Alrighty. This story has been on my mind for quite a while. I wrote it this .. January perhaps.
I haven't been that keen on putting it up here. But lately, my urge to see how people would
think of my way of writing and my writings themselves has grown on me and .. I more or less
felt that now was the time to put it up.
Title: Why do I love you?
Pairing: ScotlandxEngland (AlasdairxArthur)
Rating: M rated
Language: English
Genre: "Romance" & Angst
Length: 857 words
Chapters: One-shot
Warnings: Boy x Boy (yaoi), human names used (fanmade human name for Scotland), language, mature, angsty
Summary: "Why do I love you so much that it hurts ..?" A Thistle and Rose fanfic, ScotxEng
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers/World Series Hetalia (The webcomic, the manga or the anime). APH belongs to ©Hidekaz Himaruya. This is done for fan-purposes only and for no profit of any kind.
Enjoy.
"Ah .. Hah .. Ah! Alasdair! Ahh! Fuck!"
Somehow, they always ended up this way: Arthur being fucked roughly and carelessly against whatever was closest - the wall, floor or any kind of furniture, with his older brother Alasdair mercilessly pounding into the younger nation's small, but slim and muscular body.
Alasdair was painfully rough and always had been. Yet Arthur loved the deliciously sinful feeling of being absolutely filled with his brother's throbbing, hot cock. He couldn't care less about if people heard - or saw them whenever he was fucked this brutally.
May the Gods have mercy if it came out, though. It couldn't. Arthur deeply prayed it wouldn't, but he didn't know what Alasdair thought of it.
All of Arthur's friends - the few he had, would never look at him in the same way ever again if they found out. Matthew - sweet, dear Matthew would not dare say anything, unlike that boisterous brother of his - Alfred.
Alfred .. Arthur couldn't let the American go. No matter how bloody hard he tried to the yank would always come to his mind. He refused to admit it - Kiku called him a 'tsundere' for it.
He was just like one. In a way. Not that he ever would admit it.
But now, as he was screaming, whimpering, moaning and thrashing underneath his older brother he had his mind filled with only sinful thoughts. His sharp nails dig deeply into Alasdair's skin, breaking, tearing, ripping it open over and over - tracks of blood covering his back, shoulders and arms. The Scot's blood tasted like no others'. Arthur loved it.
The red-haired nation picked up pace, sweaty skin slapping against each other, grunts and groans joining the blonde's delicious sounds. Alasdair admitted in his head that nothing or NO ONE could be more erotic and sexy than his younger brother. Atleast not when he was under him like this. Sick and twisted was what his mind was. Fucking twisted for enjoying this.
"Ah! Bollocks! Alasdair! S-slow d-down, brother, please!"
Whenever the pleading began, the personification of Scotland would feel so superior - so powerful, like in the old days. He once again held power over Britannia, over England.. And it was he that had to make the decision between ignoring or fulfilling. The outcome was always the same.
Arthur cried in agonizing pain when a handful of his hair was pulled and his much smaller body fucked into oblivion. He knew it wouldn't help to plead or beg - yet he could never hold back from doing so. Or was it merely for his brother to fuck him harder, deeper, faster and rougher?
"ALASDAIR! AHHH!"
The English man was sent into waves and waves of pleasure, his own cock shooting out cum like nothing else - it was his third orgasm, yet the Scot had still to hit his own height. A hand stroke Arthur's cock back to erection and despite nearly losing his voice, the cries were picked up again.
Arthur cried, really cried. Sex was always sex and he enjoyed sex - he enjoyed sex very much, but there was something that snapped inside of him whenever he was fucked by Alasdair. Despite his body being more or less numb from pain, he didn't want it to end.
No pain, no gain. That's what he told himself. But he would always make up an excuse the next morning, for why his brother wasn't there.
"Puir wee brither! Cryen' awreddy? Woods ye want yer older brither tae stop, hm?" A slightly shaking chuckle was drawn from the red-haired's lips.
That fucking bastard .. Alasdair knew more than well that Arthur would not be satisfied unless the older came too. He would be damned if it didn't happen.
"D-do .. Ah! Do not call me th - aaah! - at! A-and, if you stop n - ahhh, fuck! - now, I will fucking curse your bloody balls!"
Always the gentleman .. Or not.
"Sic' a bad gob, brither .."
A smug smile spread across Alasdair's face as he gave a few extra rough thrusts, grunting out his little brother's name as he released deeply into the Englishman.
Arthur was panting hard. It was always tiring to bottom. He usually refused to bottom, but he could never top the Scot. Never.
The blonde gave a soft whine when the now soft cock of his brother was pulled out of him, part of him knowing what was to come, while the other kept on hoping. Hoping so deeply that this wasn't just sex for the older. Hoping that Alasdair loved him.
Arthur hated himself for loving his brother. But he also loved himself for it. He just kept on hoping, desperately hoping that perhaps one day it wouldn't be one-sided.
The next morning, he woke up in his bed, feeling a pair of arms around him. But only briefly, as he imagined it. He was alone yet again and while the sun rose, he cried his aching heart out, like so many times before.
'Why do I love you so much that it hurts .. ?'