[Fanfic] Eros

[vemela]

Title: Eros
Genre: Fluff/Smut
Characters/Pairing(s): America (Alfred F. Jones), England (Arthur Kirkland), USUK
Rating: M
Warnings: Strong language, use of human names and sexual situations
Summary: Alfred and Arthur are fighting again. But this time it proves to be too much for Alfred to handle. He flees Arthur’s house and is let loose in London. When he does not return, Arthur gets worried and goes in search of him. It turns out that Arthur isn’t the only one who likes to drink. Sap/smexy times ensue.
Notes: De-anon from the Kink Meme! I’ve only waited a week since finishing this to post it… I hope that it’s not too soon?



The rain pelted England’s streets viciously, taking any unfortunate soul without an umbrella by surprise. Arthur absent-mindedly stared at his window which looked out to the suburbs of London. Alfred was close by, sat on the floor, game controller in hand. He was violently stabbing at the buttons, wildly swinging his body to and fro as he battled against the aliens in his game. He was swearing so colourfully that it was making Arthur blush (and that was quite an achievement considering Arthur’s foul mouth).

“Alfred?” Arthur started softly, receiving no relevant response.

“Fuck you, alien! Sneaking up on me like some fuckin’ ninja!”

“Alfred…” he tried again, voice much more strained than before. His grip on his book tightened.

“I should ask him to take me to his leader!” the American chortled.

“Alfred!” Arthur kicked him in the back, lightly - or that was what he’d hoped it’d been. Alfred lurched forwards at the contact with a grunt. He took the time to pause his game and look back at his lover, brows furrowed.

“What the hell, Arthur?” he scowled, an expression that didn’t suit his wonderfully handsome face at all. Arthur stiffened and crossed his legs, tucking his feet beneath his knees as he re-adjusted himself.

“I would appreciate it if you could keep your voice down. I do have neighbours, you know.”

There was a pause. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Is that it?”

Arthur threw down his book and bellowed, “What do mean ‘is that it’?!”

“Why are you getting mad? I’m the one that just got kicked for no friggin’ reason. Jeez,” Alfred pouted, about to go back to his video game.

“It couldn’t have hurt that much,” Arthur folded his arms across his chest, giving his typical ‘I’m right and you’re wrong’ glare. “I thought your fat would at least soften the blow,” he added curtly.

“Oh my God! What is your problem?!” Alfred now shifted himself to face Arthur fully. His chest felt tight, eyes stinging. That comment had hurt more than it was probably meant to. “Is it because I had the last of the tea?”

“I don’t have a problem, America. Don’t act like such a child.”

“Don’t call me that,” Alfred got up on to his knees, shuffling towards him. “Look, what’s really bothering you?” He placed his hands on Arthur’s thighs, to help him balance.

“Nothing,” the older man rolled his eyes and brushed Alfred’s hands away, still glowering. Alfred stood up, sighing frustratedly.

“Fine, be that way. Go back to reading your porn.” Alfred proceeded to the kitchen, to get a drink. He needed to cool off. Arthur wasn’t about to leave it there, though.

“WHAT?!” the Englishman spluttered, launching himself to his feet. He promptly followed him. “I was doing no such thing!”

“Pfft, yeah right. There aren’t many books called ‘Eros’ that aren’t filled with something dirty.” Alfred opened the fridge. Normally, it wouldn’t bother Arthur when Alfred just opened Arthur’s fridge and rooted around in there - but right now, there was nothing that could have annoyed him more.

Arthur stormed into the room and slammed the fridge door shut; Alfred looked bewildered for a few moments before he gave it a sharp tug, opening it with ease which sent Arthur stumbling backwards.

They shared an agitated look.

“I bet you don’t even know what Eros means, moron.” Arthur went to stand by the sink, leaning against the counter. The heavy rain pattering outside seemed to only intensify the heat of their argument.

Alfred took a Coke bottle out from the fridge and narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “Eros: the name of the Greek mythology’s equivalent to Cupid; Eros can also mean sexual or physical desire - fuck you very much.”
He moved towards Arthur, to get a glass from the cupboard. He had partly expected Arthur to pass him one, but no. Arthur didn’t move. Alfred instead had to reach up over him to get a glass from the cupboard behind his head. He slammed it down on to the granite countertop before setting about opening the Coke.

“That’s not at all healthy. You’ll get even fatter drinking that,” Arthur scoffed. Alfred froze, gazing blankly at his lover for a moment. He was quiet for a long time, pouring his drink calmly.

“At least I don’t look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards and gained twigs for eyebrows,” Alfred shot at him, returning the bottle to the fridge.

“You are truly a genius, Alfred. I’m sure that Edgar Allen Poe envies you right now.”

“Thank you,” the American said stiffly before taking a drink from his glass.

“That was sarcasm, you imbecile,” Arthur spat. “Don’t be so big-headed.”

“Ugh, just shut up, will ya’?”

“No, America. This is my house. I will do what I like.” Arthur’s voice was monotonous, indifferent.

“Two can play at this game, limey!” Alfred snarled, finally raising his voice.

“Don’t you shout at me!”

“I’m not your fucking kid, England!”

Arthur’s knees felt weak for a moment. All of this seemed so painfully familiar.

“Then stop acting like one! Grow up! Stop playing games!”

“You stop reading porn and I’ll consider it!” Alfred gripped the glass tightly in his hand, hearing it begin to crack from the sheer pressure it was under.

“It’s not porn!”

“You can’t even admit it,” Alfred laughed incredulously. “It’s no wonder that we haven’t had any decent sex for months. You keep jackin’ off to the shit that France gives you.”

“You know very well that I have to try to create a stronger relationship with Francis now that I’ve signed a treaty with him!” Arthur was blushing from the lewd comment that Alfred had made. It didn’t go un-noticed. It was taken in the wrong context.
Alfred’s throat felt dry, his fingernails digging even further into the glass he was holding. Suddenly he hurled it across the room so that it hit the wall, shattering close to where Arthur stood.

“So it’s Francis now, is it?! What happened to ‘French bastard’ and ‘frog-face’, huh?!” Alfred seemed to be unable to help his emotions now. He was sweating visibly and his heart was racing.

“It’s not -”

“Whatever. I’m just some fat fuck from America, right? I don’t compare to your porn supply.”

“Alfred don’t be -”

“It’s America. And don’t forget it.” Alfred ran from the kitchen to the hallway, toeing on his sneakers as he grabbed his bomber jacket.

“Where are you going?” Arthur chased after him, somewhat hesitantly. He was still cross.

“Like I’d tell you!”

“Are you coming back…?” Arthur’s voice was audibly quieter, sounding much more… anxious than before. Alfred didn’t look back at him as he walked out of the door into the rain.

Arthur sighed, returning to the living room. His house seemed far too quiet all of a sudden. He side-glanced at the window to see Alfred running down the street; he was obviously heading for the nearest tube station. Arthur grit his teeth and tried to ignore it. Alfred would be back.

The video game was still paused, he noticed. He stared at the screen for a few bleak seconds, eyeing the gory pause menu with distaste. He grimaced and finally switched off the television. However, he left the console on. Alfred would be upset if he lost all of his game progress. He had been at it for the past hour or so, after all.

Arthur forced himself to return to the kitchen, feeling shaky on his legs. Alfred had actually thrown that glass at him, with the intent of either scaring or hurting Arthur. Their arguments had never been quite that bad before. Alfred had promised him a long time ago that he would never hurt Arthur again, so long as they loved one another.

Did Alfred not love him anymore?

This was no time to be thinking about such silly things. Arthur frowned to himself and began to clean up the shattered glass from the floor. He wasn’t even particularly sure why he was frustrated with Alfred. Well, there was always something. Today, he just snapped. He hadn’t meant to. Arthur was well-practised in keeping control of himself, thanks to both his Puritan and Victorian eras.

He didn’t mean a word of it. Alfred knew that, surely? But he had looked hurt at the comments about his weight… It was true: Alfred was a little porkier than before but not so much that it was a noticeable thing. His muscles were just less distinguishable and he was softer. Arthur enjoyed that softness to pillow around him when Alfred held him. It was endearing - and it kept them warm during the winter (if Alfred could bring himself to see anyone during all of his heavy snowfall, that is).

“Ah!” Arthur gasped as one of the shards sliced a small cut into his finger. He sucked in his breath, pressing his lips to the new wound. “Bollocks,” he mumbled to himself absently. He licked the blood away from his finger, tasting the iron. It refused to stop bleeding, though. He finished clearing up the glass, throwing it in the bin when he was done, and then began to search for a plaster - or a band aid, as Alfred would call it. A slow smile crossed Arthur’s face. Why had he been so cruel to his lover, his partner? He hadn’t wanted to fight like this.

“For fuck’s sake,” Arthur barked at himself, rinsing his finger beneath the tap, in the sink. At least it wasn’t raining so much anymore. Once the blood had been washed away, he rummaged around in the drawer beside him, producing a small bandage. It reminded him faintly of when Alfred had been a small boy and would continuously trip over his feet, scrapping his knee on something or other. Arthur silently missed those days… the days before children sat in front of the television for hours on end.

He was so old, wasn’t he?

Arthur finally reclaimed his place on his sofa, picking up his book again. He began to read, skimming over the page to find his place. He brought his legs up on the furniture, relaxing.

’Joe could no longer conceal it. His lust for the girl was undeniable. He had to have her. Her pale skin was illuminated in the dim moonlight, her lips parted slightly, invitingly. Joe cradled her in his arms as he swiftly took her mouth with his own, desperately pulling at her clothes.

“Oh Joe!” she moaned…’

Alfred was right. It was porn.

Where was that boy?

~

The rain was cold. Like, really cold. It was seeping through Alfred’s jacket and into his t-shirt, then his vest. It was stupid really. He should have put on more durable clothes that morning… not that he was expecting this to happen. It was normal for Alfred to storm out of the room (or house, in this case) when they argued but it had been the worst it had ever been, this day. He sighed heavily, approaching the tube station.

He fumbled in his jeans’ pockets, looking for his Oyster Card. He produced it just in time to be hustled along by the people rushing behind him. It was always so busy there. It sort of reminded him of New York. But New York was much more awesome, of course. The people looked the same, though - just with different (strange) accents. In a way, it reminded Alfred that he and the other nations were similar in a lot of ways. All of their cities thrived with people, parts of them. And with so much immigration nowadays, every nation was joined in one way or another. It was like the world was becoming a smaller place, breaking down barriers. It was an amazing thing to think about, really.

Whilst on the tube, he stared at the few people there. Most people were heading home, rather than to the city centre at this time. He could see two American girls chatting with some Japanese students. Oh Kiku. It warmed his heart to see a part of him, his people, making their way in the world. They were making their own lives. Something that Alfred would be incapable of doing. He was restricted to the life he’d been given as a nation. He had no choice but to do as he was asked.

One of the girls leaned across to her boyfriend, kissing him on the cheek. Their fingers were linked together. Alfred had found it hard to accept that he would never get to do all of that. He would never date, never marry, never have children… no, instead he was doomed to spend the rest of his life loving someone who didn’t give a damn.

Alfred hung his head in his hands, biting his lower lip as he tried to fight back tears. His glasses were beginning to steam up and so he quickly removed them, placing them on the empty seat between him and some dark-haired teenager.

Soon enough, it was his stop. He was beginning to wonder if he should just go back. He gulped, eyes rolling skywards, now crying even harder not to cry. His vision was blurry enough without his glasses, he didn’t need tears to add to that.

“Are you alright?” the woman sat across from him spoke up timidly, her eyes wide and doe-like.

“Huh? Oh, yeah…” Alfred sniffed, wiping his eyes.

“You don’t look it,” she tilted her head to one side, hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

Alfred looked back at her emotionlessly, studying her more closely, as if she was interrogating him.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” She tucked her chocolate-coloured locks behind her ears. A nervous habit, maybe? “But whatever it is, I’m sure that things will get better.”

The tube pulled to a halt and the doors opened. He gave the woman a nod, “Thanks, darlin’.”

She blushed in a way that only reminded him of Arthur. He then hastily made a move. Arthur’s trains wouldn’t wait. It was strange how they still managed to be late, though. He hopped down on to the platform. The doors closed and he realised what he’d left behind.

“Texas!” he squawked and avidly began to run after the train. It didn’t stop, unsurprisingly.

Alfred was too busy cursing to notice all of the weird looks he was receiving.

~

It was seven o’clock. Arthur was starting to get worried. He’d phoned Alfred several times to no avail. He’d gotten Alfred’s answer phone, again.

“Hey, this is Alfred. I’m in England at the moment,” the recording paused to snigger, “Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you. ‘Kay, thanks!”

Arthur sighed, dropping his mobile phone (or cell phone - as Alfred would often remind him) down on to his sofa. He collapsed beside where it landed, a hand covering his face irritably. What if Alfred was lost? Or if he’d been arrested by the police again…? Admittedly, last time he had, had a car and was driving on the wrong side of the road.

He called again. Still no answer. Fuck.

He grabbed his house keys, coat and umbrella. He pulled on his shoes and was out of the house within two minutes. His umbrella decided that it would be difficult as he tried to put it up; he had to physically force it to open - which was annoying in itself. He picked up his pace, progressing gradually into a jog. Arthur convinced himself that he wasn’t in any hurry but finding Alfred as quickly as he could was his main priority, regardless of how much of an idiot he looked. When he reached the tube, he discovered that he’d left his Oyster card and instead had to queue up at the ticket machine.

Arthur wasn’t a particularly patient man as it was, but whilst having to wait for some slow children he began to lose his temper. Unlike the kids before him, Arthur was speedy at this after being so used to it. Then, much to Arthur’s chagrin, the ticket didn’t work and he had to go the long way around, showing the ticket to the security guards. Once past them, he began to run again. He could see a train waiting at his platform. The doors were about to close. He sprinted as fast as he could, jumping on. The door closed on his leg.

He howled in pain, startling everyone on the train. Luckily, the doors re-opened enough for him to pull his leg inside. The doors slammed shut maliciously. He swore under his breath.

“You alright, mate?” a young man spoke up.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine,” Arthur strained as he tried to regain his composure. He held on to the bar in front of him, still wincing. That would bruise. He could see something gleaming in the corner of his eye. There was a pair of glasses on a seat. He quirked an eyebrow; he recognised them. Texas? He stumbled across, picking them up. Alfred was so careless. How could he forget Texas? What an imbecile. Arthur’s fingers traced the frames of the glasses. His expression became softer. Now he really had to find Alfred - else everyone in Texas would have a strange and sudden craving for tea.

The journey wasn’t long in comparison to the flights that Arthur was used to when dealing with the American. At least they were both in the same country, for once. Not that it narrowed the search down at all. Arthur was fairly confident that Alfred wasn’t about to leave London, and he knew all of the areas that Alfred was and wasn’t sure of. It should have been easy to find him; but London was a big, busy city. It could take hours.

It was dark. Arthur pulled his coat further around him as he stepped out into the street. He wrestled with his umbrella again until it opened. Hamley’s (the biggest toy shop in London) probably would have been the first place that Arthur would have looked, but it was past closing hours now. Everything was shutting down as London’s nightlife emerged.

Where would Alfred go? It wasn’t the weather for ice cream, he wouldn’t go gambling after what happened in Las Vegas (Alfred had been unable to leave the casino for a week)… it was wet and cold - two things that Arthur knew his lover hated. The clouds looked menacing, as if there was going to be a thunder storm soon: something else that Alfred was afraid of and had been since he was a small child. How Alfred coped with hurricanes and earthquakes, Arthur would never know.

God, what was the use? He should just give up. They’d fought, Arthur had said awful things and that was the end of them. It would be the last time that Alfred was ever civil with him. His golden boy would never smile at him with the same look of affection in his eyes. No more waking up arms crushing him lovingly, no more coffee-tasting breath invading his personal space, no more playful “I love you’s” whilst he was trying to sleep, no more morning sex… not that they’d had any recently.

Arthur stopped, leaning against one of the buildings in the street. He felt his eyes begin to sting, his throat tightening painful from how dry it was. He made a quiet noise of anguish - he wasn’t sure if his injured leg aided him in making the sound or not. He didn’t want to cry. It was degrading, embarrassing, immature. He’d only cried publicly once: in front of Alfred. Arthur didn’t like to feel weak in front of others. It made him smaller than he already was; more alone than he already was as an island nation.

He needed a drink, he decided. The Englishman picked himself up off of the wall and stumbled towards the pub across the road. As he grew closer, he could hear singing. Loud and out-of-tune. It sounded like there was a sing-song going on, one person being particularly loud as they led it.

Arthur froze momentarily, recognising the song. Was that…?

” Down in the shadow of penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I'm ten years burnin’ down the road
Nowhere to run ain't got nowhere to go
Born in the USA!
I was born in the USA!
Born in the USA!”

Alfred was stood on a table, dancing about with his air-guitar. There were people surrounding him, cheering and applauding in their drunken haze. His voice was the same as ever; off-key. His voice was strained as he tried to imitate that of Bruce Springsteen. It made Arthur cringe. The American was dishevelled. His auburn hair was a mess, his clothes were askew and he was missing his hoodie. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the bronze flesh beneath that was for Arthur’s eyes only. The song itself was booming loudly from some speakers behind the bar. The barmaid could be seen (obviously) mentally undressing Alfred.

Arthur stomped forwards and grabbed Alfred by the wrist, pulling him down off of the table.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Arthur snapped. Alfred looked at him, his blurry vision unable to identify the Brit.

“Uh, I dunno’ you,” Alfred slurred, easily shaking Arthur off of him. “You can’t tell me what’a do, limey.”

“What did you call me?” Arthur followed Alfred to the bar and made sure that he glared at the woman behind the bar. She quirked an eyebrow but left them alone.

“A limey. That’s what y’all are.” He hadn’t seen Alfred like this before. His speech was slurred, it even had a slight Alabama drawl to it - which clearly contrasted with that Californian accent he used most of the time. Arthur sighed heavily.

“Alfred… why are you here?” he was deliberately ignoring Alfred’s lack of decorum. Unable to recognise Arthur indeed, what a load of absolute bollocks-

“My boyfriend is a dick.” Alfred replied bluntly, barking an order for another beer from the barmaid. Arthur winced.

“Oh…?” his voice was quieter. Maybe he really didn’t know who he was talking to…

“He called me fat. Do I look fat to you?” Alfred turned to him and lifted his shirt, showing off those admirable muscles of his. There was so little fat there. It was just at his hips were he had a slight problem, that was all. Arthur hastily grabbed Alfred’s hand, pushing it and the t-shirt back down.

“No, not at all.” Arthur replied solemnly. Alfred furrowed his brow, staring at him intently for a moment. He could see forest-green eyes. They were familiar somehow. Alfred began to sip at his new bottle of beer he’d been given.

“Do you know what’s worse?” Alfred said after a pause. “I’m so in love with him. I love him so fuckin’ much that it hurts.”

Arthur’s breathing slowed.

“I’ve never felt like this before. I love everythin’ about him. His scruffy hair, his stupid eyebrows, the way he drinks his tea, his fingers, ‘n that tattoo he has. That is one sexy tattoo. He got it in the 80’s and completely regrets it!” Alfred laughed. “He thinks it looks stupid but it’s, like, tiny. It’s of a guitar, on his hip. You can barely even see it. He’s really good on the guitar, ‘n he has a pretty voice. Dunno’ why he’s so ashamed of it.”

“Perhaps he did it whilst he was drunk?” Arthur mumbled, fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of his coat.

“I think it’s beautiful, man. I really do. He is beautiful. No tattoo ever could ruin that.” Alfred was now gazing at his beer coaster, engrossed by its picture of an elephant. Arthur placed his hand over his mouth, biting his lip. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “He would never say somethin’ like that about me. He doesn’t love me.”

“Why are you so sure that he doesn’t love you, Alfred?” his voice wavered slightly.

“Hm?” Alfred took another swig of his drink. “I’m a dumbass, that’s why. He’s , like, a complete friggin’ genius. He reads all of these books all the time ‘n shit and I just play on my games’ console… but he does read porn a lot. It’s not even gay porn. It’s straight porn. Which makes no sense. I didn’t think that he liked jugs. Why else would he get a boner when we have sex? I guess it would explain why he likes to dress up. We haven’t had sex for a long time anyway… Maybe if I had jugs, he’d want me more?”

Arthur blushed incredulously. Appalling.

“I dunno’. I guess some things just aren’t supposed to work out, right? Fate ‘n all that…” Alfred’s lower lip began to wobble, tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t want us to end. I love him, damn it all!” Tears were now spilling down his cheeks. His face flushed red.

Without thinking, Arthur swung his arms around him. He buried his face into Alfred’s hair, enjoying the sweet combination of shampoo, gasoline and chocolate. His beautiful boy. Arthur held on to him so tightly, trying to grab hold of as much as Alfred as he could. He hushed the boy, who whimpered pathetically.

Alfred wriggled out of this “stranger’s” grip and looked up at him with wide eyes, a flicker of something within them. Arthur swallowed, expecting a string of verbal abuse to hit him, that or a fist. Instead, Alfred knotted his hand in the collar of Arthur’s coat and pulled him down to slam their lips together, kissing him. It was clumsy but passionate. Alfred kept a firm hold of Arthur, who held on with the same zest.

When their lips parted, Arthur remained close to him. “I do love you, Alfred. My darling, there will never be a day when I do not feel hopelessly head-over-heels for you.” His fingers tenderly stroked through Alfred’s (abnormally sticky - had he poured alcohol over himself?) hair, soothing him. Alfred was still for a few moments but then kissed him again softly. His breath stunk of beer, which made it difficult for Arthur not to recoil but he managed it. Alfred sniffled, wiping his eyes.

“Could I have a tissue please?” Arthur asked the barmaid. She seemed to still be in shock from the discovery of the American’s sexuality, as were several other men in the pub whom had chosen to stay tensely silent. She nodded and disappeared for a few seconds before quickly returning with the requested tissue, holding it out to Arthur who took it.

“Thank you,” he murmured. Arthur lifted Alfred’s chin and wiped at his nose with the tissue, cleaning up all of the snot and tears. Alfred was smiling timidly. Once finished, Arthur scrunched up the tissue in his hand before fishing for Alfred’s glasses with his free one. He handed them over.

“Texas!” Alfred grinned at long last. It was a much more befitting expression for him than a scowl.

“I found them on the tube, you dolt.” Arthur chuckled softly, shoving the used tissue into his pocket. “You should learn to be more careful.”

“I knew I was missin’ somethin’… I felt all weird and dizzy.”

“You’re drunk,” Arthur reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” Alfred guffawed. “Whoops.” Arthur rolled his eyes, standing up again.

“Shall I call a taxi?”

“Yeah, thanks Artie.”

~

It was a long drive home in the taxi. It had taken Arthur quite a while to convince Alfred that this wasn’t a trap and that the mafia didn’t exist in Britain (to Arthur’s knowledge). Alfred eventually complied but kept humming to himself.

“Alfred,” Arthur seethed.

“Hmmmmmm?”

“Will you cut that out, please?”

“But why? I thought that was your favourite song…” Alfred pouted. Arthur wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered by the lout’s attempt at being ‘nice’.

“Really…? What was it?” Arthur asked tentatively.

“Your national anthem!” Alfred grinned. The driver glanced at Arthur curiously in the rear-view mirror.

“That isn’t my favourite song,” the Englishman glowered, lowering his voice.

“Sure it is! God save our gracious Queen, God save our… uh… I can’t remember the rest,” Alfred slumped back into his seat, wiggling uncomfortably beneath the seatbelt that restricted his movement. “What is your favourite song, then? I always thought that it was your national anthem. Dunno’ why. It’s crap compared to mine. Mine is awesome.”

“Oh really?” Arthur scoffed. “Did you know that Francis Scott Lee, the very man that wrote your national anthem, stole the melody from one of my drinking songs?”

Alfred was silent for a moment and then laughed, at an awkwardly loud volume.

“Naw, you made that up just now. I’m not that drunk!”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’re witty.” Alfred was beaming contagiously, forcing Arthur to smile slightly.

“Your skills of observance continue to astound me, Mr. Jones.” He reached across to the American, stroking his fingers back through his hair. Alfred closed his eyes, melting into the touch as he always did.

“Love you…”

“Hm,” Arthur agreed as the taxi came to a halt. He elbowed Alfred, waking him up again before handing him the house keys. The larger man nodded dumbly and stumbled out of the vehicle. He approached the door and struggled to fit the key into the hole. At that thought, when Arthur joined him (after paying the driver), he grabbed the Englishman, sweeping him up off of his feet. Arthur wailed in surprise and clouted Alfred around the back of the head. He was promptly put back on his feet.

“What the devil do you think you are doing, boy? You could have dropped me.” Arthur snatched the keys and briskly opened the door. He hung up his coat and began to untie his laces. Alfred stood still in the doorway. “Don’t linger,” Arthur instructed. However, his frown lessened when he saw the other’s face.

Alfred’s mouth formed a thin, straight line. His shoulders were tense. In fact his whole body was tense. He looked about ready to flee. It hadn’t quite reached his eyes though, which were dull and unemotional. Alfred’s eyes were his most expressive feature; his tool in paralinguistics. It was un-nerving to see him like this.

Arthur swallowed thickly, “Alfred, I -”

“Arthur.”

“Yes…?”

“Don’t start lecturing me when I want to fuck you,” he said bluntly, brow furrowing ever so slightly. Arthur was still. He dropped his shoes on to his shoe rack (something Alfred teased him for having).

“Is that so…?”

“Yeah,” it took two strides for Alfred to meet Arthur, kicking the door shut behind him. He captured Arthur’s lips with his own, hungrily. He licked Arthur’s lips, demanding instant access. Their eyes met. Arthur obliged, mouth opening up to his lover. Their teeth clacked against each other gauchely, but neither seemed to care.

Alfred’s hands gripped Arthur’s backside, squeezing it suggestively. The Englishman gasped into their kiss, but his response was to wrap his arms around Alfred’s neck, pulling him closer, tighter, leaving no space between them. They fought each other for dominance in their kiss, as they always did. Arthur’s teeth pulled at Alfred’s lower lip, almost painfully so. Alfred whined, returning the nip.

He kissed the side of his mouth, groping becoming ever more inappropriate. His hands slipped between the back of Arthur’s thighs, sliding back and forth. He continued to cup and clutch him. He rolled the soft flesh between his fingers, enjoying the delightful moan that erupted from Arthur’s throat.

“Fuck, Alfred,” he whispered heatedly, rolling his hips forwards to grind against Alfred’s leg. The American smirked, forcing his mouth upon Arthur’s again, whom grabbed his hair, tugging at it passionately. He mumbled something against his lover’s lips before he pulled away completely.

Alfred was panting slightly, too hot from his hoodie (which Arthur had, had to trade his umbrella with some bloke in the pub). He rushed towards Arthur again, but Arthur placed his hands on his chest, preventing them from kissing again.

“Always so eager,” Arthur mused, out of breath. He smiled warmly up at Alfred, taking his hand. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Alfred nodded, haphazardly kicking off his shoes. They raced up the stairs. Once at the top, Alfred pressed Arthur into the wall, stealing another kiss, eliciting another small chuckle from him.

“Come on,” Arthur wormed his way out of the position, darting on ahead. Alfred chased after him.

Arthur pounced on to the large double bed in the middle of the room. He turned to Alfred expectantly but again, he stood motionlessly in the doorway. Alfred turned on the light, watching Arthur blink as he tried to adjust to the brightness. A laugh rumbled from within his chest as he stripped himself of his hoodie.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Nothin’,” Alfred leapt after him, automatically moving to pin Arthur to the bed, straddling his hips. He lifted his t-shirt up over his head. Arthur couldn’t help but stare at the muscles that rippled beneath his skin. He ran his hands up Alfred’s front. Alfred threw his top on to the floor and stared down at Arthur.

“You aren’t fat.” Arthur stated, fingers snaking around to caress Alfred’s back. The expanse of this the tanned, flawless skin was indescribable. He was smooth to the touch. Gorgeous. “You’re perfect,” he admitted, quietly.

Alfred exhaled slowly before dipping down as if he would kiss him. “I know,” he whispered cheekily. He nipped Arthur’s ear, sending shivers through the man below him. Alfred’s fingers busied themselves as he popped open the buttons of Arthur’s shirt; his lips ran along Arthur’s jaw and down his neck, then his chest as more of it was revealed. There was a tank top in the way.

“Artie, what the heck are you wearing this for?” he sat up, hands flat on Arthur’s stomach.

“Well, I like to wear vests in the winter… they keep me warm.”

“You old man, you.”

“Shut it,” Arthur entangled his fingers in Alfred’s hair and pulled him down to kiss him. The bed creaked beneath them as they shifted, movements becoming ever more frantic. Alfred pulled Arthur’s shirt and tank top off of him, carelessly lobbing them somewhere else in the room. His hands were currently fiddling with Arthur’s belt buckle, being too hasty to actually make any progress. His hands were pushed away as Arthur began to sit up, languidly kissing at his neck.

They exchanged looks before Arthur quickly flipped them. Alfred squeaked in surprise. Arthur’s fingernails left marks in his chest as he began to claw at him, far more primal than before. Alfred’s breath hitched in his throat and he grabbed the other’s hands, stopping him. Arthur just lifted himself upwards so that his legs were astride of Alfred’s hips. He ground downwards against the fabric of Alfred’s jeans. He was already half-hard.

Arthur licked his lips, grinding again, but much more slowly. Alfred stared up at his gormlessly, feeling his mouth salivate. He placed his hands on his hips, forcing Arthur’s actions to be rougher and harder. It wasn’t hard enough, fast enough. Alfred needed more. His hips jerked involuntarily upwards, trying to get more friction. More, more, more: that was all he was thinking. His breathing became heavier as Arthur continued to rock above him, fingers pushing into Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred fumbled with the Arthur’s belt once more, this time succeeding in opening it. He unzipped his fly and thrust his hand inside of Arthur’s underwear. Arthur let out a muffled cry.

“Arthur,” he moaned, looking up at his lover as he began to fondle his balls. The look on Arthur’s face was priceless. His body shuddered with every breath, tensing continuously.

“Ah - Alfred! N-n-no! Stop, stop, stop!” Alfred pulled away, slightly alarmed.

“Stop?” he growled; he needed this. Why did they have to stop?

“I want to… uh,” Arthur diverted his gaze, cheeks glowing a beautiful rosy-red colour. He never finished his sentence. Instead, he moved down Alfred’s body, sucking and nipping playfully at Alfred’s chest. He easily undid Alfred’s belt and trousers. He started to tug them and his (Captain America) boxers down.

“Oh,” Alfred observed dumbly and lifted his hips, aiding him as much as he could. Soon enough, Alfred lay naked beneath Arthur (minus his socks, of course). Arthur licked his lips seductively, hands sliding down across Alfred’s hips and then his thighs. Alfred’s erection strained in front of him, in clear need of some attention. Alfred would have blushed if the situation hadn’t been so arousing.

“Such a big boy,” Arthur grinned devilishly (a rare treat for those that got to see it). He ducked his head, sheepishly kissing the tip of Alfred’s cock. The American whimpered at the touch.

Encouraged, he kissed the underside of his erection, following the large vein there until he met the base. His lips trailed back upwards, retracing his steps. He took it into his mouth, sucking the tip the greedily, his tongue laving it with saliva and affectionate licks. Alfred groaned, head rolling back for a second. He gripped the bed sheets tightly, feeling impossibly hot. He stroked the back of Arthur’s head as he started to take more and more of Alfred’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck Arth - ah! God damn it…”

They’d both missed this, the closeness. It had been months since they had both been so involved in their love-making. You could possibly say that the flame had died, but it wouldn’t explain how they still managed to make each other feel. The knowledge of every sensitive spot, erogenous zone, what was too much… Alfred could feel the back of Arthur’s throat. It was clear that he was really going for it tonight. Arthur had always refused to deepthroat, saying that it was unbecoming. He’d let down all of his prejudices for this. A smile touched Alfred’s lips. He reached down, stroking Arthur’s cheek. The Englishman looked up at him as he did. The noises he was making were obscene, sending chills through Alfred’s body. Suddenly, the tight heat was gone as Arthur came up to breathe, panting. His hand gripped Alfred’s cock, jerking him off lazily.

“You didn’t have to do that, Artie…”

Arthur went pale.

“Did you not like it?” he sounded panicked.

“Huh? No - I mean, yeah, I liked it. You just don’t have to do stuff I know you aren’t comfortable with.” Alfred saw Arthur frown slightly but was too busy looking at the rest of his body to react. “See, you aren’t even hard anymore. Come ‘ere,” he grabbed Arthur’s wrist. He dragged the skinnier man to be at his side, on his back. Alfred mounted him, pushing Arthur’s legs apart to make room for him.

“Alfred, not yet! I’m not ready! You aren’t going to -”

“What?” Alfred laughed. “I was gonna’ suck you off, but if you’d rather that I…” he trailed off, enjoying the look of pure evil on Arthur’s face.

“Then get on with it,” Arthur snapped, but it lacked its usual venom. Alfred winked at him, removing his glasses which he handed to him. He scooted down Arthur’s body, pecking at the milky skin of his stomach, and then that beloved and tiny tattoo on his hip. Arthur placed the Texas on the bedside table. He stared at them for a moment before pushing them even further away. He always felt as if he was being watched by them. He didn’t have long to think about it as Alfred took his growing erection into his mouth, tenderly sucking away. Arthur shivered, chest rising and falling quickly. Alfred’s hands got to work as he started to pump up and down. He kept the tip within his mouth, kissing at lapping at the slit at its head. He moaned appreciatively as Arthur started to whisper his name.

Alfred moved his lips away from Arthur’s cock and down to his balls. He hesitated, unsure of the reaction he would get. He then leant in and started to lick. Arthur quivered. Alfred sucked one of his balls into his mouth, using his tongue to massage it. He breathed sharply through his nose, trying to supply enough oxygen to the rest of his body. Arthur’s body twisted, as if he was in pain. He shook further as Alfred pulled away.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur panted. His erection was now also red with blood, in desperate need of release.

“You liked that, huh?” Alfred laughed throatily. He then reached across to the bedside table, opening the drawer. “Let’s get lube-ing!” he said, far too triumphantly as that. Arthur rolled his eyes and removed the remainder of his clothing, now entirely naked. Alfred’s socks were beginning to bother him though. He was caught staring. “It won’t eat you, Artie.”

“Your socks won’t eat me? What kind of thing to say is that?” Arthur shook his head disbelievingly, shifting so that he was leaning back against the headboard. Alfred blushed slightly.

“My socks?”

“Yes. What else did you think I was… oh,” the Brit didn’t look impressed. “Alfred, let’s just do this before you say anything else utterly ridiculous.”

“You make it sound like this is routine or summin’.” Alfred held the bottle in his hands to warm it up and Arthur started moving again so that he would be on his hands and knees. Alfred pushed him back down though, forcing him to be on his back.

“Ow! Alfred, what the fuck?” Arthur wriggled uncomfortably under the intense stare he was getting.

“I want to look at you this time,” Alfred’s voice was gruffer now as he attempted to be more authorative.

“Why?” Arthur protested.

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“I mean precisely what I say.”

“I want to see my boyfriend’s face whilst I make love to him, what more is there to it?” Alfred sat back, exasperated.

“You’re awfully philosophical for someone that has had six beers,” Arthur folded his arms across his chest. Alfred was sat a short distance away from him now, clutching the lube so tightly that the cap was almost coming off.

“Fine, Arthur! If you don’t want to do this, then fine!” he threw the bottle down on to the floor, which it hit with a loud clack. Luckily, it didn’t break. Alfred had obviously restrained himself. They both remained still for a few moments, sat naked on Arthur’s bed. Arthur sighed shakily.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Arthur bellowed. Alfred blinked in surprise. The Englishman stood up and wandered away towards the window. He placed his hand against the cold glass of the window, slowly letting it slide down, leaving an imprint behind. “This is all my fault. I’ve been such a wanker today. It’s inexcusable. It’s not your fault.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, “I want this to work. I’ve waited for this for over a century. I don’t want to mess it up now.”

Alfred got up off of the bed and began to slowly approach him but stopped a few metres away from him. The lube on the floor caught his eye.

“I…” Arthur choked. “I really… fuck…” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pour his heart out on the spot. That wasn’t something Arthur was good at. Alfred closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around his lover.

“Artie?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too. Can we have sex now?”

Arthur nodded, hidden mirth in his voice, “Yes,” he whispered. Alfred kissed his shoulder tenderly.

“Will you look at me?”

“Hm?” Arthur looked back over his shoulder and Alfred took the opportunity to turn him around fully. In one swift motion, Alfred had Arthur pinned against the window, his arms supporting Arthur’s body via his knees. “Alfred!” he squawked, wrapping his limbs hurriedly around the said man. His eyes were wide. Alfred laughed. “Bastard…”

“Shh,” Alfred hushed as he began to rub his cock against Arthur’s backside.

“Alfred, lubrication. Now.” Arthur looked serious (as if there was ever a time when he didn’t). Alfred huffed and dropped Arthur back on to his feet before picking up the lube again. He opened it and poured a liberal amount on to his hand. He began to heat it up again with his fingers. By that point, Arthur had lay down on the bed again, spread eagle as he waited for Alfred, whom tossed the bottle aside and quickly leapt on to the bed. He quickly kissed Arthur, in case he said something to put the Brit off again. His fingers wormed their way to Arthur’s entrance and slowly began to press into him. Arthur broke away and hissed in pain, gradually allowing his body to relax until Alfred’s knuckles were touching his skin; he was all the way in. Arthur clung to Alfred, bringing him down to his level so that their foreheads were together.

“You okay?” Alfred murmured. His partner nodded hastily.

“Get it over with,” Arthur croaked in response. At a painful rate, Alfred began to scissor his fingers.

Alfred pecked the tip of his nose. “I wish you could see how beautiful you look.”

“I’m not a woman, Alf - ngh!” Arthur panted beneath him, eyes tightly shut.

“I’m gonna’ do it now, okay?” the American could feel his mouth salivating once more. He wanted to devour Arthur.

He removed his fingers and began to align his cock for a smooth entry.

Arthur wound his legs around Alfred’s waist, holding on to him tightly. He grit his teeth, burying his face into his lover’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” the Brit whined as Alfred moaned, having pushed as deep as he could go into Arthur. He could feel the said man quivering beneath him. Alfred peppered his face with ever-loving kisses, already able to taste the salt of the light sheen of sweat upon Arthur’s body. The American waited for a few moments, eyes closed, for his partner to accommodate his large appendage. “Move, damn it!” Arthur suddenly demanded.

“Alright, alright,” Alfred tried to hide the amusement in his tone and clumsily began to thrust into Arthur, whose nails were now digging into Alfred’s shoulders. He felt unusually tight - not that Alfred was complaining. It felt great. Although he was sure that it meant that it was hurting Arthur more than he was letting on. Not that he was bothering to try to conceal his pain. Arthur’s face was scrunched up in a less than attractive way; his jugular was visible in his neck.

In an attempt to make his lover more comfortable, Alfred shifted their positions. He lifted Arthur’s hips, changing the angle in attempt to hit his prostate. Arthur cried out, throwing his head backwards. Bingo.

“Alfred!”

Their movements became more frantic. Arthur was bucking his pelvis upwards, trying to gain some relief for his own body. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t reach Alfred’s stomach, who was now rutting steadily into him. Arthur was growing ever more impatient to have some attention paid to him.

Suddenly Alfred rigid. Arthur was horrified. Alfred’s body spasmed as he came, groaning England’s name. Upon the realisation that it was all over and that Arthur had indeed not been satisfied, Alfred looked rather sheepish. He lazily kissed Arthur; the Brit did not return it and looked up at him disbelievingly.

“Uh…” Alfred hesitated, beginning to blush.

“Suck me off,” Arthur commanded. Alfred’s jaw dropped.

“Huh? Again?!”

Arthur sighed, “Fine…” he sat up, pushing Alfred away. He couldn’t help but wince as Alfred withdrew from him sharply. “I’ll deal with it myself.” He eyed his lower body.

“Jeez, come ‘ere!” Arthur was pushed back down on to the bed and Alfred descended his body, tongue running down until he met his shaft, which he blew hot air on to. The Brit shivered, clutching the back of Alfred’s head. His calloused fingers knotted in Alfred’s golden hair.

“Yes,” he closed his eyes, relaxing underneath the touch.

~

It didn’t take long for Arthur to cum. After Alfred wiping up their semen with his shirt (which Arthur had scolded him for doing, of course), they lay beside each other beneath the bed sheets. Alfred had his head rested upon Arthur’s chest, whose arm was wrapped around his shoulders, holding the younger nation close to him. It was pleasant, and a huge relief. Both of them had felt so tense because of their sexual frustrations. At least it was all over now. They could just try to go back to normal, or whatever was ‘normal’ for them. Lying in the silence, Arthur took the opportunity to admire the muscular arm that was draped over his stomach. Alfred was quite simply stunning. He felt ungrateful for ever thinking otherwise. His eyes were shut as he dozed, breathing lightly on to Arthur’s skin, sending tingles through him even after his orgasm.

Arthur caressed Alfred’s neck and shoulders, tracing small, unknown patterns of affection on to him. They always fought. Always. It was just something that they did; they were polar opposites. The difference with them was that unlike humans who might waste their lives with someone that did not love them, Alfred and Arthur had eternity together to work things out time and time again. Arthur was aware that one day, they might not be together anymore due to whatever unfortunate circumstances that might happen one day. However he knew physically, mentally and in his heart, that he would always love America; Alfred.

“Artie…?” Alfred piped up groggily.

“Yes, poppet?”

“That book was definitely porn.” There was a sated smile upon the American’s face as he cuddled closer.

Arthur smirked. “I know.”

“Perverted old bastard.”

“Good night, Alfred.” Arthur rolled his eyes reached across to switch off the bedside table lamp. They became submerged in darkness, and grew more settled.

“Artie?” Alfred whispered.

“Yes…?” he huffed.

“I love you.”

There was a pause. Alfred could feel the Brit smiling against the top of his head.

“Shut it, you moron.” Arthur shifted, winding his other arm around his lover.

“Do you love me?”

Another silence.

“Of course I do,” Arthur said defeatedly before giving Alfred a squeeze. “Now be quiet and let an old man rest.”

So, firstly I am sorry for the suck-ish, unsatisfying sex. I’m sure that you were all looking forward to an animalistic romp. I’m so grateful that you took the time to read this, and would be even more so if you would care to comment with some critiques? I am aware that it’s horribly cheesy, but I want to get better at writing and to do that, I need to practise.
Thank you~