[fic] Of Gits, Speaking To Walls and Finally Getting Somewhere
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and never will.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pretty much PWP. Written for the kink! meme. In which Arthur is angry, Alfred oblivious and things still somehow get sorted out?
Notes: Posted because someone I really admire said they'd write smut if I shared this! And yes, this is err... largely fail edited by myself (mostly because this author has the attention span of a turtle and spends more time going HOHOHO than anything else). Thanks goes to jadedsavant for first looking at this over for me (and making it halfway readable when I shared first this on the kink!meme).
Those expecting brilliance, should go somewhere else? I'm not adverse to concrit though, but flames will be ignored. Please be kind. This is the first time I'm sharing fic after being on a two month hiatus from a very large fandom (apart from whoring myself out on kink! memes ;_;)
--
Alfred, that was a universally acknowledged fact, was a total git. Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind- stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old - fuck, Arthur realised, I'm quoting both Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. He was scandalised. Alcohol obviously did not work any wonders for his cognitive processes. His head was burning. Searing actually. And he felt like singing “God save the Queen” over and over again. Or maybe it was “God curse the Queen?”.
“Oh bloody hell,” Arthur snarled, smashing his fist down on the wooden table. His knuckles immediately hurt, and he looked down on them - they were bruised. He'd slammed his fist down on the table a bit too appreciatively, for lack of better word. Then again, he couldn't be appreciative enough. Today was the day. The day when a certain wanker had broken his heart. And there was no better way to heal broken hearts than giving a tribute to that long since forgotten Dionysus.
Now, all of this would have been a rather normal procedure if Alfred himself had not been present. Yet he was bodily present and currently engaged in sending more than just dubious looks into his companion's direction. And those looks were annoying because Arthur just didn't like it. It wasn't like Alfred cared about him. Probably, he'd just tagged along to mock him and his weaknesses.
“Don't you think you've had too much, Arthur?” Alfred asked (not that he cared for Arthur's well-being, mind you). It would have just been inconvenient if the other nation ended up dying because of alcohol poisoning or something. After all, the blame would end up on Alfred who'd not only suggested going here, but even offered to pay for the drink. And it was troublesome to carry dead bodies around. Gosh, if he'd known that Arthur was going to be such a bad sport about this, he'd have never come here. He should have met up with Ivan instead. That man, even if he was the Devil Incarnate or something like that, was less difficult to deal with than a half-smashed Arthur.
He'd drunk more than six glasses of scotch or whatever the hell it was. Again, Alfred pondered that he should have known that taking Arthur out for a drink was never a good idea. Because he was talking to himself again. Aloud.
“Hah, the prat takes me here today. On the 4th of July. Sod,” Alfred heard Arthur say, his tone still not slurry enough because it took more than six glasses to make him completely drunk. So, maybe, he cursed a bit more. Yet, he was still Arthur. Irritating, stern Arthur who only looked cute when out cold or lying sick in bed with a fever.
Arthur, meanwhile, was still going on about the fourth of July. He'd never forget that date. Come what may, he would have been going on and on about it, even if - well, if everything from stomping (drunk) elephants to giggling clowns had walked into the pub. The fourth of July had been when America, ungrateful brat that he was, had decided to declare independence. Even though he was half-drunk and partly incapable of thinking clearly, Arthur could still feel the same grief, disappointment and disbelief. No, he would never forget.
“And I'll never forget it. Even if the world should crumble to dust, I shan't ever forget,” he said loudly, voice nearly thunderous in its volume. If he'd started crying, the dramatic imagery of loss would have been complete.
Alfred watched the whole spectacle with feigned disinterest, though his entire being was scared out of his wits. Arthur was fucking crazy. Hell, crazy didn't fit. Alfred thought he'd never met anyone ... more out of his mind. Which, considering how crazy some of the nations were, was quite an understatement. But Arthur was just own his special brand of “lunatic”. Alfred just couldn't make any sense out of him. Sometimes, he thought Arthur was being nice to him, other times he believed that he was a nuisance to him. Sometimes, Alfred really believed that term “he ran hot and cold” could be truly applied to Arthur. But that wasn't the problem now. The problem at hand right now was that Arthur was talking to something inanimate.
“Arthur, say ... why are you talking to a wall?” Alfred asked cautiously, starting to grow more worried when Arthur's soliloquy gained even more pathos. But Arthur ignored him. An annoyed -sounding sigh was the only indication Alfred received that Arthur had actually heard him.
He wasn't talking to a wall! Arthur was talking to a ghost. And if Alfred didn't get that, he could very well sod off. Of course, Alfred, being not only a complete sod but gifted with no sixth sense could not see any ghost.
The only thing he saw was a rather smashed Arthur gesticulating wildly. A funny sight in itself, but it was past midnight already. Outside, a thick fog had already settled over the city and it was growing duskier and duskier with every growing second. Soon, London would be decked in darkness. Alfred really wanted to go home. Or at least, sleep in Arthur's bed. He'd never admit it out loud but the other nation had fantastic taste. When it came to beds, at least. Alfred also admitted that he liked Arthur's cooking. He didn't understand what was supposed to be bad about it. Not that he'd tell Arthur about that, of course.
Meanwhile, Arthur hadn't stopped talking. He was too incensed by painful memories of betrayal and defeat to even consider stop talking. He felt that a whole trilogy could not have given his woeful sentiments enough vent.
“Is he doing this to anger me? Upset me? You'd think that by now the prat would have learnt some manners. Or a little tact. And yet and yet ... he keeps reminding me of it every year.”
Alfred wanted to shout that wasn't true. He'd come here because he'd wanted to earnestly celebrate with Arthur. Not because he'd been interested in rubbing his victory under Arthur's nose - it couldn't be? Maybe, it had been that. Alfred wasn't too certain what he'd really wanted to. In fact, he hadn't even considered how Arthur felt about it. But now, he was starting to think that this might have been a mistake.
Arthur was still too busy in his little tête a tête with the headless ghoul to realise that Alfred had listened to those words with more than just discomfort. In fact, the young man swallowed audibly, refusing to meet the eyes of the interested observers. Who, of course, included Francis. Somehow, that bastard was always around when Arthur got drunk. Alfred wasn't quite sure what the man wanted, but it couldn't be anything good.
“My head's spinning. I could use some-” Arthur halted, not sure what he needed. He could use a lot of things - a better economy, less demonstrations and less rain. The latter was something he'd always wanted to have less of. However, Arthur knew that it wasn't something he'd ever get - just like he couldn't seem to have Alfred.
“Do you want me to help you, mon ami? I'll take you out on the fresh air, cheri...” Francis drawled, looking up and down Arthur's body appreciatively. He licked his lips, apparently engaged in the mental occupation of undressing Arthur with his eyes.
Arthur wasn't quite stupid. He could see the way the man's eyes were resting on his groin. And, between dealing with an oblivious Alfred and a seductive Francis, he knew what would make his evening complete. It had been a while since he'd gotten laid. Even if it was this bastard. Hell, he had talented fingers. That counted for something.
“All right,” Arthur said in a commanding tone, as if he'd been the one to propose the idea and not Francis. Then again, he couldn't let Francis think that he was that helpless. He had to keep his demeanour or things would get too confusing.
Alfred didn't quite like that. He'd watched the exchange between Francis and Arthur with a frown. His frown deepened when he saw that Arthur was attempting to rise from his seat. He had to do something. He couldn't let Francis take Arthur away from him.
“I think it's time to leave, Arthur,” the younger nation said, dragging Arthur - non too gently - by the cuffs of his shirt or ... was it his vest? It didn't matter. Maybe it was neither. He couldn't tell because the pub was so clouded with smoke that it wasn't really possible to discern anything.
“Wait, “ Francis said, mild irritation lighting up in his usually playful countenance. He wasn't all too happy about the fact that a delicious treat - in the form of a very tasty Arthur, naked and writhing under him - was being robbed before his eyes. If he could have, he'd have put a stop to it. Not too persistently, of course. This was Alfred, after all. But he wasn't in the mood.
“D'accord. Do as you wish,” he stated, watching Alfred drag away the one thing he'd wanted to have for a long time. It still hurt. But Francis wasn't the sort of person to be upset for too long. So, he shook his head. And decided to spend the rest of the evening tasting sweet wine. Maybe, he'd find something else - something sweet and gentile - to take home with him. After all, Francis thought, life was too short to waste it on missed chances and broken opportunities.
Alfred ignored Arthur's grunts of protests - they were nothing but sweet music to his ears. He'd learnt to channel them out with time, only paying attention when feeling like it. Alfred didn't feel like it now. He felt like going out instead - out of this oppressive and dingy pub. Out, out. He needed to go out. Arthur wasn't going to be molested. If there was going to be any molesting done tonight, it wouldn't be Francis doing it.
--
By now dusk had settled over the city. It lay spread out like a blanket, covering the highly populated metropolis under its black-drenched material. Alfred felt stupid. He couldn't really make his way out in this darkness.
Right now, they were in a dark alley. Arthur sodding hated it. It was smelly. The odour of decrepit hamburgers and thrown away fish filled his nostrils. A charming place, he thought, to rot gleefully away as a homeless person. Only that he wasn't a homeless person. Besides, Arthur hadn't even finished drinking yet.
“Alfred, why did you drag me away? I was just going to have fun with .... oh forget it.”
It amused him how he still wasn't drunk enough to slur or speak in a hybrid of Yorkshire dialect and Cockney slang. Sure, his head had been spinning. However, the cool air of the night sobered him more quickly than anything else could have done.
Alfred just shook his head. “You were going to do what? Have sex with him?”
Arthur tensed. He wasn't quite sure if he liked the sound of Alfred's voice - it was so possessive. Nearly wounded, too. As far as Arthur was concerned, Alfred had no right to feel wounded. He cracked his fists. He couldn't believe it. For what had nearly been three centuries, Alfred had treated him like shit. He'd changed a little since circumstances had forced him to acknowledge that he wasn't as much of a shining beacon as he had thought himself to be ... still - all in all - Arthur still felt that Alfred was taking him for granted, that he still looked down on him. And that hurt more than anything else could have done.
“And that's so bloody wrong? You know, it's not like you'd ever give me what I want!” Arthur suddenly hollered, angry at something he'd tried to repress for the past few ... decades, at least. It had been ages ago. Still, Arthur found that his heart ached the same way it had when Alfred had first started celebrating this particular day.
Alfred pushed Arthur against the wall, roughly. If he'd done it harder, a rib would have probably cracked. Giving it everything he had, he kissed Arthur's chapped lips. Arthur groaned, opening his mouth. Alfred immediately seized this as an opportunity to stick his tongue into Arthur's mouth. He liked it. In fact, he had to admit that kissing Arthur was a hell lot better than kissing someone like ... Arthur forgot that he had no one to compare this experience to. Not really. Even if he'd gotten around in the world, Alfred had never quite managed to kiss someone properly.
Oh well it doesn't matter. I'm very good at kissing, he decided. Arthur would surely melt in his arms.
This was - Arthur didn't know how to describe it. He'd been screaming his lungs out a few minutes before and was now being kissed. He screwed his eyes shut, even if the kiss was more messy than anything else. Alfred had no fucking idea how to kiss. Because, if this was what he referred to as kissing, than donkeys had a better grasp on it. Of course, Arthur didn't know what donkeys kissed like - but then he just couldn't think of anything more fitting to compare Alfred's skills (or lack thereof) to.
It was fine though. Alfred made up for lack of talent by being so very enthusiastic. And he was more than just that. His hands - those big and clumsy hands - were roaming his body, groping with a frenzy that was nearly alarming. Once, his hands were on his hips. Then, a hand kneaded his thighs, somewhat uneven fingernails digging deep into his skin. Arthur hissed.
“What?” Alfred asked, breathless. His glasses were fogged. Arthur shook his head, and took them off of Alfred's nose. He hid them in his pockets. For a second, he nearly felt like being transported back in time. Alfred's face looked much younger without the glasses - less serious and more like the boy he'd once been. It hurt. It amazed Arthur how much it hurt.
“What is it? Does my handsomeness take your breath away?” Alfred asked coyly, not sure whether he really liked the way Arthur was looking at him. There was too much affection. Not too much lust. Oh certainly, those green eyes were staring at him with desire - he could see the want and lust mirrored there. And yet, it wasn't carnal. Alfred wasn't quite sure whether he could deal with that - sex was much easier and less messier without the whole baggage. You had nothing to lose like that. Especially when both parties had agreed that it was nothing but a temporary, random little fling.
Arthur didn't answer, but grabbed hold of Alfred's face. He initiated the kiss this time, ensuring that it was done properly. Maybe, he'd made a mistake back then when he'd not given Alfred some lessons on proper kissing. Then again, he'd never imagined that Alfred would defy him one fine day. Indeed, back then, he'd assumed that things would take their natural course, that kissing (and other such intimacies) would come into being as a direct consequence of their common ties. But Alfred had sundered those ties, hadn't he?
Alfred liked this. He really had to be an awesome kisser, if he'd made Arthur lose his head like this. Usually, the man was snappish and all too easily irritable. Now, he was just so forthcoming, so giving. Alfred broke the kiss, just to attack Arthur's with what he thought be proper ministrations. In fact, he wasn't doing more than attacking Arthur's neck with furious kisses that were neither arousing or particularly arousing. Just very, very wet and awkward.
Arthur could see that Alfred was ready to take the next step. He could see that he wanted to take him. But he knew he couldn't just submit like this. Not fully. Or he'd have his heart broken - again. No, Arthur thought, he hadn't signed up for this.
He'd have to keep in control. If he wanted to keep his dignity, Arthur had to keep in control.
“Unzip my pants first,” Arthur commanded hoarsely. He hoped that Alfred would be stupid enough to play along. Then again, seeing how Alfred was about as perceptive as a slab of stone, he figured it wouldn't be too hard to get the man exactly where he wanted him.
Alfred did what Arthur told him to do. Finally, Arthur was willing to admit his weakness! And he was apparently quite weak when it came to him. Arthur was hard - harder than Alfred had imagined him to be. His cock was freed from the trousers now, which lay as a puddle at his feet - and his cock was a furious pink. Alfred nearly blushed at that, not having expected such a sight. But he couldn't show that. Or he'd be mocked by Arthur for certain.
“Suck me off.”
Alfred didn't have to be told twice. Feeling more than just proud of himself, he took the man's cock in his mouth. He started to suck quickly, not bothering with any finesse. Alfred liked quick blow jobs. So, he naturally assumed that Arthur liked them that way as well.
But a shaking hand gripped his hair, so tightly that Alfred let go off the tip he'd just been sucking with a slight plop.
Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred's technique was terrible - utterly terrible. He looked confused, adorably so and his mouth was red. And wet - very wet. It wasn't easy to act as if he was angry when Alfred looked so disgustingly cute.
“No, you git - not like that,” Arthur yelled. “Slowly. Use your teeth.”
Picky much? Alfred shook his head, but - nevertheless - complied. He took in Arthur's penis again, this time slowly taking in the full length. Then, he let go and when he took Arthur's penis into his mouth again, he used his teeth, lightly nibbling. He assumed that biting wasn't what Arthur really wanted. That would have probably been too painful.
Perhaps, Arthur was right. Simply sucking someone off was a bit boring. Alfred decided to be a bit more daring. First, he applied his tongue on Arthur's cock, licking the head nearly shyly. Then, gaining more confidence, he licked again, this time not being so timid as he'd been before. As a bonus, he lightly scraped Arthur's cock with his teeth. That earned a moan.
But Arthur wasn't entirely satisfied yet. “Use your hands too.”
Use his hands? How he could use his hands? An idea popped into Alfred's brain. He'd heard - it must have been from Francis or so - that sticking a finger up someone's arse while doing this was stimulating. So, without further ado, he did precisely that - stuck a hand into Arthur's very tight and warm asshole. He wasn't too sure if he was doing it right because Arthur hissed. He seemed to be in pain. Alfred was about to withdrew his finger from that twitching hole when a hard grip on his shoulder stopped him. It was Arthur's hand.
“Don't stop,” Alfred uttered hoarsely. He opened his eyes and saw the hesitation lighting up in Alfred's eyes. “It doesn't hurt. Just continue.”
Alfred nodded, not sure what else to do. He couldn't say anything. Anything he'd have said would have betrayed his nervousness.
“Bloody hell,” Arthur gasped. He gasped even more when another finger was added. Then another. Alfred was scissoring him. And his teeth - oh God, those teeth and that hot mouth - were on his cock - alternately licking or biting. It felt - well, more than just good.
Alfred felt elated. He'd done this - made Arthur lose control.
Liking the way Arthur gasped, he decided to do something else. He used his other hand to lightly slap Arthur's buttocks. He smiled even more happily when Arthur gasped at that, sending a rather mortified look in his direction. Alfred wisely ignored the look, choosing to interpret it as a sign of Arthur's gratitude. After all, it was better to deny than to confront reality.
Arthur was quite surprised by that turns of events, but not too surprised. Besides, it had felt good, even if Alfred has misunderstood him. Oh well, you couldn't be too picky. Especially when you were surrounded by dimwits.
“Don't finish me off. Just - just - fuck me instead,” Arthur managed to grumble out somehow, even if his brain had already been turned into mush. But he needed this, even if it was going to hurt doing it like this. Then again, he wasn't a pansy. He'd had worse things happen to him. Besides, he just didn't carry lube around with him. He wasn't Francis.
“But-” Alfred whined. Wasn't putting his cock into that tight hole going to hurt? Alfred wasn't too sure he wanted to do something that would hurt Arthur. He just hadn't become suicidal. And he wasn't into pain. But an idea struck him. He'd read something about this in one of Francis' books on love-making and eroticism. So, even though one part of his mind protested, Alfred did something he'd never expected to do in his life: he stuck his tongue into Arthur's anus.
It was strange at first. Alfred had never ever even seen that part of the body that closely on people, let alone attempted to do the following. He hadn't even imagined doing it. But that alone wasn't enough to stop him. After all, he did want to try it out. Life was too short to waste it on being indecisive. Besides, it was good to be daring.
So, there he was kneeling on his legs and giving Arthur a rather impressively good rimming job. Arthur moaned, but then slapped his mouth shut with his hand. Good Lord, that would have been undignified. Because this was too much. Feeling Alfred's wet tongue licking his hole was quite possibly the last thing he'd imagined Alfred doing for him. Because Alfred, in his desire to proof that he was independent and strong now, wasn't someone who seemed to be willing to pleasure someone like this. And yet he did. For him. And Arthur realised that he hadn't even asked for it. So yes, his technique was unrefined - too fast and clumsy. Then, he didn't tease, which Arthur appreciated. He'd experienced those cases where people were a tad bit too tardy. But Alfred - he was doing it right. Even if it wasn't perfect.
Maybe, Arthur thought dizzily, what he enjoyed so much about this was that Alfred was working so hard for him. Only him.
“Gosh,” Arthur sighed, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead. He could feel the warmth building up inside of him again. Not again. He couldn't allow Alfred to continue this. But, oh fuck, he realised he really didn't want Alfred to stop.
“F-faster,” he grunted out, his voice surprisingly steady-sounding. Arthur had nearly reached the point where he couldn't string sentences properly together.
Alfred continued licking, never once even thinking of stopping. Somehow, he felt that he was very hard himself; his all-too evident erection was making it uncomfortable for him to still have those trousers on. A part of him was quite desirous to just rid himself of the obstacles, enter Arthur in one thrust and feel that tight heat. He felt Arthur shudder around him, heard a loud, high gasp and then realised Arthur had come. Stopping what he'd been doing, Alfred's suspicions were confirmed: he saw a flushed Arthur, looking wide-eyed, and his cock was soft now - cum was leaking down Arthur's thighs.
If Alfred had known the word, he might have applied the term “flabbergasted”.
“Is that what you wanted?” Alfred asked, glowing when he saw, upon closer inspection how red-faced Arthur really was. He nearly looked cute. “Yu have to admit I'm brilli-mmmmpf.”
Arthur shut Alfred up by placing his hand against his moving mouth. There was no why he'd let that stupid fool finish that sentence, thank you very much. His eardrums had been exposed to too much idiocy for the evening. Unless he wanted to maintain his sanity, which he prized to a very great extent, he couldn't let Alfred talk too much. Or the consequences would be very severe. Even if Alfred had been doing good job so far.
Alfred slapped the hand away, shaking his head in disgust. He'd worked so hard too! He really didn't understand why Arthur couldn't just admit that. Besides, he was hard - his throbbing cock was twitching. It was nearly painful now.
“Arthur-” Alfred started, but he was interrupted again. This time, Arthur had pulled him by the hem of his shirt, stopping any potential word-flow from Alfred's mouth by kissing him quite insistently. Actually, slamming his lips against Alfred's would have been a more appropriate term. Alfred wondered whether Arthur could taste part of himself on his lips. He wondered if Arthur thought that was hot. He sort of did.
Alfred kissed back, just as aggressively. And, even if he wasn't realising it, he was rubbing his lower body quite insistently against Arthur's groin. Arthur's eyes snapped open at that. Really. If he'd been the one in this position, he'd have just - well, he would have just taken what he wanted. Indeed, Arthur realised that if this had been Francis, he would have been fucked thoroughly by now.
“Arthur, what now?” Alfred asked, more annoyed than anything. The friction - the rubbing to and fro - had actually started to feel really good. “What do you want me do now?”
Arthur shook his head. Alfred was really a simpleton. It was nearly pitiable. “Do it ... Just fuck me.”
He hoped that was enough. Enough to trigger Alfred into action.
Alfred was utterly started. He hadn't actually expected to get such a blatant answer. Arthur sounded so needy, so incredibly needy. And Alfred was forced to admit that he was more than needy himself. Hell, he was actually trembling in excitement! Who was he to refuse Arthur what he wanted? Alfred unzipped his jeans, and freed his own arousal. Finally, he thought. Feeling thus elated, Alfred pushed his cock inside. He gritted his teeth. Damn, it felt so good -- and, and he just wanted to bury himself to the hilt. Because, because then he'd be - Alfred didn't know what he would be. But it would be something like shooting stars or heaven or ... hamburgers? Alfred wasn't quite sure what to compare this sensation to.
Of course, Arthur found a way to spoil the fun.
“Slowly or it'll fucking hurt,” Arthur warned. “I don't want to be any more sore than I have to tomorrow.”
Arthur groaned in pain when Alfred entered him. Slowly. Just like he'd wanted. Still, it hurt because he'd not been stretched properly. But Arthur was relaxed, so that it wasn't the hissing pain that a virgin would have experienced. Besides, Alfred had done a tolerable job at rimming before. So, it wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was so far from being bad that Arthur asked himself why it had taken him so long to get Alfred in this kind of position. Maybe, he'd been a bit too much of a repressed git himself. Because this was much better than arguing with Alfred. Much better.
Francis had always described anal sex has hot and tight. Alfred had to agree with him this one time. It was hot and tight. Alfred's heat and tightness surrounded his cock, practically tempting him to start slamming right away. But he didn't want to. Not immediately. Because - Alfred realised - this was Arthur. The same Arthur he'd spent so much time fighting. The very Arthur that liked talking to imaginary friends. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Alfred remained like this for a while, simply enjoying the sensation of being inside of Arthur. And yes, Arthur had been right about not slamming in right away.
Only that Arthur found something new to complain about now.
“Alfred,” Arthur grumbled, grinding his ass against that hot cock seated inside of him, “ what the bloody hell are you waiting for?”
Alfred just took in the feel of being inside of Arthur again, totally oblivious to anything the man was telling him. He was so bedazzled that Arthur's pleas truly did fall on deaf ears.
“Alfred, move.”
Arthur decided that he would be the one to do the penetrating next time. This was beyond exasperating. Why, Alfred was acting like he'd never done this before! Or if he had done it before, he was more than horrible at it. Truly, it seemed that Alfred, that stupid simpleton, was hopeless without him. This was what breaking away from him had done to Alfred - he'd grown up into an embarrassing caricature of a man. He'd teach him all right now.
“Oh damn it,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, and then - placing both of his hands on Alfred's wide shoulders - lifted himself from Alfred's penis. Only to slam down on him again. That, he thought should capture the git's attention all right.
And that it did. It captured Alfred's attention so much that he groaned. The sudden act of having Arthur being so deeply was just too - he could barely breathe. Damn it. He'd never expected this to feel so good.
“Fuck you,” Alfred uttered with poorly concealed amazement.
Arthur shook his head. “Fuck you, indeed. Now do that.”
Alfred realised he would have to. Arthur looked so incredibly angry and frustrated that it sent chills running down his spine. The last time he'd failed to treat Arthur seriously he'd paid the price for his ignorance with an aching jaw. These days, he double-checked any gifts he got from Arthur on his birthday. If he got any, that was. With that in mind, Alfred - though he was still bewildered by the tightness and heat - started to thrust. He pulled out, then slammed his cock right back into the welcoming heat.
Arthur's head banged against the wall. Better, he thought. Much better. Alfred was getting this right, Arthur realised as he felt himself being filled over and over again. His back was probably going to ache later on. But that hardly mattered now. Still. He wasn't fully satisfied yet. The highest pinnacle of pleasure hadn't been reached yet. Oh he was close.
“Faster. Harder.”
Alfred groaned. And slammed harder, hitting a spot that made Arthur nearly cry out in what Alfred assumed to be pleasure. He wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Strong hands were clutching onto his shoulders, legs that were wrapped his around waist and Alfred's hands, holding onto Arthur's ass, were trembling, slipping now and then due to his sweaty palms. Alfred felt that he to be faster now, as - whether it was fever or sheer madness - seemed to have taken possession of him now. This didn't mean a thing, did it?
Alfred's hands, which had hitherto been supporting him, travelled upwards, wrapping themselves around Arthur's waist. With a choke of surprise, Arthur comprehended that he was being hugged, that this was some kind of awkward display of affection. His throat started to hurt, and he gritted his teeth.
Idiot, Arthur thought. Stupid useless coxcomb. You could have had all this. I'm still yours.
Arthur knew that Alfred would deny this later on. But he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, and buried his head there, coming with a muffled cry.
It was over too quickly. Arthur heaved, not liking how the semen slipped past his thighs. If he'd felt like it, he could have asked Alfred to clean the mess using his tongue, but that was rather unlikely. Sighing, he knelt down, ignoring the pain shooting up his spine, and got back into his pants. All the while, he didn't say a single word.
Stupefied, Alfred realised that it was really over. He'd - at some point - pulled out and was now in the rather stupid situation of standing in the alley with his now softened penis sticking out of his jeans. How utterly absurd.
“Zip up your jeans, Alfred,” Arthur said, immediately dispelling any magic that might have been up in the air. Then, what could he do? Profess his undying love? Pretend that this was the start of a better and healthier relationship? One little rut in the alley didn't (and wouldn't) alter years - centuries - of grudge that lay between them. He was too cynical to hope that things would change. And he didn't expect anything.
“Arthur I-” Alfred started, not sure what to say. That he was sorry? Was he sorry? But then for what? Did this - the fact that they'd had sex together - change things? For the first time in centuries, Alfred felt less like a hero and more like a confused boy. He liked Arthur - a lot. And yet, Arthur confused him. So many times, Alfred didn't know whether the man was actually being nice to him or mocking him. So many times, he didn't know if Arthur hated him or not. So, he responded the only way he could - he fought back with words.
“Oh bugger this,” Arthur snapped, and lowered his hands to help Alfred. He was red-faced, Arthur noticed. Utterly red-faced. Sweating profusely as well. A stab of guilt formed in Arthur's heart. Alfred - he understood it so well now - was still that boy. The same one he'd nurtured and taken care of - and who, contrary to popular belief, still needed taking care of.
“It was fine, Alfred. Don't think too hard about this,” Arthur said gently, wiping the hair that fallen into the younger man's face tenderly back into place. It hadn't meant a thing. All this wasn't going to change anything, would it? But when Arthur turned to walk away, he felt Alfred's hand stop his. It was warm.
“Arthur, I - I'm sorry for reminding you year after year,” Alfred said, then gulped, and swallowed down whatever words had come into his mouth,” I shouldn't expect you to ... celebrate.”
He meant it too. He couldn't say sorry for having become independent though. Alfred couldn't do that. But he could give Arthur this - the reassurance that this meant something, that he wasn't as uncaring as Arthur apparently seemed to think he was.
Arthur shook his head. “Stop saying nonsense, you git.”
He wouldn't have it: this was just too surreal, too awkward.
“It wasn't nonsense!” Alfred protested. He could have said something like “you know, that it wasn't”, but that seemed over the top. Besides, didn't heroes maintain their pride, no matter what? Alfred wouldn't plead. He wouldn't beg Arthur to take him seriously now.
Arthur stopped walking for a bit, turned around and glanced at Alfred - red-faced, eyes gazing with an intensity that he hadn't expected there. No, Alfred wasn't pulling his legs this time. This wasn't a joke. But Arthur wasn’t going to melt at this. Not yet. Not him, no sir.
Arthur looked away - turned his gaze back on the dark streets, back to the dumpsters with the rotting apples and the other obscenities. Alfred felt like hitting something - he would not be ignored. He was just about to say something when Arthur spoke, thus effectively breaking the silence.
“Come on, let's go!” Arthur responded sternly, putting his hands into his pockets. Alfred frowned momentarily, surprised that Arthur hadn't rebuked the statement he'd practically screamed out. Maybe, this was a trick. A sort of cruel joke Arthur was playing on him in order to test out his limits - to see how long it would take him to break.
But Arthur then turned around again, his face - for the first time that evening - looking calm. He looked nearly happy. At least as happy as Arthur could look. Alfred then shook his head, realising this was all he'd get.
And that was, for the time being, maybe all he really wanted.
--
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pretty much PWP. Written for the kink! meme. In which Arthur is angry, Alfred oblivious and things still somehow get sorted out?
Notes: Posted because someone I really admire said they'd write smut if I shared this! And yes, this is err... largely fail edited by myself (mostly because this author has the attention span of a turtle and spends more time going HOHOHO than anything else). Thanks goes to jadedsavant for first looking at this over for me (and making it halfway readable when I shared first this on the kink!meme).
Those expecting brilliance, should go somewhere else? I'm not adverse to concrit though, but flames will be ignored. Please be kind. This is the first time I'm sharing fic after being on a two month hiatus from a very large fandom (apart from whoring myself out on kink! memes ;_;)
--
Alfred, that was a universally acknowledged fact, was a total git. Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind- stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old - fuck, Arthur realised, I'm quoting both Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. He was scandalised. Alcohol obviously did not work any wonders for his cognitive processes. His head was burning. Searing actually. And he felt like singing “God save the Queen” over and over again. Or maybe it was “God curse the Queen?”.
“Oh bloody hell,” Arthur snarled, smashing his fist down on the wooden table. His knuckles immediately hurt, and he looked down on them - they were bruised. He'd slammed his fist down on the table a bit too appreciatively, for lack of better word. Then again, he couldn't be appreciative enough. Today was the day. The day when a certain wanker had broken his heart. And there was no better way to heal broken hearts than giving a tribute to that long since forgotten Dionysus.
Now, all of this would have been a rather normal procedure if Alfred himself had not been present. Yet he was bodily present and currently engaged in sending more than just dubious looks into his companion's direction. And those looks were annoying because Arthur just didn't like it. It wasn't like Alfred cared about him. Probably, he'd just tagged along to mock him and his weaknesses.
“Don't you think you've had too much, Arthur?” Alfred asked (not that he cared for Arthur's well-being, mind you). It would have just been inconvenient if the other nation ended up dying because of alcohol poisoning or something. After all, the blame would end up on Alfred who'd not only suggested going here, but even offered to pay for the drink. And it was troublesome to carry dead bodies around. Gosh, if he'd known that Arthur was going to be such a bad sport about this, he'd have never come here. He should have met up with Ivan instead. That man, even if he was the Devil Incarnate or something like that, was less difficult to deal with than a half-smashed Arthur.
He'd drunk more than six glasses of scotch or whatever the hell it was. Again, Alfred pondered that he should have known that taking Arthur out for a drink was never a good idea. Because he was talking to himself again. Aloud.
“Hah, the prat takes me here today. On the 4th of July. Sod,” Alfred heard Arthur say, his tone still not slurry enough because it took more than six glasses to make him completely drunk. So, maybe, he cursed a bit more. Yet, he was still Arthur. Irritating, stern Arthur who only looked cute when out cold or lying sick in bed with a fever.
Arthur, meanwhile, was still going on about the fourth of July. He'd never forget that date. Come what may, he would have been going on and on about it, even if - well, if everything from stomping (drunk) elephants to giggling clowns had walked into the pub. The fourth of July had been when America, ungrateful brat that he was, had decided to declare independence. Even though he was half-drunk and partly incapable of thinking clearly, Arthur could still feel the same grief, disappointment and disbelief. No, he would never forget.
“And I'll never forget it. Even if the world should crumble to dust, I shan't ever forget,” he said loudly, voice nearly thunderous in its volume. If he'd started crying, the dramatic imagery of loss would have been complete.
Alfred watched the whole spectacle with feigned disinterest, though his entire being was scared out of his wits. Arthur was fucking crazy. Hell, crazy didn't fit. Alfred thought he'd never met anyone ... more out of his mind. Which, considering how crazy some of the nations were, was quite an understatement. But Arthur was just own his special brand of “lunatic”. Alfred just couldn't make any sense out of him. Sometimes, he thought Arthur was being nice to him, other times he believed that he was a nuisance to him. Sometimes, Alfred really believed that term “he ran hot and cold” could be truly applied to Arthur. But that wasn't the problem now. The problem at hand right now was that Arthur was talking to something inanimate.
“Arthur, say ... why are you talking to a wall?” Alfred asked cautiously, starting to grow more worried when Arthur's soliloquy gained even more pathos. But Arthur ignored him. An annoyed -sounding sigh was the only indication Alfred received that Arthur had actually heard him.
He wasn't talking to a wall! Arthur was talking to a ghost. And if Alfred didn't get that, he could very well sod off. Of course, Alfred, being not only a complete sod but gifted with no sixth sense could not see any ghost.
The only thing he saw was a rather smashed Arthur gesticulating wildly. A funny sight in itself, but it was past midnight already. Outside, a thick fog had already settled over the city and it was growing duskier and duskier with every growing second. Soon, London would be decked in darkness. Alfred really wanted to go home. Or at least, sleep in Arthur's bed. He'd never admit it out loud but the other nation had fantastic taste. When it came to beds, at least. Alfred also admitted that he liked Arthur's cooking. He didn't understand what was supposed to be bad about it. Not that he'd tell Arthur about that, of course.
Meanwhile, Arthur hadn't stopped talking. He was too incensed by painful memories of betrayal and defeat to even consider stop talking. He felt that a whole trilogy could not have given his woeful sentiments enough vent.
“Is he doing this to anger me? Upset me? You'd think that by now the prat would have learnt some manners. Or a little tact. And yet and yet ... he keeps reminding me of it every year.”
Alfred wanted to shout that wasn't true. He'd come here because he'd wanted to earnestly celebrate with Arthur. Not because he'd been interested in rubbing his victory under Arthur's nose - it couldn't be? Maybe, it had been that. Alfred wasn't too certain what he'd really wanted to. In fact, he hadn't even considered how Arthur felt about it. But now, he was starting to think that this might have been a mistake.
Arthur was still too busy in his little tête a tête with the headless ghoul to realise that Alfred had listened to those words with more than just discomfort. In fact, the young man swallowed audibly, refusing to meet the eyes of the interested observers. Who, of course, included Francis. Somehow, that bastard was always around when Arthur got drunk. Alfred wasn't quite sure what the man wanted, but it couldn't be anything good.
“My head's spinning. I could use some-” Arthur halted, not sure what he needed. He could use a lot of things - a better economy, less demonstrations and less rain. The latter was something he'd always wanted to have less of. However, Arthur knew that it wasn't something he'd ever get - just like he couldn't seem to have Alfred.
“Do you want me to help you, mon ami? I'll take you out on the fresh air, cheri...” Francis drawled, looking up and down Arthur's body appreciatively. He licked his lips, apparently engaged in the mental occupation of undressing Arthur with his eyes.
Arthur wasn't quite stupid. He could see the way the man's eyes were resting on his groin. And, between dealing with an oblivious Alfred and a seductive Francis, he knew what would make his evening complete. It had been a while since he'd gotten laid. Even if it was this bastard. Hell, he had talented fingers. That counted for something.
“All right,” Arthur said in a commanding tone, as if he'd been the one to propose the idea and not Francis. Then again, he couldn't let Francis think that he was that helpless. He had to keep his demeanour or things would get too confusing.
Alfred didn't quite like that. He'd watched the exchange between Francis and Arthur with a frown. His frown deepened when he saw that Arthur was attempting to rise from his seat. He had to do something. He couldn't let Francis take Arthur away from him.
“I think it's time to leave, Arthur,” the younger nation said, dragging Arthur - non too gently - by the cuffs of his shirt or ... was it his vest? It didn't matter. Maybe it was neither. He couldn't tell because the pub was so clouded with smoke that it wasn't really possible to discern anything.
“Wait, “ Francis said, mild irritation lighting up in his usually playful countenance. He wasn't all too happy about the fact that a delicious treat - in the form of a very tasty Arthur, naked and writhing under him - was being robbed before his eyes. If he could have, he'd have put a stop to it. Not too persistently, of course. This was Alfred, after all. But he wasn't in the mood.
“D'accord. Do as you wish,” he stated, watching Alfred drag away the one thing he'd wanted to have for a long time. It still hurt. But Francis wasn't the sort of person to be upset for too long. So, he shook his head. And decided to spend the rest of the evening tasting sweet wine. Maybe, he'd find something else - something sweet and gentile - to take home with him. After all, Francis thought, life was too short to waste it on missed chances and broken opportunities.
Alfred ignored Arthur's grunts of protests - they were nothing but sweet music to his ears. He'd learnt to channel them out with time, only paying attention when feeling like it. Alfred didn't feel like it now. He felt like going out instead - out of this oppressive and dingy pub. Out, out. He needed to go out. Arthur wasn't going to be molested. If there was going to be any molesting done tonight, it wouldn't be Francis doing it.
--
By now dusk had settled over the city. It lay spread out like a blanket, covering the highly populated metropolis under its black-drenched material. Alfred felt stupid. He couldn't really make his way out in this darkness.
Right now, they were in a dark alley. Arthur sodding hated it. It was smelly. The odour of decrepit hamburgers and thrown away fish filled his nostrils. A charming place, he thought, to rot gleefully away as a homeless person. Only that he wasn't a homeless person. Besides, Arthur hadn't even finished drinking yet.
“Alfred, why did you drag me away? I was just going to have fun with .... oh forget it.”
It amused him how he still wasn't drunk enough to slur or speak in a hybrid of Yorkshire dialect and Cockney slang. Sure, his head had been spinning. However, the cool air of the night sobered him more quickly than anything else could have done.
Alfred just shook his head. “You were going to do what? Have sex with him?”
Arthur tensed. He wasn't quite sure if he liked the sound of Alfred's voice - it was so possessive. Nearly wounded, too. As far as Arthur was concerned, Alfred had no right to feel wounded. He cracked his fists. He couldn't believe it. For what had nearly been three centuries, Alfred had treated him like shit. He'd changed a little since circumstances had forced him to acknowledge that he wasn't as much of a shining beacon as he had thought himself to be ... still - all in all - Arthur still felt that Alfred was taking him for granted, that he still looked down on him. And that hurt more than anything else could have done.
“And that's so bloody wrong? You know, it's not like you'd ever give me what I want!” Arthur suddenly hollered, angry at something he'd tried to repress for the past few ... decades, at least. It had been ages ago. Still, Arthur found that his heart ached the same way it had when Alfred had first started celebrating this particular day.
Alfred pushed Arthur against the wall, roughly. If he'd done it harder, a rib would have probably cracked. Giving it everything he had, he kissed Arthur's chapped lips. Arthur groaned, opening his mouth. Alfred immediately seized this as an opportunity to stick his tongue into Arthur's mouth. He liked it. In fact, he had to admit that kissing Arthur was a hell lot better than kissing someone like ... Arthur forgot that he had no one to compare this experience to. Not really. Even if he'd gotten around in the world, Alfred had never quite managed to kiss someone properly.
Oh well it doesn't matter. I'm very good at kissing, he decided. Arthur would surely melt in his arms.
This was - Arthur didn't know how to describe it. He'd been screaming his lungs out a few minutes before and was now being kissed. He screwed his eyes shut, even if the kiss was more messy than anything else. Alfred had no fucking idea how to kiss. Because, if this was what he referred to as kissing, than donkeys had a better grasp on it. Of course, Arthur didn't know what donkeys kissed like - but then he just couldn't think of anything more fitting to compare Alfred's skills (or lack thereof) to.
It was fine though. Alfred made up for lack of talent by being so very enthusiastic. And he was more than just that. His hands - those big and clumsy hands - were roaming his body, groping with a frenzy that was nearly alarming. Once, his hands were on his hips. Then, a hand kneaded his thighs, somewhat uneven fingernails digging deep into his skin. Arthur hissed.
“What?” Alfred asked, breathless. His glasses were fogged. Arthur shook his head, and took them off of Alfred's nose. He hid them in his pockets. For a second, he nearly felt like being transported back in time. Alfred's face looked much younger without the glasses - less serious and more like the boy he'd once been. It hurt. It amazed Arthur how much it hurt.
“What is it? Does my handsomeness take your breath away?” Alfred asked coyly, not sure whether he really liked the way Arthur was looking at him. There was too much affection. Not too much lust. Oh certainly, those green eyes were staring at him with desire - he could see the want and lust mirrored there. And yet, it wasn't carnal. Alfred wasn't quite sure whether he could deal with that - sex was much easier and less messier without the whole baggage. You had nothing to lose like that. Especially when both parties had agreed that it was nothing but a temporary, random little fling.
Arthur didn't answer, but grabbed hold of Alfred's face. He initiated the kiss this time, ensuring that it was done properly. Maybe, he'd made a mistake back then when he'd not given Alfred some lessons on proper kissing. Then again, he'd never imagined that Alfred would defy him one fine day. Indeed, back then, he'd assumed that things would take their natural course, that kissing (and other such intimacies) would come into being as a direct consequence of their common ties. But Alfred had sundered those ties, hadn't he?
Alfred liked this. He really had to be an awesome kisser, if he'd made Arthur lose his head like this. Usually, the man was snappish and all too easily irritable. Now, he was just so forthcoming, so giving. Alfred broke the kiss, just to attack Arthur's with what he thought be proper ministrations. In fact, he wasn't doing more than attacking Arthur's neck with furious kisses that were neither arousing or particularly arousing. Just very, very wet and awkward.
Arthur could see that Alfred was ready to take the next step. He could see that he wanted to take him. But he knew he couldn't just submit like this. Not fully. Or he'd have his heart broken - again. No, Arthur thought, he hadn't signed up for this.
He'd have to keep in control. If he wanted to keep his dignity, Arthur had to keep in control.
“Unzip my pants first,” Arthur commanded hoarsely. He hoped that Alfred would be stupid enough to play along. Then again, seeing how Alfred was about as perceptive as a slab of stone, he figured it wouldn't be too hard to get the man exactly where he wanted him.
Alfred did what Arthur told him to do. Finally, Arthur was willing to admit his weakness! And he was apparently quite weak when it came to him. Arthur was hard - harder than Alfred had imagined him to be. His cock was freed from the trousers now, which lay as a puddle at his feet - and his cock was a furious pink. Alfred nearly blushed at that, not having expected such a sight. But he couldn't show that. Or he'd be mocked by Arthur for certain.
“Suck me off.”
Alfred didn't have to be told twice. Feeling more than just proud of himself, he took the man's cock in his mouth. He started to suck quickly, not bothering with any finesse. Alfred liked quick blow jobs. So, he naturally assumed that Arthur liked them that way as well.
But a shaking hand gripped his hair, so tightly that Alfred let go off the tip he'd just been sucking with a slight plop.
Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred's technique was terrible - utterly terrible. He looked confused, adorably so and his mouth was red. And wet - very wet. It wasn't easy to act as if he was angry when Alfred looked so disgustingly cute.
“No, you git - not like that,” Arthur yelled. “Slowly. Use your teeth.”
Picky much? Alfred shook his head, but - nevertheless - complied. He took in Arthur's penis again, this time slowly taking in the full length. Then, he let go and when he took Arthur's penis into his mouth again, he used his teeth, lightly nibbling. He assumed that biting wasn't what Arthur really wanted. That would have probably been too painful.
Perhaps, Arthur was right. Simply sucking someone off was a bit boring. Alfred decided to be a bit more daring. First, he applied his tongue on Arthur's cock, licking the head nearly shyly. Then, gaining more confidence, he licked again, this time not being so timid as he'd been before. As a bonus, he lightly scraped Arthur's cock with his teeth. That earned a moan.
But Arthur wasn't entirely satisfied yet. “Use your hands too.”
Use his hands? How he could use his hands? An idea popped into Alfred's brain. He'd heard - it must have been from Francis or so - that sticking a finger up someone's arse while doing this was stimulating. So, without further ado, he did precisely that - stuck a hand into Arthur's very tight and warm asshole. He wasn't too sure if he was doing it right because Arthur hissed. He seemed to be in pain. Alfred was about to withdrew his finger from that twitching hole when a hard grip on his shoulder stopped him. It was Arthur's hand.
“Don't stop,” Alfred uttered hoarsely. He opened his eyes and saw the hesitation lighting up in Alfred's eyes. “It doesn't hurt. Just continue.”
Alfred nodded, not sure what else to do. He couldn't say anything. Anything he'd have said would have betrayed his nervousness.
“Bloody hell,” Arthur gasped. He gasped even more when another finger was added. Then another. Alfred was scissoring him. And his teeth - oh God, those teeth and that hot mouth - were on his cock - alternately licking or biting. It felt - well, more than just good.
Alfred felt elated. He'd done this - made Arthur lose control.
Liking the way Arthur gasped, he decided to do something else. He used his other hand to lightly slap Arthur's buttocks. He smiled even more happily when Arthur gasped at that, sending a rather mortified look in his direction. Alfred wisely ignored the look, choosing to interpret it as a sign of Arthur's gratitude. After all, it was better to deny than to confront reality.
Arthur was quite surprised by that turns of events, but not too surprised. Besides, it had felt good, even if Alfred has misunderstood him. Oh well, you couldn't be too picky. Especially when you were surrounded by dimwits.
“Don't finish me off. Just - just - fuck me instead,” Arthur managed to grumble out somehow, even if his brain had already been turned into mush. But he needed this, even if it was going to hurt doing it like this. Then again, he wasn't a pansy. He'd had worse things happen to him. Besides, he just didn't carry lube around with him. He wasn't Francis.
“But-” Alfred whined. Wasn't putting his cock into that tight hole going to hurt? Alfred wasn't too sure he wanted to do something that would hurt Arthur. He just hadn't become suicidal. And he wasn't into pain. But an idea struck him. He'd read something about this in one of Francis' books on love-making and eroticism. So, even though one part of his mind protested, Alfred did something he'd never expected to do in his life: he stuck his tongue into Arthur's anus.
It was strange at first. Alfred had never ever even seen that part of the body that closely on people, let alone attempted to do the following. He hadn't even imagined doing it. But that alone wasn't enough to stop him. After all, he did want to try it out. Life was too short to waste it on being indecisive. Besides, it was good to be daring.
So, there he was kneeling on his legs and giving Arthur a rather impressively good rimming job. Arthur moaned, but then slapped his mouth shut with his hand. Good Lord, that would have been undignified. Because this was too much. Feeling Alfred's wet tongue licking his hole was quite possibly the last thing he'd imagined Alfred doing for him. Because Alfred, in his desire to proof that he was independent and strong now, wasn't someone who seemed to be willing to pleasure someone like this. And yet he did. For him. And Arthur realised that he hadn't even asked for it. So yes, his technique was unrefined - too fast and clumsy. Then, he didn't tease, which Arthur appreciated. He'd experienced those cases where people were a tad bit too tardy. But Alfred - he was doing it right. Even if it wasn't perfect.
Maybe, Arthur thought dizzily, what he enjoyed so much about this was that Alfred was working so hard for him. Only him.
“Gosh,” Arthur sighed, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead. He could feel the warmth building up inside of him again. Not again. He couldn't allow Alfred to continue this. But, oh fuck, he realised he really didn't want Alfred to stop.
“F-faster,” he grunted out, his voice surprisingly steady-sounding. Arthur had nearly reached the point where he couldn't string sentences properly together.
Alfred continued licking, never once even thinking of stopping. Somehow, he felt that he was very hard himself; his all-too evident erection was making it uncomfortable for him to still have those trousers on. A part of him was quite desirous to just rid himself of the obstacles, enter Arthur in one thrust and feel that tight heat. He felt Arthur shudder around him, heard a loud, high gasp and then realised Arthur had come. Stopping what he'd been doing, Alfred's suspicions were confirmed: he saw a flushed Arthur, looking wide-eyed, and his cock was soft now - cum was leaking down Arthur's thighs.
If Alfred had known the word, he might have applied the term “flabbergasted”.
“Is that what you wanted?” Alfred asked, glowing when he saw, upon closer inspection how red-faced Arthur really was. He nearly looked cute. “Yu have to admit I'm brilli-mmmmpf.”
Arthur shut Alfred up by placing his hand against his moving mouth. There was no why he'd let that stupid fool finish that sentence, thank you very much. His eardrums had been exposed to too much idiocy for the evening. Unless he wanted to maintain his sanity, which he prized to a very great extent, he couldn't let Alfred talk too much. Or the consequences would be very severe. Even if Alfred had been doing good job so far.
Alfred slapped the hand away, shaking his head in disgust. He'd worked so hard too! He really didn't understand why Arthur couldn't just admit that. Besides, he was hard - his throbbing cock was twitching. It was nearly painful now.
“Arthur-” Alfred started, but he was interrupted again. This time, Arthur had pulled him by the hem of his shirt, stopping any potential word-flow from Alfred's mouth by kissing him quite insistently. Actually, slamming his lips against Alfred's would have been a more appropriate term. Alfred wondered whether Arthur could taste part of himself on his lips. He wondered if Arthur thought that was hot. He sort of did.
Alfred kissed back, just as aggressively. And, even if he wasn't realising it, he was rubbing his lower body quite insistently against Arthur's groin. Arthur's eyes snapped open at that. Really. If he'd been the one in this position, he'd have just - well, he would have just taken what he wanted. Indeed, Arthur realised that if this had been Francis, he would have been fucked thoroughly by now.
“Arthur, what now?” Alfred asked, more annoyed than anything. The friction - the rubbing to and fro - had actually started to feel really good. “What do you want me do now?”
Arthur shook his head. Alfred was really a simpleton. It was nearly pitiable. “Do it ... Just fuck me.”
He hoped that was enough. Enough to trigger Alfred into action.
Alfred was utterly started. He hadn't actually expected to get such a blatant answer. Arthur sounded so needy, so incredibly needy. And Alfred was forced to admit that he was more than needy himself. Hell, he was actually trembling in excitement! Who was he to refuse Arthur what he wanted? Alfred unzipped his jeans, and freed his own arousal. Finally, he thought. Feeling thus elated, Alfred pushed his cock inside. He gritted his teeth. Damn, it felt so good -- and, and he just wanted to bury himself to the hilt. Because, because then he'd be - Alfred didn't know what he would be. But it would be something like shooting stars or heaven or ... hamburgers? Alfred wasn't quite sure what to compare this sensation to.
Of course, Arthur found a way to spoil the fun.
“Slowly or it'll fucking hurt,” Arthur warned. “I don't want to be any more sore than I have to tomorrow.”
Arthur groaned in pain when Alfred entered him. Slowly. Just like he'd wanted. Still, it hurt because he'd not been stretched properly. But Arthur was relaxed, so that it wasn't the hissing pain that a virgin would have experienced. Besides, Alfred had done a tolerable job at rimming before. So, it wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was so far from being bad that Arthur asked himself why it had taken him so long to get Alfred in this kind of position. Maybe, he'd been a bit too much of a repressed git himself. Because this was much better than arguing with Alfred. Much better.
Francis had always described anal sex has hot and tight. Alfred had to agree with him this one time. It was hot and tight. Alfred's heat and tightness surrounded his cock, practically tempting him to start slamming right away. But he didn't want to. Not immediately. Because - Alfred realised - this was Arthur. The same Arthur he'd spent so much time fighting. The very Arthur that liked talking to imaginary friends. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Alfred remained like this for a while, simply enjoying the sensation of being inside of Arthur. And yes, Arthur had been right about not slamming in right away.
Only that Arthur found something new to complain about now.
“Alfred,” Arthur grumbled, grinding his ass against that hot cock seated inside of him, “ what the bloody hell are you waiting for?”
Alfred just took in the feel of being inside of Arthur again, totally oblivious to anything the man was telling him. He was so bedazzled that Arthur's pleas truly did fall on deaf ears.
“Alfred, move.”
Arthur decided that he would be the one to do the penetrating next time. This was beyond exasperating. Why, Alfred was acting like he'd never done this before! Or if he had done it before, he was more than horrible at it. Truly, it seemed that Alfred, that stupid simpleton, was hopeless without him. This was what breaking away from him had done to Alfred - he'd grown up into an embarrassing caricature of a man. He'd teach him all right now.
“Oh damn it,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, and then - placing both of his hands on Alfred's wide shoulders - lifted himself from Alfred's penis. Only to slam down on him again. That, he thought should capture the git's attention all right.
And that it did. It captured Alfred's attention so much that he groaned. The sudden act of having Arthur being so deeply was just too - he could barely breathe. Damn it. He'd never expected this to feel so good.
“Fuck you,” Alfred uttered with poorly concealed amazement.
Arthur shook his head. “Fuck you, indeed. Now do that.”
Alfred realised he would have to. Arthur looked so incredibly angry and frustrated that it sent chills running down his spine. The last time he'd failed to treat Arthur seriously he'd paid the price for his ignorance with an aching jaw. These days, he double-checked any gifts he got from Arthur on his birthday. If he got any, that was. With that in mind, Alfred - though he was still bewildered by the tightness and heat - started to thrust. He pulled out, then slammed his cock right back into the welcoming heat.
Arthur's head banged against the wall. Better, he thought. Much better. Alfred was getting this right, Arthur realised as he felt himself being filled over and over again. His back was probably going to ache later on. But that hardly mattered now. Still. He wasn't fully satisfied yet. The highest pinnacle of pleasure hadn't been reached yet. Oh he was close.
“Faster. Harder.”
Alfred groaned. And slammed harder, hitting a spot that made Arthur nearly cry out in what Alfred assumed to be pleasure. He wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Strong hands were clutching onto his shoulders, legs that were wrapped his around waist and Alfred's hands, holding onto Arthur's ass, were trembling, slipping now and then due to his sweaty palms. Alfred felt that he to be faster now, as - whether it was fever or sheer madness - seemed to have taken possession of him now. This didn't mean a thing, did it?
Alfred's hands, which had hitherto been supporting him, travelled upwards, wrapping themselves around Arthur's waist. With a choke of surprise, Arthur comprehended that he was being hugged, that this was some kind of awkward display of affection. His throat started to hurt, and he gritted his teeth.
Idiot, Arthur thought. Stupid useless coxcomb. You could have had all this. I'm still yours.
Arthur knew that Alfred would deny this later on. But he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, and buried his head there, coming with a muffled cry.
It was over too quickly. Arthur heaved, not liking how the semen slipped past his thighs. If he'd felt like it, he could have asked Alfred to clean the mess using his tongue, but that was rather unlikely. Sighing, he knelt down, ignoring the pain shooting up his spine, and got back into his pants. All the while, he didn't say a single word.
Stupefied, Alfred realised that it was really over. He'd - at some point - pulled out and was now in the rather stupid situation of standing in the alley with his now softened penis sticking out of his jeans. How utterly absurd.
“Zip up your jeans, Alfred,” Arthur said, immediately dispelling any magic that might have been up in the air. Then, what could he do? Profess his undying love? Pretend that this was the start of a better and healthier relationship? One little rut in the alley didn't (and wouldn't) alter years - centuries - of grudge that lay between them. He was too cynical to hope that things would change. And he didn't expect anything.
“Arthur I-” Alfred started, not sure what to say. That he was sorry? Was he sorry? But then for what? Did this - the fact that they'd had sex together - change things? For the first time in centuries, Alfred felt less like a hero and more like a confused boy. He liked Arthur - a lot. And yet, Arthur confused him. So many times, Alfred didn't know whether the man was actually being nice to him or mocking him. So many times, he didn't know if Arthur hated him or not. So, he responded the only way he could - he fought back with words.
“Oh bugger this,” Arthur snapped, and lowered his hands to help Alfred. He was red-faced, Arthur noticed. Utterly red-faced. Sweating profusely as well. A stab of guilt formed in Arthur's heart. Alfred - he understood it so well now - was still that boy. The same one he'd nurtured and taken care of - and who, contrary to popular belief, still needed taking care of.
“It was fine, Alfred. Don't think too hard about this,” Arthur said gently, wiping the hair that fallen into the younger man's face tenderly back into place. It hadn't meant a thing. All this wasn't going to change anything, would it? But when Arthur turned to walk away, he felt Alfred's hand stop his. It was warm.
“Arthur, I - I'm sorry for reminding you year after year,” Alfred said, then gulped, and swallowed down whatever words had come into his mouth,” I shouldn't expect you to ... celebrate.”
He meant it too. He couldn't say sorry for having become independent though. Alfred couldn't do that. But he could give Arthur this - the reassurance that this meant something, that he wasn't as uncaring as Arthur apparently seemed to think he was.
Arthur shook his head. “Stop saying nonsense, you git.”
He wouldn't have it: this was just too surreal, too awkward.
“It wasn't nonsense!” Alfred protested. He could have said something like “you know, that it wasn't”, but that seemed over the top. Besides, didn't heroes maintain their pride, no matter what? Alfred wouldn't plead. He wouldn't beg Arthur to take him seriously now.
Arthur stopped walking for a bit, turned around and glanced at Alfred - red-faced, eyes gazing with an intensity that he hadn't expected there. No, Alfred wasn't pulling his legs this time. This wasn't a joke. But Arthur wasn’t going to melt at this. Not yet. Not him, no sir.
Arthur looked away - turned his gaze back on the dark streets, back to the dumpsters with the rotting apples and the other obscenities. Alfred felt like hitting something - he would not be ignored. He was just about to say something when Arthur spoke, thus effectively breaking the silence.
“Come on, let's go!” Arthur responded sternly, putting his hands into his pockets. Alfred frowned momentarily, surprised that Arthur hadn't rebuked the statement he'd practically screamed out. Maybe, this was a trick. A sort of cruel joke Arthur was playing on him in order to test out his limits - to see how long it would take him to break.
But Arthur then turned around again, his face - for the first time that evening - looking calm. He looked nearly happy. At least as happy as Arthur could look. Alfred then shook his head, realising this was all he'd get.
And that was, for the time being, maybe all he really wanted.
--