[APH] Good Servants, but Bad Masters [UKUS]
Title: Good Servants, but Bad Masters
Character(s)/Pairing(s): England and America; UKUS
Rating: R
Warnings: teen colony/empire roleplay; deflowering kink; sex
Summary: England and America decide to do a little teen colony uniform roleplay from the time of the 7 Years' War
Notes: Kink meme de-anon from awhile ago now. The original prompt was America and England roleplaying being teenaged colony and empire again.
~*~
It started with alcohol. That’s how most semi-ridiculous stories start, and this one was no different from any others. Alfred had gotten a hold of some rather good replicas of the old red coat uniforms and wanted to show Arthur before they passed through their hands and on to some collector or museum or re-enactment company, and Arthur and Alfred had decided that having some good booze along with the uniforms would ‘reinvent’ the experience of years past.
It was Arthur’s idea to put them on.
“S’good thing it’s cold out, this is warm,” Alfred muttered as he tucked the breeches into a pair of his more modern combat boots. He straightened the jacket, cheeks flushed pink in contrast to the bright scarlet red of the coat, and he gave Arthur a wobbly twirl. “Look, I’m a red coat ballerina.”
“Did you know,” Arthur started, jacket in one hand, beer bottle in the other, “that the more you drink, the dumber you sound?” With that, he took another swig of the bottle and heartily slammed it into the kitchen table, sliding into the jacket he had in his hand. It was a bit too big for him (they were more suited for men of Alfred’s size) but it came with a certain reminiscent comfort. His mind tumbled back through days and days of wearing the same wool coat, having it scratch against the stubble growing from many weary battle days, the breeches stained from mud and rain.
Arthur glanced up and noticed Alfred giving him a gleaming eye from across the kitchen table, clearly appreciating the fine workmanship of a sturdy British uniform. Arthur walked closer to Alfred, flexing his chest a little and twisting his shoulders as he looked over the coat. Every buckle, every brass button, every stitch and seam were in perfect place.
“This is American made?” Arthur asked, fingering the cuffs of each sleeve. “Impressive.” Alfred raised his eyebrows, took a gulp from his bottle, and gave a gentle tug to the tail of Arthur’s coat.
“I guess it’s ‘cause you raised hic me right?” Alfred asked, standing up from the seat he’d tripped into. He had taken off his glasses to pull the undershirt over his head and as he stood there before Arthur, the older man was struck by how much he was reminded of his Alfred, the boy whom he’d watched over before he decided to turn on him.
Arthur swallowed thickly and ran his eyes over Alfred’s endearing face, his hazy eyes and his lopsided smile.
“D’you remember that time,” Alfred said, “that I was wearin’ this coat and you were wearin’ that coat and we were drunk because it was after the-the French and Indian War, and we were all celebratin’ beating France?” America smirked and leaned back against the table, one leg crossed over the other. Arthur sniggered.
“You’re speaking so freely of a time you said you’d never talk about,” Arthur inquired. Alfred chuckled.
“So’re you,” Alfred responded. They stood in silence for a moment, Arthur staring up at Alfred with wide eyes, curling his fingers into fists and trying to contain the overwhelming heat rising in his body-and it wasn’t from the wool coat. Arthur reached up and swept a lock of blonde behind Alfred’s ear. Alfred’s cheeks reddened even more and he looked down at Arthur, licking his lips.
“Arthur,” he murmured into the thick air. Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond; he could see the wheels churning in Alfred’s liquored brain. Alfred always got weird ideas for things for them to do while he was drunk and this time was no exception. Alfred reached out for Arthur’s right hand, and rubbed small circles into his knuckles. Alfred then locked eyes with Arthur, and slowly lowered himself to the floor, so he was kneeling on one knee before Arthur, as if he were going to propose. Arthur stiffened and held his breath, staring down at the younger blonde in confusion.
“Alfred-“
“Arthur... sir,” Alfred said in a softer voice, cutting him off. Alfred was still staring up into his eyes with a piercing blue gaze, and as he stared he brought Arthur’s hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle. Arthur closed his eyes and used his other hand to ruffle Alfred’s blonde hair.
“You were so brave, fighting that evil French bastard and keeping me safe, sir,” America said, his voice much softer than before. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m grateful to you. I’m in your debt.” Once upon a time, Alfred had actually believed those sentiments and had said those very words. He’d been but a young colony then, a young, bright thing, but old enough to start thinking about sovereignty and self-determination.
Arthur knew what Alfred was going on about. If he wanted to play that game, then so be it.
“I’m glad,” Arthur said, and Alfred lifted his head, Arthur’s hand still clasped in his own, and he pulled Alfred to a standing position. “I don’t want that idiot influencing you.”
“Because I’m yours,” Alfred said, raising his eyebrows at Arthur. Arthur’s smile widened.
“Yes, because you’re mine, lad. And because you are mine I, er... allowed you to partake in the spoils of our victory,” Arthur said, gesturing to the dozen or so bottles littering the small kitchen. Arthur wasn’t especially good at roleplaying, even roles he’d actually lived. But Alfred didn’t mind, and he normally led the story along its path. Being drunk didn’t help matters.
“And now,” Arthur said, taking Alfred’s hand and gently pulling him forward, “I have something else to show you.”
“Really?” Alfred responded, with a little too much eagerness in his voice.
“Really, Alfred, you don’t sound sincere enough,” Arthur scolded, breaking character for a moment. Alfred scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“It’s hard to fake it when I know I’m about to get laid while drunk off my ass for no good reason,” Alfred quipped, and he gave Arthur a toothy grin with lowered eyelids, sky blue and wild. Arthur nearly tripped over his own two feet while looking at Alfred, looking completely willing and wanting and wearing a red coat uniform.
They stumbled up the stairs to Alfred’s bedroom, Arthur inwardly groaning at the feel of the wool against his bare skin. A sensation he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years, he now had to endure, but only for a few more minutes, if the steadily growing rate of his erection were any consideration.
Arthur opened the door into the darkened room, groping for the light switch, but Alfred stopped him with his palm and gestured to the four-poster bed in the center of the room.
“I don’t know why you’re touching the wall, there are perfectly good candles over there, sir,” Alfred said, raising that damn eyebrow again. Arthur cleared his throat and tried to ignore the tingle that Alfred’s touch sent through his spine and instead half-stumbled across the carpet, reaching for the matches Alfred kept beside said candles. He lit both of them, casting a dull, flickering yellow haze over the breadth of the room. Alfred was still standing at the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him, gazing around the room. The lush rose hue of Alfred’s round cheeks made Arthur swallow once more, and hard this time; if Alfred was right about one thing, it was he was most definitely getting laid tonight. Just the thought of the roles they were portraying was revving Arthur up.
“Come over here, lad,” Arthur said, and he sat gently on the edge of Alfred’s bed. Alfred clicked the door closed behind him and walked across the carpet, sitting beside Arthur on the bed and looking directly at him, a mixed look of confusion and apprehension on his face. Arthur leaned forward on his left hand, taking his right and cupping Alfred’s chin, examining his face. Alfred breathed deeply through his nose, his cheeks turning even redder if it were at all possible. Arthur then dragged a finger down his chin, the length of his neck and to his collar, where the first brass button was already undone. Alfred hunched his shoulders and gave an involuntary shudder to the sensual touch, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes. Arthur pulled him closer so his lips were parallel with Alfred’s ear, and whispered:
“Have you ever laid with anyone, boy?” Alfred, eyes still closed, shook his head, although it came off more as a twitch. His hands were balled into fists in his lap and he swallowed audibly. Arthur moved his left hand behind Alfred and nudged his butt with it, reaching up to Alfred’s face with his free hand and turning the younger nation to face him. When Alfred opened his eyes, Arthur was giving him a look that nearly made Alfred throw him down and pound him into the mattress at that instant, but he refrained for the sake of the game. Instead he just stared at Arthur, his eyes narrowed and almost glowing, his hair an appropriate, tousled mess, looking so perfect in that uniform that Alfred, for a moment, believed he were sixteen again and was still colonial America.
“I am not going to let that idiot taint and defile you,” Arthur murmured, and he pushed a piece of sunny blonde hair off of Alfred’s forehead, ghosting his fingertips over Alfred’s sensitive skin. “Not something as precious as you. As mine as you.” Arthur drew his fingertip down to the patch of skin covering the junction of his jaw to his spine and brought his lips to it, kissing it as lightly as possible and blowing on it. Alfred twitched and drew his legs underneath him, his toes curling in his boots and his hands spreading out along his thighs, against the thick wool breeches.
Arthur applied more pressure to the area, using his tongue and his lips until Alfred gave a whine that surprised even him, and then Arthur pulled his face down and kissed him on the lips. Alfred tensed under Arthur’s grip and didn’t kiss back, at first-but then he relented, pressing back, waiting for Arthur to part his lips with his tongue, eyelids fluttering against Arthur’s cheek.
Arthur turned his head, hand still settled on Alfred’s cheek, and deepened their kiss, trying to coax Alfred’s tongue into action, teeth clicking against teeth. Alfred wasn’t the best kisser in the world, but he sure as hell could make Arthur go weak at the knees, and even this fake amateur kissing made Arthur melt.
Soon Alfred picked up in vigor and eagerness and started harshly kissing Arthur back, leaning and looming over him, almost devouring his lips. Arthur pulled back and put a hand to Alfred’s flushed cheek. Alfred was breathing quickly through his nose, eyes still at half-mast, looking confused.
“A-Arthur, what-“ he started, but Arthur shushed him.
“My boy, you’re such a novice,” he said, and brought Alfred in for a slower, more sensual kiss. “You can’t use all your strength. You have to be as gentle-“ kiss “-as-“ kiss kiss “-possible.” Alfred’s eyes were still closed when Arthur pulled away, and the elder took Alfred by the shoulder and led him across the bedspread, causing the flames to flicker along the old candles. He eased the younger back into all the cushions, constantly brushing his hair from his flustered face.
“Sir-w-what are we doing?” Alfred said, his voice wavering with each syllable he spoke. Arthur shhhed him and straddled his thighs, going at a much slower pace than he normally would have.
“When we were fighting Francis,” Arthur said, running his palms down Alfred’s chest and abdomen, “when he had me pinned, he spoke of all the things he wanted to do to you. He wanted to defile you, corrupt you, and make him yours. Lord only knows what he’s done to your brother,” Arthur added. Alfred pursed his lips into a thin line, his chest heaving. His breeches were tight, too tight on his body, coarse wool against his bare skin, making his toes twitch in their boots.
“I didn’t want him to be the first to teach you about those things,” Arthur continued, and his hands ran tantalizingly over Alfred’s crotch, down his thighs, to where Arthur’s legs rested on his. “The French are a dirty, demoralized lot. I will not let him show you this type of... relationship. You are a British colony, and you will be properly serviced by your Empire.” Arthur had shucked his coat during his brief speech, leaving only the vest, undercoat, belt and breeches. Alfred locked eyes with Arthur once more, and a small smile spread across his lips. His chest heaved with each breath he took, his body fluidly stretching the fabric of the uniform. It fit him perfectly, as if it were tailored just for him. Arthur leaned over and kissed Alfred’s forehead affectionately, stroking his face as he did so.
“I don’t want to be a French colony,” Alfred murmured as Arthur pulled away and kissed his eyebrow, and then the bridge of his nose. “I want to be yours forever, sir.”
“Do not call me ‘sir’ here,” Arthur whispered into his opposite ear as he kissed the shell. “Lovers do not call each other by such formalities.” Alfred’s breathing quickened in pace and he gulped-loudly-as Arthur began lavishing his neck with attention. All the while, he worked on Alfred’s belt, undoing each buckle, pushing the aged leather away to reveal the hem of his breeches. He could feel the bulge beneath his hands, only separated by a layer of cotton and wool. He eased the britches down Alfred’s strong thighs and down over his knees, trailing light scratches over Alfred’s skin as he did so. Alfred let out a low breath double with a moan, and rolled his head back as Arthur lowered himself to waist-height on Alfred.
Arthur pushed Alfred’s hips up and slid a hand around his enlarged member, squeezing it gently and pressing his tongue against the tip to tease Alfred. Arthur slid his hand down Alfred’s leg as Alfred tensed his legs-and Arthur’s hand came to a rest on Alfred’s combat boots. Arthur released Alfred’s cock and snorted into his arm, glancing at the boots.
“Alfred, these are not the correct things to be wearing,” he said, and Alfred immediately frowned and kicked Arthur in the side with his opposite leg. “Combat boots? Especially-do these have zippers and laces on them?” Arthur pulled one of the laces and untied the boot as Alfred continued to jam his heel into Arthur’s side.
“Well, I’m sorry, I only got the uniforms, not the stupid shoes, Jesus, Arthur,” Alfred said, rolling his eyes and scoffing at the ceiling. England sniggered again and unzipped the side of Alfred’s boot.
“Just-take them off,” Arthur said, and he sat back on his heels to help Alfred, who was half-dressed and fully aroused, take the boots off and toss them to the floor. When the last one fell with a thunk, Arthur giggled one more time and then turned back to his disgruntled boyfriend.
“Goddamnit, Art, and here I thought I was the one who was going to break first, and you-shoes? Really?” Arthur knelt between Alfred’s legs, rubbing his knee caps affectionately and smiling.
“I’m sorry, love, they took me by surprise, I’d forgotten you’d even put them on,” Arthur responded. Alfred crossed his arms across his chest.
“And what shoes did you put on?” America inquired. Arthur glanced down at his socked feet.
“Well, I didn’t.”
“...whatever! It doesn’t matter now,” Alfred said, and he sat up and pulled England into his arms. “I’m still drunk and horny and this better continue.”
“It will, it will; I’m sorry,” Arthur said, and he kissed the corner of his lips before roaming his hands back down to Alfred’s waistline, where Arthur’s hands became re-acquainted with Alfred’s cock. Alfred sat back in the cushions and watched as Arthur bent forwards and took the member between his lips, sucking and licking at the tip, bringing his tongue around the sensitive skin and hitting every nerve. Alfred bucked his hips and bent his knees, tightening his thighs on either side of Arthur’s torso. Alfred curled his toes into the sheets and tightened his grip on the mattress, breathing in shallow gasps. Arthur looked up at him, forming as much of as a smile as he could and he took more of Alfred into his mouth, licking up and down the shaft while simultaneously using his free hand to try to control Alfred’s hips.
“Ohh my God,” Alfred whispered into the air, and he leaned back and stared at the canopy above him, listening to every grunt and shift of fabric that came from between his legs. The wet heat pooled at his stomach made him writhe while lying on his back, although he didn’t want to hurt Arthur so he tried to contain his hips as much as he could. He heard England gasp as he popped off his cock and instead licked the slit, wondering just how much longer Alfred would last at this. He’d always had a weakness for blow jobs.
“Does that... feel good, lad?” Arthur asked, and Alfred closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.
“...yes,” Alfred muttered. “Yes, yes sir-Arthur,” he said, and he breathed evenly through his nose. Arthur grinned and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, running his hand over Alfred’s cock as he moved back up Alfred’s body.
“I’m going to show you something else as well, Alfred,” Arthur said in a low voice. Alfred opened one eye from underneath his arm, licked his lips and nodded. “Now, it will hurt at first, but I promise, I’ll make it worth it.”
“A-are you sure, I feel really-really tense,” Alfred said between heated gasps. Arthur smiled down at him.
“I know, but it feels good too, doesn’t it? I can’t let you finish that quickly,” Arthur said, although he knew in reality Alfred had much more control of himself.
“Do... a lot of people do that?” Alfred asked as Arthur ran his hands through the younger’s sweat-matted hair. Arthur placed a kiss to his temple and fingered the collar of his jacket.
“Yes, yes they do,” Arthur responded. “And people do this, as well,” and he popped two fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, watching Alfred’s rosy face and wide eyes. He then pulled the fingers from his mouth and lowered his hand down Alfred’s body once more, shifting his legs and moving them to around his waist, and he shoved one finger inside him.
Alfred clamped his eyes shut and hissed in pain, gritting his teeth as Arthur moved his finger around slowly.
“Are you alright?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded. Arthur then eased another finger inside, using only two to properly prepare Alfred. The American nation raised his legs higher, making his hips rotate up, and crossed his ankles over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur was now even closer to him, lingering over him, one hand inside him and the other roaming over the buttons on his coat.
“You look beautiful in this color,” Arthur said in a heated voice. “I’d die if I saw you wearing that bastard’s stupid uniform.” America said nothing, only turning his head to the other side and staring at the candle on the bedside table, which had melted down considerably since they were lit. Alfred groaned and clenched his fists, attempting to get used to the strange feeling of something inside of him, when suddenly, he let out a loud gasp as Arthur hit his prostate with his fingers. Arthur grinned and removed his fingers, and he entered with a gasp and a low moan from Alfred.
“Ow,” Alfred murmured, and he gave a soft groan as Arthur leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“You have to move, lad,” Arthur murmured into his sweat-soaked skin. “Move your hips for me.” Alfred continued to hang onto the bedspread, although he awkwardly bucked his hips into Arthur’s thrust, missing the beat and only hurting himself. He grimaced but Arthur kissed his lips and guided his arms from the bed to his chest, where England could lace his fingers through Alfred’s.
“Move again,” Arthur coaxed, and Alfred did so, his hips moving a little faster, a little harder, until he felt it again, and a spark of pleasure shot through his spine and exploded into every synapse and nerve in his brain. Alfred gasped in pleasure and squeezed Arthur’s fingers, biting his lower lip once again. Arthur kissed his chin and eased Alfred’s mouth open with his thumb, using this chance opening to take a sloppy kiss from him.
“Keep moving,” Arthur said. “It’ll feel even better if you do.” And so Alfred did, allowing his movements to be less restrained than they normally would have. They fell into a certain rhythm, Arthur rubbing Alfred’s thumb with his fingers as he kissed all over Alfred’s face. Alfred turned his head to the side, shoulders hunched, while Arthur ran his hand down his chest and gripped his cock once more, stroking it and bringing Alfred closer to the edge. Alfred wound his free hand into Arthur’s sandy blonde hair, gripping the back of his head. Arthur groaned and thrust into Alfred, who sank into the pillows as Arthur kissed, licked and bit his neck and clavicle.
“I’m going to move faster now,” Arthur said to him.
“A-Arthur, I-“ Alfred started, but he stopped himself from speaking as he tried to contain a loud moan.
“Just hold on a little longer, I promise you,” Arthur responded, and he released Alfred’s cock to focus on opening his shirt.
“I can t-take the jacket off,” Alfred murmured, but Arthur stopped him.
“That’s not necessary, lad, I want you to be wearing it,” Arthur said. He stopped moving for a moment and pulled out so he could pull the shirt off over America’s head, and then Alfred slipped back into the jacket, so it was against his bare chest. Arthur resumed his movements and Alfred nearly buckled to his touch. He was filled with heat and pleasure and lust and the amount of care and attention being lavished on him by such an experienced lover was just turning him on even more.
Arthur ran his hands down Alfred’s chest, stopping to pinch his sensitized nipples, and nipping at his neck, all while continuing to thrust into him. Alfred threw his head back and stared at the canopy once more, although he didn’t see anything but Arthur. His muscles tensed as Arthur pushed deeper, causing his hips to move more, and at a wilder pace. Soon, Alfred had lost all control of his body, and was leaning back, trying to sink as far into the mattress as he could with Arthur on top of him, his fingers washing over every cell in his body. Alfred’s breathing became more haggard and his moans became louder and more frequent, and some variation of “Arthur” and “England” came gasping from his lips.
“A-Arthur,” he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. “Arthur, ohh Arthur.”
“S-say it louder,” Arthur demanded into his ear. “Use my real name. I want you to understand who y-your empire is.” Alfred opened his mouth wordlessly, trying to say something but failing as instead moans escaped his lips. Arthur hit his sweet spot once more, and Alfred’s back arched off the bed as Arthur took his hips into his grip and kissed his neck.
“E-England!” he burst, and with that he climaxed under Arthur’s touch, and he relaxed into the pillows and over the bedspread, panting, arms relaxed above his head on the pillows. He was covered in sweat from head to toe and Arthur gave a few good thrusts until he came as well, and he collapsed on top of Alfred, putting both his hands on Alfred’s cheeks and kissing his chin.
“You performed as well as I always knew you would,” Arthur murmured. Alfred said nothing in response, just lying in the shock of the afterglow, soaking in everything surrounding him. Arthur kissed his lips briefly before lying on his chest, smiling down at Alfred’s relaxed face.
“Alfred. Alfred. Did you fall asleep on me already, love?” Arthur cooed, and Alfred groaned and attempted to swat at his face. He opened his eyes and grinned up at Arthur.
“Naw, babe, just basking in how awesome you are,” he said, and he ran his hands through Arthur’s hair in an attempt to tame it. Arthur cocked his head to the side and admired the marks he’d left dotted around Alfred’s neck.
“So, we need to clean this up and... yeah, I knew we’d have to clean these, too,” Alfred said, attempting to sit up. He shoved Arthur off of him, rolled off the bed, fell to the floor, gave a sound of discontent, blew out one of the candles and trudged across the room to the light switch, flicking it on. England was kneeling on the bed, chuckling at the sight of Alfred roaming around the room wearing only the red jacket.
“Okay, so, we should take these off, shower, and I’m tired and like... half-drunk,” Alfred said sleepily from the doorway. “Or... hold on, be right back,” he said, grabbing something from his dresser and leaving the room. Arthur hopped off the bed, shed his clothes, and pulled on his pajamas, smiling at the feel of the soft, twenty-first century cotton and boxers he could now wear. He was already lying back in the pillows, having changed the bedspread when Alfred came back into the room, rubbing his wet hair and wearing only boxers.
“I just like... half-showered,” he said as he stifled a yawn. He climbed into the bed beside Arthur, sinking into the pillows and staring at his beau pleasantly.
“What gave you that idea?” Arthur asked as he gripped Alfred’s hand on the pillow. Alfred shrugged.
“The uniforms... and, um, that was kind of a... teenage fantasy of mine,” Alfred admitted, blushing. “Some of my earliest wet dreams were about you.”
“I’m flattered,” England responded. He chuckled to himself and pulled Alfred into his embrace. “It was fun, which I wasn’t sure it would be. You’re a very good actor.”
“I’ve done it before,” Alfred said. “And you got into it, too, until you screwed it up.”
“You had everything else right except those silly boots,” Arthur said, pinching Alfred’s cheek. “But it’s alright, I forgive you.” Alfred closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
“A good fuck and a good buzz to go to sleep, I’m not gonna wake up until like, two p.m.,” Alfred said into the pillow. Arthur snorted. “...Y’know, I’m glad we’re at the point where we can do things like-like that and not have it be awkward,” Alfred admitted after a moment. Arthur nodded.
“Me, too,” Arthur said. He closed his eyes. “I love you, dear.”
“Love you too, babe. But, tell me one thing.”
“Yes?”
“...did Francis really say all that stuff about me during the French and Indian War?”
Character(s)/Pairing(s): England and America; UKUS
Rating: R
Warnings: teen colony/empire roleplay; deflowering kink; sex
Summary: England and America decide to do a little teen colony uniform roleplay from the time of the 7 Years' War
Notes: Kink meme de-anon from awhile ago now. The original prompt was America and England roleplaying being teenaged colony and empire again.
~*~
It started with alcohol. That’s how most semi-ridiculous stories start, and this one was no different from any others. Alfred had gotten a hold of some rather good replicas of the old red coat uniforms and wanted to show Arthur before they passed through their hands and on to some collector or museum or re-enactment company, and Arthur and Alfred had decided that having some good booze along with the uniforms would ‘reinvent’ the experience of years past.
It was Arthur’s idea to put them on.
“S’good thing it’s cold out, this is warm,” Alfred muttered as he tucked the breeches into a pair of his more modern combat boots. He straightened the jacket, cheeks flushed pink in contrast to the bright scarlet red of the coat, and he gave Arthur a wobbly twirl. “Look, I’m a red coat ballerina.”
“Did you know,” Arthur started, jacket in one hand, beer bottle in the other, “that the more you drink, the dumber you sound?” With that, he took another swig of the bottle and heartily slammed it into the kitchen table, sliding into the jacket he had in his hand. It was a bit too big for him (they were more suited for men of Alfred’s size) but it came with a certain reminiscent comfort. His mind tumbled back through days and days of wearing the same wool coat, having it scratch against the stubble growing from many weary battle days, the breeches stained from mud and rain.
Arthur glanced up and noticed Alfred giving him a gleaming eye from across the kitchen table, clearly appreciating the fine workmanship of a sturdy British uniform. Arthur walked closer to Alfred, flexing his chest a little and twisting his shoulders as he looked over the coat. Every buckle, every brass button, every stitch and seam were in perfect place.
“This is American made?” Arthur asked, fingering the cuffs of each sleeve. “Impressive.” Alfred raised his eyebrows, took a gulp from his bottle, and gave a gentle tug to the tail of Arthur’s coat.
“I guess it’s ‘cause you raised hic me right?” Alfred asked, standing up from the seat he’d tripped into. He had taken off his glasses to pull the undershirt over his head and as he stood there before Arthur, the older man was struck by how much he was reminded of his Alfred, the boy whom he’d watched over before he decided to turn on him.
Arthur swallowed thickly and ran his eyes over Alfred’s endearing face, his hazy eyes and his lopsided smile.
“D’you remember that time,” Alfred said, “that I was wearin’ this coat and you were wearin’ that coat and we were drunk because it was after the-the French and Indian War, and we were all celebratin’ beating France?” America smirked and leaned back against the table, one leg crossed over the other. Arthur sniggered.
“You’re speaking so freely of a time you said you’d never talk about,” Arthur inquired. Alfred chuckled.
“So’re you,” Alfred responded. They stood in silence for a moment, Arthur staring up at Alfred with wide eyes, curling his fingers into fists and trying to contain the overwhelming heat rising in his body-and it wasn’t from the wool coat. Arthur reached up and swept a lock of blonde behind Alfred’s ear. Alfred’s cheeks reddened even more and he looked down at Arthur, licking his lips.
“Arthur,” he murmured into the thick air. Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond; he could see the wheels churning in Alfred’s liquored brain. Alfred always got weird ideas for things for them to do while he was drunk and this time was no exception. Alfred reached out for Arthur’s right hand, and rubbed small circles into his knuckles. Alfred then locked eyes with Arthur, and slowly lowered himself to the floor, so he was kneeling on one knee before Arthur, as if he were going to propose. Arthur stiffened and held his breath, staring down at the younger blonde in confusion.
“Alfred-“
“Arthur... sir,” Alfred said in a softer voice, cutting him off. Alfred was still staring up into his eyes with a piercing blue gaze, and as he stared he brought Arthur’s hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle. Arthur closed his eyes and used his other hand to ruffle Alfred’s blonde hair.
“You were so brave, fighting that evil French bastard and keeping me safe, sir,” America said, his voice much softer than before. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m grateful to you. I’m in your debt.” Once upon a time, Alfred had actually believed those sentiments and had said those very words. He’d been but a young colony then, a young, bright thing, but old enough to start thinking about sovereignty and self-determination.
Arthur knew what Alfred was going on about. If he wanted to play that game, then so be it.
“I’m glad,” Arthur said, and Alfred lifted his head, Arthur’s hand still clasped in his own, and he pulled Alfred to a standing position. “I don’t want that idiot influencing you.”
“Because I’m yours,” Alfred said, raising his eyebrows at Arthur. Arthur’s smile widened.
“Yes, because you’re mine, lad. And because you are mine I, er... allowed you to partake in the spoils of our victory,” Arthur said, gesturing to the dozen or so bottles littering the small kitchen. Arthur wasn’t especially good at roleplaying, even roles he’d actually lived. But Alfred didn’t mind, and he normally led the story along its path. Being drunk didn’t help matters.
“And now,” Arthur said, taking Alfred’s hand and gently pulling him forward, “I have something else to show you.”
“Really?” Alfred responded, with a little too much eagerness in his voice.
“Really, Alfred, you don’t sound sincere enough,” Arthur scolded, breaking character for a moment. Alfred scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“It’s hard to fake it when I know I’m about to get laid while drunk off my ass for no good reason,” Alfred quipped, and he gave Arthur a toothy grin with lowered eyelids, sky blue and wild. Arthur nearly tripped over his own two feet while looking at Alfred, looking completely willing and wanting and wearing a red coat uniform.
They stumbled up the stairs to Alfred’s bedroom, Arthur inwardly groaning at the feel of the wool against his bare skin. A sensation he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years, he now had to endure, but only for a few more minutes, if the steadily growing rate of his erection were any consideration.
Arthur opened the door into the darkened room, groping for the light switch, but Alfred stopped him with his palm and gestured to the four-poster bed in the center of the room.
“I don’t know why you’re touching the wall, there are perfectly good candles over there, sir,” Alfred said, raising that damn eyebrow again. Arthur cleared his throat and tried to ignore the tingle that Alfred’s touch sent through his spine and instead half-stumbled across the carpet, reaching for the matches Alfred kept beside said candles. He lit both of them, casting a dull, flickering yellow haze over the breadth of the room. Alfred was still standing at the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him, gazing around the room. The lush rose hue of Alfred’s round cheeks made Arthur swallow once more, and hard this time; if Alfred was right about one thing, it was he was most definitely getting laid tonight. Just the thought of the roles they were portraying was revving Arthur up.
“Come over here, lad,” Arthur said, and he sat gently on the edge of Alfred’s bed. Alfred clicked the door closed behind him and walked across the carpet, sitting beside Arthur on the bed and looking directly at him, a mixed look of confusion and apprehension on his face. Arthur leaned forward on his left hand, taking his right and cupping Alfred’s chin, examining his face. Alfred breathed deeply through his nose, his cheeks turning even redder if it were at all possible. Arthur then dragged a finger down his chin, the length of his neck and to his collar, where the first brass button was already undone. Alfred hunched his shoulders and gave an involuntary shudder to the sensual touch, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes. Arthur pulled him closer so his lips were parallel with Alfred’s ear, and whispered:
“Have you ever laid with anyone, boy?” Alfred, eyes still closed, shook his head, although it came off more as a twitch. His hands were balled into fists in his lap and he swallowed audibly. Arthur moved his left hand behind Alfred and nudged his butt with it, reaching up to Alfred’s face with his free hand and turning the younger nation to face him. When Alfred opened his eyes, Arthur was giving him a look that nearly made Alfred throw him down and pound him into the mattress at that instant, but he refrained for the sake of the game. Instead he just stared at Arthur, his eyes narrowed and almost glowing, his hair an appropriate, tousled mess, looking so perfect in that uniform that Alfred, for a moment, believed he were sixteen again and was still colonial America.
“I am not going to let that idiot taint and defile you,” Arthur murmured, and he pushed a piece of sunny blonde hair off of Alfred’s forehead, ghosting his fingertips over Alfred’s sensitive skin. “Not something as precious as you. As mine as you.” Arthur drew his fingertip down to the patch of skin covering the junction of his jaw to his spine and brought his lips to it, kissing it as lightly as possible and blowing on it. Alfred twitched and drew his legs underneath him, his toes curling in his boots and his hands spreading out along his thighs, against the thick wool breeches.
Arthur applied more pressure to the area, using his tongue and his lips until Alfred gave a whine that surprised even him, and then Arthur pulled his face down and kissed him on the lips. Alfred tensed under Arthur’s grip and didn’t kiss back, at first-but then he relented, pressing back, waiting for Arthur to part his lips with his tongue, eyelids fluttering against Arthur’s cheek.
Arthur turned his head, hand still settled on Alfred’s cheek, and deepened their kiss, trying to coax Alfred’s tongue into action, teeth clicking against teeth. Alfred wasn’t the best kisser in the world, but he sure as hell could make Arthur go weak at the knees, and even this fake amateur kissing made Arthur melt.
Soon Alfred picked up in vigor and eagerness and started harshly kissing Arthur back, leaning and looming over him, almost devouring his lips. Arthur pulled back and put a hand to Alfred’s flushed cheek. Alfred was breathing quickly through his nose, eyes still at half-mast, looking confused.
“A-Arthur, what-“ he started, but Arthur shushed him.
“My boy, you’re such a novice,” he said, and brought Alfred in for a slower, more sensual kiss. “You can’t use all your strength. You have to be as gentle-“ kiss “-as-“ kiss kiss “-possible.” Alfred’s eyes were still closed when Arthur pulled away, and the elder took Alfred by the shoulder and led him across the bedspread, causing the flames to flicker along the old candles. He eased the younger back into all the cushions, constantly brushing his hair from his flustered face.
“Sir-w-what are we doing?” Alfred said, his voice wavering with each syllable he spoke. Arthur shhhed him and straddled his thighs, going at a much slower pace than he normally would have.
“When we were fighting Francis,” Arthur said, running his palms down Alfred’s chest and abdomen, “when he had me pinned, he spoke of all the things he wanted to do to you. He wanted to defile you, corrupt you, and make him yours. Lord only knows what he’s done to your brother,” Arthur added. Alfred pursed his lips into a thin line, his chest heaving. His breeches were tight, too tight on his body, coarse wool against his bare skin, making his toes twitch in their boots.
“I didn’t want him to be the first to teach you about those things,” Arthur continued, and his hands ran tantalizingly over Alfred’s crotch, down his thighs, to where Arthur’s legs rested on his. “The French are a dirty, demoralized lot. I will not let him show you this type of... relationship. You are a British colony, and you will be properly serviced by your Empire.” Arthur had shucked his coat during his brief speech, leaving only the vest, undercoat, belt and breeches. Alfred locked eyes with Arthur once more, and a small smile spread across his lips. His chest heaved with each breath he took, his body fluidly stretching the fabric of the uniform. It fit him perfectly, as if it were tailored just for him. Arthur leaned over and kissed Alfred’s forehead affectionately, stroking his face as he did so.
“I don’t want to be a French colony,” Alfred murmured as Arthur pulled away and kissed his eyebrow, and then the bridge of his nose. “I want to be yours forever, sir.”
“Do not call me ‘sir’ here,” Arthur whispered into his opposite ear as he kissed the shell. “Lovers do not call each other by such formalities.” Alfred’s breathing quickened in pace and he gulped-loudly-as Arthur began lavishing his neck with attention. All the while, he worked on Alfred’s belt, undoing each buckle, pushing the aged leather away to reveal the hem of his breeches. He could feel the bulge beneath his hands, only separated by a layer of cotton and wool. He eased the britches down Alfred’s strong thighs and down over his knees, trailing light scratches over Alfred’s skin as he did so. Alfred let out a low breath double with a moan, and rolled his head back as Arthur lowered himself to waist-height on Alfred.
Arthur pushed Alfred’s hips up and slid a hand around his enlarged member, squeezing it gently and pressing his tongue against the tip to tease Alfred. Arthur slid his hand down Alfred’s leg as Alfred tensed his legs-and Arthur’s hand came to a rest on Alfred’s combat boots. Arthur released Alfred’s cock and snorted into his arm, glancing at the boots.
“Alfred, these are not the correct things to be wearing,” he said, and Alfred immediately frowned and kicked Arthur in the side with his opposite leg. “Combat boots? Especially-do these have zippers and laces on them?” Arthur pulled one of the laces and untied the boot as Alfred continued to jam his heel into Arthur’s side.
“Well, I’m sorry, I only got the uniforms, not the stupid shoes, Jesus, Arthur,” Alfred said, rolling his eyes and scoffing at the ceiling. England sniggered again and unzipped the side of Alfred’s boot.
“Just-take them off,” Arthur said, and he sat back on his heels to help Alfred, who was half-dressed and fully aroused, take the boots off and toss them to the floor. When the last one fell with a thunk, Arthur giggled one more time and then turned back to his disgruntled boyfriend.
“Goddamnit, Art, and here I thought I was the one who was going to break first, and you-shoes? Really?” Arthur knelt between Alfred’s legs, rubbing his knee caps affectionately and smiling.
“I’m sorry, love, they took me by surprise, I’d forgotten you’d even put them on,” Arthur responded. Alfred crossed his arms across his chest.
“And what shoes did you put on?” America inquired. Arthur glanced down at his socked feet.
“Well, I didn’t.”
“...whatever! It doesn’t matter now,” Alfred said, and he sat up and pulled England into his arms. “I’m still drunk and horny and this better continue.”
“It will, it will; I’m sorry,” Arthur said, and he kissed the corner of his lips before roaming his hands back down to Alfred’s waistline, where Arthur’s hands became re-acquainted with Alfred’s cock. Alfred sat back in the cushions and watched as Arthur bent forwards and took the member between his lips, sucking and licking at the tip, bringing his tongue around the sensitive skin and hitting every nerve. Alfred bucked his hips and bent his knees, tightening his thighs on either side of Arthur’s torso. Alfred curled his toes into the sheets and tightened his grip on the mattress, breathing in shallow gasps. Arthur looked up at him, forming as much of as a smile as he could and he took more of Alfred into his mouth, licking up and down the shaft while simultaneously using his free hand to try to control Alfred’s hips.
“Ohh my God,” Alfred whispered into the air, and he leaned back and stared at the canopy above him, listening to every grunt and shift of fabric that came from between his legs. The wet heat pooled at his stomach made him writhe while lying on his back, although he didn’t want to hurt Arthur so he tried to contain his hips as much as he could. He heard England gasp as he popped off his cock and instead licked the slit, wondering just how much longer Alfred would last at this. He’d always had a weakness for blow jobs.
“Does that... feel good, lad?” Arthur asked, and Alfred closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.
“...yes,” Alfred muttered. “Yes, yes sir-Arthur,” he said, and he breathed evenly through his nose. Arthur grinned and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, running his hand over Alfred’s cock as he moved back up Alfred’s body.
“I’m going to show you something else as well, Alfred,” Arthur said in a low voice. Alfred opened one eye from underneath his arm, licked his lips and nodded. “Now, it will hurt at first, but I promise, I’ll make it worth it.”
“A-are you sure, I feel really-really tense,” Alfred said between heated gasps. Arthur smiled down at him.
“I know, but it feels good too, doesn’t it? I can’t let you finish that quickly,” Arthur said, although he knew in reality Alfred had much more control of himself.
“Do... a lot of people do that?” Alfred asked as Arthur ran his hands through the younger’s sweat-matted hair. Arthur placed a kiss to his temple and fingered the collar of his jacket.
“Yes, yes they do,” Arthur responded. “And people do this, as well,” and he popped two fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, watching Alfred’s rosy face and wide eyes. He then pulled the fingers from his mouth and lowered his hand down Alfred’s body once more, shifting his legs and moving them to around his waist, and he shoved one finger inside him.
Alfred clamped his eyes shut and hissed in pain, gritting his teeth as Arthur moved his finger around slowly.
“Are you alright?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded. Arthur then eased another finger inside, using only two to properly prepare Alfred. The American nation raised his legs higher, making his hips rotate up, and crossed his ankles over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur was now even closer to him, lingering over him, one hand inside him and the other roaming over the buttons on his coat.
“You look beautiful in this color,” Arthur said in a heated voice. “I’d die if I saw you wearing that bastard’s stupid uniform.” America said nothing, only turning his head to the other side and staring at the candle on the bedside table, which had melted down considerably since they were lit. Alfred groaned and clenched his fists, attempting to get used to the strange feeling of something inside of him, when suddenly, he let out a loud gasp as Arthur hit his prostate with his fingers. Arthur grinned and removed his fingers, and he entered with a gasp and a low moan from Alfred.
“Ow,” Alfred murmured, and he gave a soft groan as Arthur leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“You have to move, lad,” Arthur murmured into his sweat-soaked skin. “Move your hips for me.” Alfred continued to hang onto the bedspread, although he awkwardly bucked his hips into Arthur’s thrust, missing the beat and only hurting himself. He grimaced but Arthur kissed his lips and guided his arms from the bed to his chest, where England could lace his fingers through Alfred’s.
“Move again,” Arthur coaxed, and Alfred did so, his hips moving a little faster, a little harder, until he felt it again, and a spark of pleasure shot through his spine and exploded into every synapse and nerve in his brain. Alfred gasped in pleasure and squeezed Arthur’s fingers, biting his lower lip once again. Arthur kissed his chin and eased Alfred’s mouth open with his thumb, using this chance opening to take a sloppy kiss from him.
“Keep moving,” Arthur said. “It’ll feel even better if you do.” And so Alfred did, allowing his movements to be less restrained than they normally would have. They fell into a certain rhythm, Arthur rubbing Alfred’s thumb with his fingers as he kissed all over Alfred’s face. Alfred turned his head to the side, shoulders hunched, while Arthur ran his hand down his chest and gripped his cock once more, stroking it and bringing Alfred closer to the edge. Alfred wound his free hand into Arthur’s sandy blonde hair, gripping the back of his head. Arthur groaned and thrust into Alfred, who sank into the pillows as Arthur kissed, licked and bit his neck and clavicle.
“I’m going to move faster now,” Arthur said to him.
“A-Arthur, I-“ Alfred started, but he stopped himself from speaking as he tried to contain a loud moan.
“Just hold on a little longer, I promise you,” Arthur responded, and he released Alfred’s cock to focus on opening his shirt.
“I can t-take the jacket off,” Alfred murmured, but Arthur stopped him.
“That’s not necessary, lad, I want you to be wearing it,” Arthur said. He stopped moving for a moment and pulled out so he could pull the shirt off over America’s head, and then Alfred slipped back into the jacket, so it was against his bare chest. Arthur resumed his movements and Alfred nearly buckled to his touch. He was filled with heat and pleasure and lust and the amount of care and attention being lavished on him by such an experienced lover was just turning him on even more.
Arthur ran his hands down Alfred’s chest, stopping to pinch his sensitized nipples, and nipping at his neck, all while continuing to thrust into him. Alfred threw his head back and stared at the canopy once more, although he didn’t see anything but Arthur. His muscles tensed as Arthur pushed deeper, causing his hips to move more, and at a wilder pace. Soon, Alfred had lost all control of his body, and was leaning back, trying to sink as far into the mattress as he could with Arthur on top of him, his fingers washing over every cell in his body. Alfred’s breathing became more haggard and his moans became louder and more frequent, and some variation of “Arthur” and “England” came gasping from his lips.
“A-Arthur,” he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. “Arthur, ohh Arthur.”
“S-say it louder,” Arthur demanded into his ear. “Use my real name. I want you to understand who y-your empire is.” Alfred opened his mouth wordlessly, trying to say something but failing as instead moans escaped his lips. Arthur hit his sweet spot once more, and Alfred’s back arched off the bed as Arthur took his hips into his grip and kissed his neck.
“E-England!” he burst, and with that he climaxed under Arthur’s touch, and he relaxed into the pillows and over the bedspread, panting, arms relaxed above his head on the pillows. He was covered in sweat from head to toe and Arthur gave a few good thrusts until he came as well, and he collapsed on top of Alfred, putting both his hands on Alfred’s cheeks and kissing his chin.
“You performed as well as I always knew you would,” Arthur murmured. Alfred said nothing in response, just lying in the shock of the afterglow, soaking in everything surrounding him. Arthur kissed his lips briefly before lying on his chest, smiling down at Alfred’s relaxed face.
“Alfred. Alfred. Did you fall asleep on me already, love?” Arthur cooed, and Alfred groaned and attempted to swat at his face. He opened his eyes and grinned up at Arthur.
“Naw, babe, just basking in how awesome you are,” he said, and he ran his hands through Arthur’s hair in an attempt to tame it. Arthur cocked his head to the side and admired the marks he’d left dotted around Alfred’s neck.
“So, we need to clean this up and... yeah, I knew we’d have to clean these, too,” Alfred said, attempting to sit up. He shoved Arthur off of him, rolled off the bed, fell to the floor, gave a sound of discontent, blew out one of the candles and trudged across the room to the light switch, flicking it on. England was kneeling on the bed, chuckling at the sight of Alfred roaming around the room wearing only the red jacket.
“Okay, so, we should take these off, shower, and I’m tired and like... half-drunk,” Alfred said sleepily from the doorway. “Or... hold on, be right back,” he said, grabbing something from his dresser and leaving the room. Arthur hopped off the bed, shed his clothes, and pulled on his pajamas, smiling at the feel of the soft, twenty-first century cotton and boxers he could now wear. He was already lying back in the pillows, having changed the bedspread when Alfred came back into the room, rubbing his wet hair and wearing only boxers.
“I just like... half-showered,” he said as he stifled a yawn. He climbed into the bed beside Arthur, sinking into the pillows and staring at his beau pleasantly.
“What gave you that idea?” Arthur asked as he gripped Alfred’s hand on the pillow. Alfred shrugged.
“The uniforms... and, um, that was kind of a... teenage fantasy of mine,” Alfred admitted, blushing. “Some of my earliest wet dreams were about you.”
“I’m flattered,” England responded. He chuckled to himself and pulled Alfred into his embrace. “It was fun, which I wasn’t sure it would be. You’re a very good actor.”
“I’ve done it before,” Alfred said. “And you got into it, too, until you screwed it up.”
“You had everything else right except those silly boots,” Arthur said, pinching Alfred’s cheek. “But it’s alright, I forgive you.” Alfred closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
“A good fuck and a good buzz to go to sleep, I’m not gonna wake up until like, two p.m.,” Alfred said into the pillow. Arthur snorted. “...Y’know, I’m glad we’re at the point where we can do things like-like that and not have it be awkward,” Alfred admitted after a moment. Arthur nodded.
“Me, too,” Arthur said. He closed his eyes. “I love you, dear.”
“Love you too, babe. But, tell me one thing.”
“Yes?”
“...did Francis really say all that stuff about me during the French and Indian War?”