he’s drunk.” America nodded, unbuttoning England’s trousers and pushing them down, letting England step out of them and brush them aside, uncaring of the poor things’ feelings, or their desire to be folded because they had never done anything wrong. England was abusive, of course, to his clothing. Not as much as France, but the damage was done forever.
“That is true…I guess if you can be right about other obvious stuff I should trust you.” For once England loved the American Way. America sat up suddenly.
“I brought my stereo into your room so we could put on music and stuff….I heard that we’re supposed to do that.” England appreciated the thought. He looked around the bedroom, and saw the…difficult to notice stereo. It looked more like America had thrown the thing at the wall and glued wires to random places (actually, he had, but it hadn’t worked so he took the spare wires off) but when he turned it on, it worked fine.
“Oh Thank you, Mary,” England said, letting out a near-silent prayer as the music started playing.
“Oh, Queen, Alfred? What the hell.”
“Whaaat? It’s perfect! It’s gay, and it’s British, and Americans love it! So it’s like you!” England fumed, turning a few different shades of red, but was never one to deny Queen in his household, and let the music stay, returning to Alfred.
“Now, shut up. That is the first thing you have to know. Nobody wants to hear about ‘your totally amazing movie’ with whatever the fuck you write movies about nobody cares, so please just be quiet.” America nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but instead England just stuck two fingers in it instead, scowling.
“Focus on these,” he said and America was surprisingly agreeable, coating them with saliva. It made England sneer a little, but it would be fine, and he pulled America’s legs up, putting one over his shoulder and holding the other one up while he slowly pushed both fingers in, feeling America squirm a little but make no noise. Was he really that-England nodded when he remembered America’s past lover had been…monstrously well-endowed. And it was unlikely this little twink topped, ever. So he pulled out his fingers and looked at Alfred, picturesque nonchalance as he silently sang along to “Bohemian Rhapsody”. It was decidedly unfair that he was still so tight, Arthur decided, and added another finger. This made Alfred squirm a little, frowning.
“Wha-“
“Shut up, Alfred.” The American frowned, but did as he asked, hands straying to his cock, bow still in place. He started to untie but England smacked his hand away.
“I don’t think I want to unwrap it all the way yet. No touching, or I’ll wrap you up more,” he growled, pulling his fingers out and leaning over America, kissing down his body, dipping his tongue into the man’s navel making him gasp and run a hand in England’s hair.
“Ah…En-England…” The English man pinched him, making him yelp.
“Don’t talk…in fact…” He leaned down and picked up his tie, that he had removed earlier and tied it around Alfred’s mouth, silencing him.
“There we go.” America glared at him, blue eyes fierce and he writhed under England, who honestly did not care and the silence was the most wonderful thing ever. He resumed his previous action and eventually got down to America’s manhood, erect and still tied up. England took one of the ends of the ribbon in his mouth, pulling it out and holding the red ribbon in his teeth, winking at America, who moaned from behind England’s tie and bucked up. England held onto his hips tightly and torturously lowered his mouth on America’s cock, hot breath hitting it before his mouth. America shut his eyes tightly, letting out a feathery moan and trying to wrench his hips up again, but was stopped by England’s iron grip on his hips. England licked his lips, took one last lusty glance at America and gave him one long, hot lick over his shaft, sucking at the tip softly. Still holding America’s hips, he took his whole length in his mouth, bobbing eagerly. The muffled moans and whimpers from America were arousing him more than he would have liked, and it made him realize exactly how hard he was. The English man pleasured Alfred with skill that denoted it was not his first time, and he sat up to smile at America, a cruel smirk on his lips.
“Do you enjoy that, Alfred?” He undid the tie now, and America did not, thankfully, say a thing. He was blushing deeply and breathless.
“Ah…uh…Canada said that…I should…call you daddy?” England reared up, mildly-offended but mostly horrified at what that did to him.
“You most certainly do not!” Alfred sighed, looking down. As if that kind of adorable tenderness would get him anything. What an idiot. To distract him, England took hold of his arousal, making him groan and keen into England’s touch.
“Oh, Arthur…” England smiled, kissing him once and spreading America’s legs, positioning himself at his entrance.
“You’re lucky I untied you, but I did it for my own gain, I promise.” America had time to sigh and roll his eyes before England plunged into him, making a scream slip out his lips. England smirked at him, thrusting slowly, and America wrenched his hands into the bedsheets. He pushed himself against Arthur, working with the pain quite well.
“Such a good lad,” Arthur cooed, ramming into Alfred again.
“Fuck!” The American trembled underneath him, tossing and turning as England thrust hard into him again, staring to move faster.
“Harder, Arthur! Oh God, harder!” Arthur smacked his thigh, having time to scowl at him.
“Shush, it’s my Father’s Day, I’ll fuck you however the hell I want.” America found this more erotic than he should have, and instead of protesting, he just moaned and shivered under England’s touch as the British man tweaked a nipple.
“Yes, that’s fine. Moan as much as you like, boy,” he reassured Alfred as he thrust as hard as he could, eliciting a moan himself in agonizing pleasure, watching Alfred’s face as he tossed his head back and let out a loud, lingering throaty groan, mumbling something as he reached to touch himself. Arthur didn’t stop him this time, enjoying the scene of his son jerking himself off as he fucked him.
“Ah…” Alfred stared at Arthur’s face as he stroked himself, pupils dilated and what he could see of those blue eyes cloudy.
“D-dad…” Arthur swallowed nervously as Alfred began this new mantra, whispering ‘dad’ over and over as he jacked himself off, making Arthur mewl in a completely un-dominating way as he thrust faster into Alfred, getting closer to release.
“Ah! Yes, Arthur! Dad!” America released into his hand, coating it with white fluid. He held it out and Arthur took it in his mouth, sucking on it as he thrust a final time into Alfred, pulling out to come, completely ruining all the effort he took to clean him up by getting semen on Alfred’s hips and cock.
“Fuuuuck, Arthur,” Alfred whined, trying to wipe it off but making more of a mess. Not caring because he had just finished his orgasm, he just lazily smacked Alfred on the knee and told him to get out of the bed and clean it off himself.
“Ass,” Alfred complained, falling out of bed and going into the bathroom to find a washcloth.
After he came back, he flopped on the bed, landing on Arthur’s leg, making him swear and kick Alfred in the ribs.
“By the way, Arthur…” The man in question glanced in Alfred’s direction, arms crossed on the farthest possible side of the bed from Alfred.
“Happy Father’s Day,” he said softly, grabbing Arthur by the waist and pulling him back to his side where he completely forced a cuddle.
“Le’go!” Arthur squirmed, clawing at him like a particularly frustrated old cat.
“Awww, please….daddy?” Arthur scowled but stopped resisting.
“Fine, but only because…I’m too tired to deal with your…annoying behavior,” he murmured into Alfred’s shoulder, cuddling against him.
“Yep, sure,” Alfred said, completely convinced, just as Arthur thought, as he dropped off to sleep, snoring loudly. Luckily, Arthur could not hear because he was already asleep when this happened, making that the Best Father’s Day Ever.
If he didn’t think Alfred was such an idiot.