We Are(n't) Young [1/1]
Title: We Are(n't) Young
Genre: Drama/romance/comedy?
Characters: Alfred Jones & Arthur Kirkland
Pairing(s): USUK
Rating: M
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, a man just a few centuries too old to party so hard
Summary: Every year England does the same thing. He goes to a music festival in the UK, befriends humans and winds up going abroad somewhere with them. This year it was Ibiza. Usually England gets too burnt out from all of the drinking and partying, meaning that some has to come and pick him up. America can't help but wonder if it's all worth this.
Notes: This is just a drabble to prove I'm still alive though I haven't updated 'Can't Make You Love Me' for a while. I wrote this a while ago and have always found the thought of England going to party islands kind of amusing, seeing as its something that so many young British people do
“England,” America said slowly, “I mean it this time. You’re never going to Ibiza again, man. I can’t keep flying over here. I don’t know why you don’t just call your brothers or some shit like that.”
America threw the house keys on to the table in the hallway as England wobbled in (still hungover) behind him.
“Because my brothers would just leave me behind and encourage me to drink until I die,” the island nation replied groggily.
America heaved a sigh, furrowing his brow a little. It was the same thing year after year. England would go to the Glastonbury festival, pretend to have lost his friends, make new friends, go on holiday with them to some party destination, party hard, maybe hook up with a few and then ‘disappear’ (meaning, he was usually in such a state that America or someone else had to go and rescue him).
“You’re damn lucky that I’ve got a week off this year. You’d be fucked otherwise, buddy.”
“I’ve been fucked, tah,” England collapsed on to his sofa with a groan. America grimaced and stared at the older nation, trying desperately not to imagine some sweaty youth riding him.
“What was his name?”
He and England had a complicated relationship personally nowadays.
“Umm, well… there was Tara the Australian at the festival and Bea the fire-eater. Then in Ibiza: Simon the rower, Josh the student, Romanian Rebecca, Gregory the tattooist and, uhh… there was someone that did something absolutely marvellous with their tongue.”
“You slut,” America wasn’t sure if he was joking or if the tightness in his chest was just the usual jealousy.
“Harry! That was his name. Harry. God, he was… well, I’ll show you later,” England had closed his eyes and was reclining further into the sofa, looking like he was finally starting to relax.
America hummed, trying to sound interested despite feeling more and more shitty.
“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he quickly interrupted as it looked like England might continue with the long list of his one-night-stands.
“Hmm? Oh, yes please. Don’t waste the loose leaf this time, though. Just use teabags, I know you find them easier to manage, love. You know where they are, yes?”
It pissed America off that even though he’d obviously had a much more merciless time travelling from the US to Spain and then to the UK, that England was still making him do the work. It was just like back when he was a kid when England would swan across the Atlantic and expect America to help him bandage his wounds and give him some decent grub.
America sighed, making his way through to the kitchen.
The truth was, was that he really liked England. Like, a lot. And he couldn’t work out why. It was just coincidental that they both sorta’ fell into the same bed after a New Year’s party at Scotland’s house in 2008 (at which there had been far too much alcohol). England had looked at him, all pink in the face with shiny eyes after France had insulted him for his corduroy pants, and they both just rolled over and mashed their lips together. Of course, America had been thrilled to be getting laid after years of rising sexual tension between them, but that had kind of been it.
Turned out that England wasn’t really interested in a monogamous relationship and just wanted a steady fuck-buddy/open relationship with someone that he trusted and knew wouldn’t leave. Some sort of bullshit like that. America couldn’t help but feel he was being taken advantage of.
At first, it had seemed like a great idea. Sex and no strings attached while still keeping a friend (a friend he liked more than a friend, sure, but it was better than nothing). Great! But it wasn’t. Not when England wasn’t even subtle about who he’d been banging. Maybe it was his way of being honest? Who knew, but it bothered America so much that he couldn’t sleep some nights without thinking of all of the people that England may or may not be doing… or be being, uh, done by. He didn’t want to bring it up just in case England took offence and ended it once and for all, like he’d threatened to once when they’d argued. Maybe England’d just go back to relying on France’s cock like he had done for centuries?
America really didn’t want to think about it.
He took off his shoes before heading into England’s living room, remembering how much of a bitch fit he’d had the last time America had ‘ruined his carpet with dirt’. How much harm could a little mud do anyway?
“Tea for the limey,” America announced himself, so that England would notice him above the noise of the Omnibus of EastEnders on the TV.
“Thank you,” England mumbled, sitting up both to make room for America and to take the mug from him. America was quick to plop himself down on the sofa and snatch the television remote. “Hey!”
“I am not watching this shit, England. Watch it when you don’t have company, you boring old man,” America put Jersey Shore on instead. “Now this is quality programming.”
“It’s a re-run. You’ve seen all of them.”
“It’s this or Punk’d. Your choice, man.”
“Fine… but only because I have shows like it too.”
“Fuckin’ right,” America scoffed. Damn hypocrite.
England grumbled into his mug, muttering something under his breath. Probably something about ill-mannered Americans.
A few minutes silence passed as they watched another one of America’s young celebrities be humiliated publically.
“Fancy a shag when I’ve finished this?” England asked flippantly, sipping from his mug as they continued to watch the TV.
Out of instinct, America almost said yes. He wanted to do it with England, he always did. But what if England had caught something again? It felt kind of weird being the last of a long list to bang England.
“Uhh… that depends.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah.”
England eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, as though America wanted something out of him in return.
“I am not getting you tickets to the London Expo again,” England said lowly. “It was bloody embarrassing having parade around next to you, showing off to all those anime fans.”
“But I look exactly like the guy! And so do you! I mean, like, come on. You’ve gotta’ admit that it was just a little bit fun to pretend to be the versions of us in an anime? I thought that you were into all of that dressing up shit?”
“My hair is darker.”
“Sure, Goldilocks.”
“Hmph,” England huffed.
“Whatever. That wasn’t what I was gonna’ say anyway.” America cleared his throat, preparing himself for the whiplash of asking the question, “Did you catch anything again?”
The last time England had caught an STD and passed it on to him, it had been hell to get rid of. England seemed to growl at him at first but soon sighed, shaking his head.
“No, I made sure to use protection properly this time. Just like last year. And the year before that. It was one sodding time, America. We all make mistakes.”
“Yeah, but it was a couple of week’s worth of crabs for me,” America pouted. “I don’t wanna’ repeat of that, thanks.”
“How about you examine my nether regions before we fuck, America, if that will make you feel any better?” England snapped.
“You’re the one that’s horny, not me,” America just shrugged.
But England had finished his tea, and it didn’t really take much more convincing.
Soon enough they were doing it, England bouncing at a steady rate in his lap. England seemed to be struggling to keep up the pace, though. He was looked gradually more and more tired, continuously giving America hints with subtle shifts of his eyes that he wanted America to take the lead, flip them over and do the work. But that wasn’t going to happen. This was America’s way of getting revenge for England doing all those other people. In a weird way.
America kept a firm hold of England’s hips, pulling him down harder and faster with each bounce. It could have been considered aggressive, if it weren’t for England’s pleasured huffs and sighs as he fisted his cock quickly.
“America,” he panted brokenly. “Ameri… ahh… fuck, this is so fast.”
“Take it,” America grunted, thrusting his hips up once roughly which only seemed to make England feel even closer to heaven. The pleasure on England’s face made America shudder. “England?”
“Mhmm?”
“Kiss me,” he asked simply, lips open and slightly pouted. He’d been hoping for a tender kiss but England seemed to be more intent on bringing himself to orgasm. Their teeth clacked as England moved clumsily, struggling to keep his rhythm as he breathed into America’s lips.
The said nation didn’t take long to cum, but America was far from finished. He just… he wasn’t feeling it. Sure, he was turned on but, honestly, he felt like he was there just to get England off. And England’s ass wasn’t cutting it tonight. Like, it wasn’t arousing him enough somehow.
“Show me the tongue thing,” he instructed England, who looked down at him sleepily (because he’d just cum, America assumed). The older nation nodded and eased himself off of America and knelt on the floor. He finally untangled his feet from his far-too-tight jeans and tugged down America’s boxers that bit further so he could get closer. Immediately, England tugged off the condom before he started to work on him.
England purred up to America and began to kiss his cock, lathing it in saliva with the added use of his tongue. He started to do some sort of weird-waggly-tongue motion on the tip of America’s cock and America wasn’t honestly sure if he liked it or not. He frowned a bit and wondered if that was the ‘tongue thing’. He sincerely hoped not. That was just disappointing and made his dick feel weird, especially under the knowledge that England had just ‘learnt’ this from someone.
That was around the time that his erection started to die. England looked panicked and seemed to try harder, sucking him into his mouth.
America sighed frustratedly.
“Its obviously not gonna’ happen… just stop, please,” America sounded exasperated as he put himself away, pulling up his pants and boxers again. England just gawked up at America, like he couldn’t understand how America could have ever lost his erection whilst he was servicing him.
“What happened?” the Englishman eventually managed to form words, sounding somewhat concerned. “You aren’t feeling ill, are you?”
America winced.
“No. I’m fine. Just tired. I’m probably gonna’ get some shut-eye, babe. See you upstairs whenever you turn in,” he manoeuvred past England.
“It’s only six o’clock,” England was clearly in disbelief.
“Yeah, night.” America wasn’t going to try to discuss it any further.
Genre: Drama/romance/comedy?
Characters: Alfred Jones & Arthur Kirkland
Pairing(s): USUK
Rating: M
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, a man just a few centuries too old to party so hard
Summary: Every year England does the same thing. He goes to a music festival in the UK, befriends humans and winds up going abroad somewhere with them. This year it was Ibiza. Usually England gets too burnt out from all of the drinking and partying, meaning that some has to come and pick him up. America can't help but wonder if it's all worth this.
Notes: This is just a drabble to prove I'm still alive though I haven't updated 'Can't Make You Love Me' for a while. I wrote this a while ago and have always found the thought of England going to party islands kind of amusing, seeing as its something that so many young British people do
“England,” America said slowly, “I mean it this time. You’re never going to Ibiza again, man. I can’t keep flying over here. I don’t know why you don’t just call your brothers or some shit like that.”
America threw the house keys on to the table in the hallway as England wobbled in (still hungover) behind him.
“Because my brothers would just leave me behind and encourage me to drink until I die,” the island nation replied groggily.
America heaved a sigh, furrowing his brow a little. It was the same thing year after year. England would go to the Glastonbury festival, pretend to have lost his friends, make new friends, go on holiday with them to some party destination, party hard, maybe hook up with a few and then ‘disappear’ (meaning, he was usually in such a state that America or someone else had to go and rescue him).
“You’re damn lucky that I’ve got a week off this year. You’d be fucked otherwise, buddy.”
“I’ve been fucked, tah,” England collapsed on to his sofa with a groan. America grimaced and stared at the older nation, trying desperately not to imagine some sweaty youth riding him.
“What was his name?”
He and England had a complicated relationship personally nowadays.
“Umm, well… there was Tara the Australian at the festival and Bea the fire-eater. Then in Ibiza: Simon the rower, Josh the student, Romanian Rebecca, Gregory the tattooist and, uhh… there was someone that did something absolutely marvellous with their tongue.”
“You slut,” America wasn’t sure if he was joking or if the tightness in his chest was just the usual jealousy.
“Harry! That was his name. Harry. God, he was… well, I’ll show you later,” England had closed his eyes and was reclining further into the sofa, looking like he was finally starting to relax.
America hummed, trying to sound interested despite feeling more and more shitty.
“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he quickly interrupted as it looked like England might continue with the long list of his one-night-stands.
“Hmm? Oh, yes please. Don’t waste the loose leaf this time, though. Just use teabags, I know you find them easier to manage, love. You know where they are, yes?”
It pissed America off that even though he’d obviously had a much more merciless time travelling from the US to Spain and then to the UK, that England was still making him do the work. It was just like back when he was a kid when England would swan across the Atlantic and expect America to help him bandage his wounds and give him some decent grub.
America sighed, making his way through to the kitchen.
The truth was, was that he really liked England. Like, a lot. And he couldn’t work out why. It was just coincidental that they both sorta’ fell into the same bed after a New Year’s party at Scotland’s house in 2008 (at which there had been far too much alcohol). England had looked at him, all pink in the face with shiny eyes after France had insulted him for his corduroy pants, and they both just rolled over and mashed their lips together. Of course, America had been thrilled to be getting laid after years of rising sexual tension between them, but that had kind of been it.
Turned out that England wasn’t really interested in a monogamous relationship and just wanted a steady fuck-buddy/open relationship with someone that he trusted and knew wouldn’t leave. Some sort of bullshit like that. America couldn’t help but feel he was being taken advantage of.
At first, it had seemed like a great idea. Sex and no strings attached while still keeping a friend (a friend he liked more than a friend, sure, but it was better than nothing). Great! But it wasn’t. Not when England wasn’t even subtle about who he’d been banging. Maybe it was his way of being honest? Who knew, but it bothered America so much that he couldn’t sleep some nights without thinking of all of the people that England may or may not be doing… or be being, uh, done by. He didn’t want to bring it up just in case England took offence and ended it once and for all, like he’d threatened to once when they’d argued. Maybe England’d just go back to relying on France’s cock like he had done for centuries?
America really didn’t want to think about it.
He took off his shoes before heading into England’s living room, remembering how much of a bitch fit he’d had the last time America had ‘ruined his carpet with dirt’. How much harm could a little mud do anyway?
“Tea for the limey,” America announced himself, so that England would notice him above the noise of the Omnibus of EastEnders on the TV.
“Thank you,” England mumbled, sitting up both to make room for America and to take the mug from him. America was quick to plop himself down on the sofa and snatch the television remote. “Hey!”
“I am not watching this shit, England. Watch it when you don’t have company, you boring old man,” America put Jersey Shore on instead. “Now this is quality programming.”
“It’s a re-run. You’ve seen all of them.”
“It’s this or Punk’d. Your choice, man.”
“Fine… but only because I have shows like it too.”
“Fuckin’ right,” America scoffed. Damn hypocrite.
England grumbled into his mug, muttering something under his breath. Probably something about ill-mannered Americans.
A few minutes silence passed as they watched another one of America’s young celebrities be humiliated publically.
“Fancy a shag when I’ve finished this?” England asked flippantly, sipping from his mug as they continued to watch the TV.
Out of instinct, America almost said yes. He wanted to do it with England, he always did. But what if England had caught something again? It felt kind of weird being the last of a long list to bang England.
“Uhh… that depends.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah.”
England eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, as though America wanted something out of him in return.
“I am not getting you tickets to the London Expo again,” England said lowly. “It was bloody embarrassing having parade around next to you, showing off to all those anime fans.”
“But I look exactly like the guy! And so do you! I mean, like, come on. You’ve gotta’ admit that it was just a little bit fun to pretend to be the versions of us in an anime? I thought that you were into all of that dressing up shit?”
“My hair is darker.”
“Sure, Goldilocks.”
“Hmph,” England huffed.
“Whatever. That wasn’t what I was gonna’ say anyway.” America cleared his throat, preparing himself for the whiplash of asking the question, “Did you catch anything again?”
The last time England had caught an STD and passed it on to him, it had been hell to get rid of. England seemed to growl at him at first but soon sighed, shaking his head.
“No, I made sure to use protection properly this time. Just like last year. And the year before that. It was one sodding time, America. We all make mistakes.”
“Yeah, but it was a couple of week’s worth of crabs for me,” America pouted. “I don’t wanna’ repeat of that, thanks.”
“How about you examine my nether regions before we fuck, America, if that will make you feel any better?” England snapped.
“You’re the one that’s horny, not me,” America just shrugged.
But England had finished his tea, and it didn’t really take much more convincing.
Soon enough they were doing it, England bouncing at a steady rate in his lap. England seemed to be struggling to keep up the pace, though. He was looked gradually more and more tired, continuously giving America hints with subtle shifts of his eyes that he wanted America to take the lead, flip them over and do the work. But that wasn’t going to happen. This was America’s way of getting revenge for England doing all those other people. In a weird way.
America kept a firm hold of England’s hips, pulling him down harder and faster with each bounce. It could have been considered aggressive, if it weren’t for England’s pleasured huffs and sighs as he fisted his cock quickly.
“America,” he panted brokenly. “Ameri… ahh… fuck, this is so fast.”
“Take it,” America grunted, thrusting his hips up once roughly which only seemed to make England feel even closer to heaven. The pleasure on England’s face made America shudder. “England?”
“Mhmm?”
“Kiss me,” he asked simply, lips open and slightly pouted. He’d been hoping for a tender kiss but England seemed to be more intent on bringing himself to orgasm. Their teeth clacked as England moved clumsily, struggling to keep his rhythm as he breathed into America’s lips.
The said nation didn’t take long to cum, but America was far from finished. He just… he wasn’t feeling it. Sure, he was turned on but, honestly, he felt like he was there just to get England off. And England’s ass wasn’t cutting it tonight. Like, it wasn’t arousing him enough somehow.
“Show me the tongue thing,” he instructed England, who looked down at him sleepily (because he’d just cum, America assumed). The older nation nodded and eased himself off of America and knelt on the floor. He finally untangled his feet from his far-too-tight jeans and tugged down America’s boxers that bit further so he could get closer. Immediately, England tugged off the condom before he started to work on him.
England purred up to America and began to kiss his cock, lathing it in saliva with the added use of his tongue. He started to do some sort of weird-waggly-tongue motion on the tip of America’s cock and America wasn’t honestly sure if he liked it or not. He frowned a bit and wondered if that was the ‘tongue thing’. He sincerely hoped not. That was just disappointing and made his dick feel weird, especially under the knowledge that England had just ‘learnt’ this from someone.
That was around the time that his erection started to die. England looked panicked and seemed to try harder, sucking him into his mouth.
America sighed frustratedly.
“Its obviously not gonna’ happen… just stop, please,” America sounded exasperated as he put himself away, pulling up his pants and boxers again. England just gawked up at America, like he couldn’t understand how America could have ever lost his erection whilst he was servicing him.
“What happened?” the Englishman eventually managed to form words, sounding somewhat concerned. “You aren’t feeling ill, are you?”
America winced.
“No. I’m fine. Just tired. I’m probably gonna’ get some shut-eye, babe. See you upstairs whenever you turn in,” he manoeuvred past England.
“It’s only six o’clock,” England was clearly in disbelief.
“Yeah, night.” America wasn’t going to try to discuss it any further.