It began in 1886. That is what Alfred always told himself. He had a crush, if you could even call it that, on Francis since his revolution. But wasn't that to be expected? The man had been a guiding hand on his shoulder since the victory at Saratoga. He had kept Alfred's spirits up. Reassured him when he had felt helpless and on the brink of losing.
Of course he would fall, slightly, in love with France, the one who fueled his people with the ideals he had been fighting for, the one who patched him up after battles, the one who kissed him on the forehead goodbye with all of the luck in the world.
Go figure it would take another hundred years to actually do something with the man. Despite England's accusations towards France, among others, America did not have sex with another nation until his Civil War. And no, it wasn't with Russia when he showed up in his ports to give Europe a big 'fuck you; stay away.' Ivan had been a friend who had pushed him along in a time where he was tearing himself apart.
He had sex with the Confederacy at the end of the war.
Had he technically had sex with himself? Yes. But, the man who he had laid with the night of the official surrender of the Confederacy had not been Alfred either. His hair had been thin, longer, darker in shade, and displayed running down his jaw to his chin. He had smelt like rotting cotton and gunpowder, fire and sterile wheat; what the south had become.
It had not been all too pleasant, no, not at all, but they had consented.
And when Alfred woke up in the next morning, the other had been gone without a trace, if not for the bite on Alfred's neck. It stayed there for a long time, all the way through reconstruction. There were moles there now, maybe, simply dark patches of skin that if looked at correctly looked like black teeth marks.
Francis never made a comment about it despite the fact his skin turned to moles, freckles, skin of the oppressed and lynched. Maybe he understood to some degree. He had his own scars, faded as they were, and had gathered many more in Alfred's lifetime.
Which is why he would pepper Francis' neck with kisses on the pale, ever so pale, rings of scar tissue, that at one point been inflamed and bloody; a head sewn back on with thousands more falling. Why he could cradle one leg at a time running fingers over scar after scar from the trenches. Why he would press his cheek against Francis' chest where if you looked, truthfully looked, a triangle could be seen over the heart.
At one point in time it had been sewn into the skin, the fabric's stitches constantly getting infected as he was kept in a cell. At some point after that, it had been ripped out and replaced with brand after brand after brand.
He was never allowed to say sorry. That was their rule. He could coddle and kiss and caress and acknowledge, but he could never apologize. It was not his fault, much as Alfred's scars were not Francis' fault.
Francis wasn't allowed to say anything about Alfred's burn scar over his heart or on his left hip, he wasn't allowed to cry over the bite or the jagged white lines running around his mid torso, and he especially wasn't allowed to feel remorse for Alfred's situation within his own country which constantly put him at bed rest, mind turned to sludge unable to process the polar opposites and everything in between.
But that was getting a head of everything. It had began in 1886, before total war was coined by the British in 1917, before the crash of the stock market, before he the liberation of Paris, before he had watched nation after nation fall head filled with paranoia, and long before Alfred admitted what he and Francis had was, indeed, love. Love.
Francis always said he was a master of love, a spreader of love, love's embodiment. He was easily as confused as Alfred was. Love always did that to someone, made their world turn upside down. Love.
What a crazy idea love was. A crazy, crazy idea.
-1886, New York-
Alfred stood in awe overlooking New York harbor. Today was the day, the day when the last rivet would be added to Liberty. Lady Liberty. France's gift to the United States. Francis was going to be at the dedication, as had been indicated in his delegation's letter, but Alfred had not seen him once.
President Cleveland had left him to his own devices earlier in the morning, telling him to 'enjoy himself with an old friend.' He didn't have the heart to say it was much more than that, that he hadn't spoken or even exchanged letters with Francis since before The French Revolution.
That very thought had caused his heart to stop thumping at least three times over the past week. What would Francis think? What would Francis say? They had not seen each other since the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1783. They had not spoken since President Washington had declared the United States neutral on France's revolution.
What were they supposed to do? Supposed to say? Pretend the last one hundred or so years hadn't happened? Pretend everything was fine and dandy?
Alfred had no idea what would become of the day and the night and the following morning and every day after that. He didn't know if he would be able to walk tomorrow or if he would need his wheelchair or if he would need to stay in bed. He didn't.
He hated it. He hated the uncertainty.
There were some things you couldn't control. Not being in control of his own body, of his own mind, ate at him. Ate at his heart. Ate at his soul. He wanted it to end, wanted it all to be over. He wanted the scar to heal and the bite mark to go away.
He wanted to be whole again.
Reconstruction may have been considered over, in an official technical sense, but there was much more than that. It filled him with dread. Nothing would ever be the same. There was no chance.
"America?"
America turned around at his name, recognizing the speaker's voice almost immediately. Francis had not changed in that regard and, for that, Alfred was thankful. His face was a proper shade without any powder plastered on and his hair fell to his shoulders in golden wavy locks instead of being hidden under a wig, but it was Francis.
"France."
The man smiled taking the last few steps forward to grasp Alfred by the shoulders. His eyes, his whole expression, was warm. Welcoming. Alfred melted into it.
"You have grown," he lifted a hand to Alfred's cheek. "The last time I saw you, you were barely up to my shoulders. And now you are taller than even me."
Alfred laughed, clasping a hand onto Francis' shoulder in turn, "Western expansion has done wonders for that. I would apologize but I am quite happy with it. Not to mention you contributed to it yourself."
"I would hope so. You have grown into a strong young man Alfred and in such little time," his eyes flickered down to Alfred's cane grasped in one hand. "How are you holding out?"
"Reconstruction is going to take time still, but I am managing. That is not what we should be worried about on a day like today," he let his own smile split his face. "It is a celebration, dedication, to this wonderful gift."
Francis let the topic drop easily, moving to stand next to Alfred as to slide a hand around his waist looking out over the water like Alfred had been moments prior.
"She is a beauty, I am glad she is yours."
"I'd like to think she's both of ours Francis," Alfred admitted sheepishly.
Francis only let out a laugh, a joyful sound, which could have been seen as better than any thank you in the world. The hand resting above his hip squeezed the clothed skin there, a gentle pressure that sent tingles up his spine. How must they look right now? Like two long lost friends finally united? Is that what this was? A reunion?
"We are allowed to go inside, correct?" Francis looked to him, looked up to him, "Do you have a boat so we can cross?"
"Yes, we are going across with President Cleveland and your delegates, and we are allowed to stay over longer than they are if we so wish. He extended an invitation for dinner tomorrow between the three of us and anyone you wish to invite, but tonight we are on our own," Alfred explained, readjusting his weight on his legs.
"Giving us time to catch up?" Francis asked, sounding amused.
"Something like that," he paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the two finally broke apart. "I did not really have the heart to tell him we haven't spoken in many years. So, I apologize ahead of time if he seems a bit forward. If that is the right word for it."
"Intense maybe? His face seems that way," Francis linked their arms, the one not occupied by Alfred's cane, as they began to walk towards the docks.
"He has a soft spot for me, so either way we'll be fine," Alfred reassured.
Francis shook his head, expression clearly amused as his teeth showed in his smile. They walked in comfortable silence after that, Francis not commenting on Alfred's battle with some of the stairs. He only squeezed Alfred's hand in reassurance when they reached the bottom, a clear sign of support.
Only when they were moving across the water did Francis lean in to be heard over the rush, hair brushing along Alfred's clothed arm, "I think everyone has a soft spot for you, in the end."
Alfred blinked twice before the words processed, ears going pink with the compliment.
"See? Adorable. You may have grown up but you are still cute as ever," and now he was being teased, partially.
Alfred nudged Francis' shoulder with his own in response, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. It was as if they had been friends for years, which they had been in a sense, but the hundred year gap never existed. It was nice, relaxing.
"How is everyone doing over in Europe? I have only recently spoken with the Russian personification and I never got to ask him."
Francis hummed, contemplating what answers he could give. "Well, I only recently went to the Berlin Conference, if you have heard about it, and it was interesting to say the least. The world is changing once again and I cannot but help feel as though something is amiss."
Alfred looked at Francis with a frown, concern clearly showing. "What do you think is wrong?"
"There is nothing wrong yet, and there very well might never be, but I saw the German personification again alongside his brother, Gilbert. You remember him, yes?"
Alfred nodded when Francis paused.
"I have only seen him once before now, at the end of the war between myself and Prussia. He was around thirteen maybe fourteen physically at the time. He sat in on negotiations at the end of the war at Prussia's insistence," his brows furrowed together, eyes showing nothing but faint disbelief.
"Gilbert brought his physically thirteen year old brother to the conference? For dividing up land in Africa? Didn't the Germans not get as much land anyways?" Alfred asked.
"Yes, but that's not the problem," he sighed. "I saw him, we all saw him, and he was clearly not thirteen anymore. He was practically eighteen or nineteen years physically."
Alfred went still at that, his own expression turning to worry.
"I only aged four years so I was about sixteen before my revolution, and that took about forty years. It kick started a bit more after the Seven years' War, but, he aged five more years in fourteen years?"
Francis only nodded lips drawing into a thin line.
"Yes, it would appear so. Both Britain and I thought you had aged fast, as did Prussia and Spain, many others, to be honest. The only other who had aged so quickly before was Russia. He had a growth spurt, as you could call it, in a period of fifty years aging three years in that time, which almost never happens," and in that moment, Francis did look scared.
Scared.
Had he been scared of Alfred too?
"Then you aged four years in forty, with justifiable cause. Now Germany, Ludwig, has aged five in fourteen."
Justifiable cause, means, happenings. He could say that now, but what did Francis think then? Did Francis expect a twelve year old to be waiting for him when he arrived in New York all of those years ago? Had he been surprised, scared, haunted, by the fact Alfred was sixteen? Was practically an adult to humans?
"But it's more than that. He is already thinking too much like his brother- and please, do not get me wrong. Prussia is an old friend of mine; Gilbert and Francis are, and surely always will be, friends. But Prussia, the Prussian personification, scares me. He has scared me in the past and he still does even now," he took in a sharp breath, eyes closing. "Germany is starting to scare me too. He is getting too powerful too fast, much too fast, and I only imagine what that might mean for Europe."
Alfred said nothing, only placing a comforting hand on Francis' shoulder. His thumb rubbed the shirt fabric there in steady slow circles. What else could he do?
"But, I digress. This is a good day, a reunion between old friends," he opened his eyes, blue and once again clear of worry. "We should be enjoying ourselves."
Alfred nodded in agreement. His thumb came to a halt. He let his hand fall back to his side.
They broke apart as the boat came to a stop. Liberty rose high above into the sky, bronze gleaming in the sunlight. Alfred still felt awed by it, by her. Her? Her. Francis looked equally as delighted with the result.
"You put her together well."
Alfred beamed. "I helped out with the beginnings of construction but as we had to build higher, Cleveland made me stop. He didn't want me getting hurt or straining myself."
"Why, isn't that generous?" Francis teased.
Their arms linked once again, descending down onto the docks behind France's delegates. Alfred took Francis away from the group nodding to one of Cleveland's aids before they slipped away towards her base.
"We get to go up and talk in the crown and torch while they do all of the official stuff down here, we can come down for the final rivet, if you want to, of course," he quickly added the option onto the end.
"That sounds perfectly fine, and no offense, but you make much better company than the others. I believe I will pass on seeing the final one put in," and so they ascended upwards towards the crown.
Alfred went a bit slower than he normally would. If he didn't have the cane he would have been able to go more quickly, but instead he held Francis behind. Useless. So useless. But Francis said nothing. His smile was back in place, an expression that was Francis Bonnefoy's alone. He knew something Alfred didn't, and Alfred could tell.
By the time they reached the top, Alfred's legs were pulsing with underlying pain. He tried not to show it, really he did, but Francis still wrapped an arm around his waist. He still said nothing.
They walked over towards the crown's openings, Alfred's shoulders dropping in relief as a smile took over his face. It was a beautiful view. He could only hope Francis liked it too. Fingers rubbed against his side. Comforting. Familiar.
"Thank you for sharing this with me Alfred," Francis spoke quietly, sincerely.
"You're welcome, I am glad you could come," and at that Francis' hand faltered.
Alfred turned his head to look at the other instead of outside only to see Francis gazing directly back at him mouth slightly open. A tongue darted out to lick at dry lips. Francis couldn't meet Alfred's eyes. He was looking lower.
Oh.
The touches, the familiarity, Francis' expression as they had come up.
Oh.
"I understand if you do not want to do anything," and just like that, Francis knew he knew. "It is a bit crass to have your first time in a now national monument."
"It's not my first," the words rushed out on their own, Alfred's cheeks pinking.
Francis' eyes darted up to meet Alfred's. They were questioning, surprised, interested.
"Russia?"
"No, no. I was still at bed rest when he came to visit and he wasn't there when I finally got to visit Alaska," he shifted, nervous.
"Britain?"
That got Alfred to flinch, what could only be disgust covering his face.
"No. God no."
Francis was out of guesses.
"It was Thomas, ah, the Confederacy."
Alfred expected backlash, maybe confusion. Francis only smiled, a sad smile this time, as he reached up to cup Alfred's face. Understanding. He understood. He-
He kissed him.
Alfred's eyes fluttered closed. The tension left his shoulders. His cane dropped to the floor. His hands went to Francis' waist, then his hair at the base of his skull. Francis made a pleased noise at that kisses peppering down towards Alfred's pulse.
Alfred moaned, unabashed, as lips trailed down to his collar. Nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt, pushing it to the side so lips, tongue, teeth, could go lower. His fingers tightened, gripping at the golden locks between them. Francis shuddered.
"You are very reactive, loud," Francis murmured. Alfred could feel his smile against heated skin. "I like that."
The rest of Alfred's reservations melted away, legs feeling like goo. As if Francis could read his mind, he lowered them both to the floor sitting on Alfred's lap to continue to lavish Alfred's neck with kisses.
Alfred tipped his head back to let Francis continue, reaching for Francis' buttons to hopefully return the favor. That's what you were supposed to do, right? But Francis paused. He sat back gently taking Alfred's hands into his own.
"Let me do the work. While I rarely get such a recuperative partner these days, think of this as an extended part of my gift," he kissed Alfred knuckles after he finished speaking before he moved to take Alfred's shirt off his shoulders.
The fabric fell to the floor silently, slipping off of Alfred's body and arms. The scar on his torso easily stood out, still pink against pale skin. Francis' fingers ran over it softly, tracing the jagged line across his ribs under his belly button and to his hip where it then disappeared below his pants.
Alfred shifted nervously as Francis seemed to pick him apart with his eyes, hands itching to dip below Alfred's belt. It was completely different than it had been with himself, with the other, with Thomas. Francis was gentle, appreciative, loving; he was everything Thomas had not been.
Alfred surrendered himself to it.
"Please," he practically begged, tugging at Francis' shirt. Two of his buttons were undone, but his jacket had not been taken off and only his collarbones were visible from the small gap created.
Francis did as Alfred asked, moving back to take off his jacket and shirt. The jacket was placed to the side and the shirt on top of it. He leaned forwards, pressing his chest to Alfred's while giving him another kiss. It was slow, deliberate. Alfred could only melt into it once again, hands trailing up Francis' back until they reached his shoulder blades.
They moved together, Francis taking the lead and directing what Alfred had to do. He felt safe. He felt loved.
Their shoes came off, then their pants. Francis had not worn gloves and he did not bother with peeling off their socks. He reached into his pants pocket, taking out a vial of oil that was big enough to have been noticed while in the fabric.
"Do you always carry that around?" Alfred asked watching as Francis popped the top off.
"Not always. I typically only do so when I believe my flirtations will be recuperated, or if I am feeling adventurous," his eyes practically twinkled at the last part.
He sat down between Alfred's legs, spreading them out before pouring some of the oil into his hand. Alfred felt as though he should be embarrassed, but there was nothing but appreciation in Francis' expression, in his body language.
Francis himself was beautiful. His skin, while pale, was not unhealthy. Scars, both old and recent, decorated it, the whites and pinks being the only blemishes. No moles or freckles were present, only dark body hair that Alfred wanted to touch. His waist was slim with almost dainty boney wrists and ankles highlighting the fact. He was everything Alfred was not.
Alfred, with a still not quite adult body, uneven tan lines, splashes of freckles and moles, thick legs connected to a thick torso, with baby fat clinging to his cheeks, and body hair that was practically nonexistent could never compare to the picture perfect looks of Francis. Even without makeup and clothes he oozed beauty and dignity, things Alfred knew he lacked.
Yet Francis was the one who looked at his as though he was the masterpiece, a marble statue worked on for countless years without a problem or abnormality in sight. Francis made him feel that way, with one look, with one kiss, with one word.
Is that what love was supposed to feel like?
But, the thought was lost to Alfred almost as soon as it came. A finger slowly slid into his entrance, the oil warm on Francis' fingers as to make it as comfortable as possible. Alfred tried to relax, moaning again as Francis' free hand went for his member. Francis' thumb swiped over the head with practiced ease as his other hand worked Alfred open.
"Francis, please," he begged, but Alfred didn't know what he was asking for. Did he want Francis to go faster? Stop teasing him? Do something?
"Please?" Francis asked, sliding in a second finger slower than he had added the first.
Alfred whined, wiggling his hips down to take more in. Francis only let out a tut, pressing Alfred's hip down so he would not move. He didn't stop preparing Alfred completely, but he dragged it out adding, a third finger after minutes of Alfred's wiggling and panting.
Precum dribbled down onto Alfred's stomach. Francis was torturing him. He was. Then, Alfred saw stars. Another moan ripped through the air. Alfred bucked. Francis smiled.
"There it is," and with that, he hit it, whatever it was, over and over again.
Before he knew what was happening, Alfred came slumping back on his arms and elbows in bliss. When he blinked back into reality, Francis was only smiling as cum cooled on his skin. Francis was still hard. Waiting.
"What?" it came out quietly, Alfred still breathless.
"That, dear Alfred, was your prostate gland. At least, I am pretty certain it is. It is the only thing in that area that would give you such sensations, unless there is something that human biologists are missing, which they could be," he spoke slowly, evenly, as he poured more oil onto his hands.
"Oh."
Oh. That was all he could say. He watched as Francis slicked himself up before gently gripping Alfred's legs. He lifted them so they would be on Francis' shoulders as Francis slid closer, practically bending him in half.
"Wow," he spoke, once again sounding like an idiot. His glasses were foggy, his cheeks tinting redder and redder by the second.
He was getting hard again.
Francis kissed him, a soft press of lips as he entered ever so very slowly. Alfred tipped his head back, letting out a sigh. It did not hurt as much as he thought it would. It was more uncomfortable than anything else with a slight burn behind the stretch.
"I have to say, I was a bit apprehensive about whether or not you would want to do this Alfred," Francis whispered against his cheek, nose soon grazing against Alfred's jaw as his lips dipped back down to his neck.
"Why wouldn't I?" it was asked in a strained voice as it became harder and harder to think straight, no pun intended.
"You said it yourself, you have only had sex once before and unlike us Europeans, who are used to using sex with treaties and such, you do not have that experience. You said it yourself that Russia was not there when you visited Alaska, and you never did go to many of the meetings that involved gaining new land," he kissed Alfred's pulse point. "Arthur spoke offhandedly to me that you had not been there to finalize the Oregon territory. He believes you to be a prude."
"Coming from him, that must be a joke," Alfred whispered right back, smiling as Francis began to laugh. "In truth, I was simply busy. And I do not see the need to have sex with others all of the time. Why should I need to?"
"You do not need to, it is simply expected. Is that not why you are having sex with me?" to emphasize the point, he moved. Alfred groaned, a quiet sound, barely louder than their words.
"I am having sex with you because I have wanted to do so since the signing of the Treaty of Paris, expectations have nothing to do with it."
"Is that why you were present when we gave you the Louisiana Territory?"
"And why I was off put when you could not make it? Perhaps," his eyelashes fluttered as Francis moved again, and again. This time he didn't stop.
"Allow me to make it up to you then."
Alfred could only agree as Francis moved faster, skin slapping against skin creating music to Alfred's ears. Francis' fingers could not to justice to this, however talented they may be. Moan after moan came from Alfred as he went back to full hardness, Francis coming undone at the sight.
Francis sucked harshly at the base of Alfred's neck, a hand reaching down to pump Alfred's cock in tandem with thrusts that were beginning to falter. Alfred didn't know what to focus on. His skin was alight like a flame, pleasure clouding his thoughts and being. It felt good, so, so, so good. He never wanted to stop.
Francis came first, finally halting his trusts only to pump Alfred faster. He finally let go of Alfred's neck with a pop, seeming extremely satisfied from the action, or was it from the fact he had finally came? It didn't matter. Alfred came again, his toes curling.
They sat in silence after that, Francis peppering kisses across Alfred's collarbone as he slid out completely. It was an odd feeling, it always was, but Alfred felt content. There was a tingle under his skin, a pleasant buzz, which he hoped Francis shared.
He sat up, kissing Francis once again with the swipe of his tongue. He grabbed the oil bottle, shifting so he was in the same position Francis had been moments prior. He held back a wince, a twinge running up his legs, more concentrated than before. Francis stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"I do not want you to hurt yourself."
"I want to repay the favor," Alfred said, stubbornly. But it hurt, it made his legs tremble.
"Perhaps when we get back to your place and are in a bed you can, all right?" Francis smiled at him again, understanding apparent. It was dazzling, more than Alfred could ask for.
But, Alfred was stubborn. Very stubborn. He shifted nervously, a hand coming up to wrap around his other wrist, bottle held loosely in between his fingers. He mumbled out a question, so quiet that Francis couldn't hear it.
"Hmm?"
"I said, ride me. That's the term for it, right?" he looked up, once again blushing madly down his neck. "It is, right?"
Francis tried not to laugh, he really did. He couldn't help it as his shoulders started to bounce in mirth. Alfred looked down, clearly ashamed of what he had asked. Before he could apologize, Francis leaned forwards to kiss him again. Alfred was stiff at first, but he soon relaxed once again by the time Francis pulled back to rest their foreheads together.
"Yes, it is. You truthfully are adorable, getting so embarrassed and worked up over something like that," he teased fingers drawing light circles over Alfred's hips.
"That's because it's an embarrassing topic," Alfred spoke, scandalized.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, such things are not embarrassing with me. I have seen everything you can and cannot think of in the bedroom Alfred, so I can assure you your request is not that far-fetched," he moved onto his back, propping his legs open.
His whole posture spoke of the fact he knew he looked good, that he had nothing to be ashamed of.
"You do need to know such things however, so, you may prepare me if you so wish. I can even help you through the process," he tilted his head to the side, hair falling to the floor in waves. "You will need to know such things eventually and it is better that you learn from an experienced lover who will gladly do so without deceiving you."
Alfred swallowed, nodding in agreement. "How long are you staying?"
"About two weeks, then I will be returning home. It will be more than enough time for you to show me around and for us to enjoy ourselves. By the time I leave, you will know all of the basics and even a few extra techniques that I have found exceedingly helpful," he held out a hand motioning for Alfred to come closer. "That will be in the proper setting of your bedroom, for now, we will finish up here so we may always remember our first times in Liberty's embrace."
Alfred nodded again, scooting forwards so his hands rested on Francis' thighs. The man offered a hum in encouragement, opening his legs wider so Alfred could easily sit between them.
"Do what you think feels right for foreplay. Different people like different things, so pay attention to their reactions. While some will not be ashamed to hide what they like, others may not be so accommodating," he gave Alfred a pointed look. "It can be annoying, but proving you are better than them despite that fact, even in a bedroom situation, will make them feel inadequate to you. While it is cruel, using it to your advantage when it comes to land deals and treaties can help you out immensely."
Alfred listened to Francis speak with an open mind. He set the oil down a bit out of the way so it would not tip over before he put his hands on Francis' thighs again. As Francis' words finally pattered off, he moved his hands upwards, letting the fingertips barely graze over the skin. Francis got goose bumps quickly, letting out a sigh as Alfred's hands reached his hips. His hands kept going upwards, passed his navel and up Francis' sides over his ribs. Alfred leaned down to press a kiss above his right hipbone.
Francis relaxed into the floor, letting off small noises to show Alfred what he found pleasing. As Alfred's hands traveled up, his lips traveled down. They were a bit sloppy, slower than Francis normally liked, but Francis saw the way Alfred's brow was creased in concentration. He wanted Francis to feel good, to fell pleasure, and was trying to do so even if he had his own discomfort.
Francis, however, did not expect Alfred to be so forward. A nail circled one of his nipples as it got stiff, the other being rolled in between two fingers. Lips dipped down past his happy trail and weeping member to press kisses to Francis' inner thighs. His legs shuddered, a groan finally falling from Francis' lips.
He felt Alfred smile, finally, as he kept going. He began sucking at the tender skin, trying to leave a hickey behind with minimal success.
"You need to suck harder, like I did earlier," Francis' voice sounded more breathless than he thought it would, but Alfred didn't seem to notice.
"I don't want to hurt you," Alfred finally looked up, from behind Francis' hardening dick of all places, to meet Francis' eyes.
"You won't, I can assure you."
Alfred was so endearing at times. He knew how strong Alfred could be and so far Francis had seen how he kept it in check, despite the fact he was not at full health. Francis could only fantasize about what Alfred could do if he put his mind to it. Perhaps, and only if Alfred had a good day, Francis could test that theory by being pounded into Alfred's bed. Or a wall in his house. Or another flat surface, like a table, only to see how strong Alfred really was.
Those thoughts went right to his groin, as did Alfred's improved hickey technique. Alfred's hands, warm and callused, dear god Francis wanted them on his body all day, trailed back down so he could hold down Francis' hips. He opened his mouth to ask why, only for heat to surround him, a gasping choking noise escaping his lips instead.
Alfred's eyes glanced back up to Francis' face, playfulness clearly there. He hummed before Francis could say anything again, his tongue running over the underside of Francis' cock. He slid off with a pop, a smack of the lips, before he went back to lather the head with licks and kisses, drinking up the precum with no complaint about the bitter taste.
"Where did you learn that?" Francis asked, chest showing uneven breaths,
"I did what felt right."
It was Francis' turn to swallow back spit, eyes widening a fraction. This was something he could easily work with. Another time.
"It most definitely did feel right, however, I am not as youthful as I once was. It is time for the main act Alfred," he shifted to sit up a bit, hands going back to support him.
"You don't look a day over twenty four," Alfred spoke sincerely, leaning over to grab the oil once again.
"Such flattery, Mister Jones. I will have you know, I am somewhere close to two millennia and the fact you see me in such a light fills an old heart with joy," he put a hand over his heart, watching as Alfred let out a bout of laughter.
He chose not to respond as he poured the oil onto one of his hands. He looked to Francis with determination, hand reaching down, only to falter before he touched skin.
"Put in one finger to start, or circle around the outside first if that helps your psych. I will tell you if you end up going too fast, but normally you will be able to tell whether or not I am loose enough. Take your time, there is no rush."
Alfred opened his mouth to respond, only to close it with an audible click. He bit at his lower lip before he finally let his finger touch Francis again. It went around once, twice, before he pushed in, going slower than Francis had earlier, but not so slow that Francis would have to ask him to go faster.
Francis closed his eyes as Alfred stretched him. He was being cautious, overly so, but Francis could not complain about such a thing. A careful lover, one who only wanted him to feel pleasure. They were few and far in between among nations.
It made Francis want to keep Alfred to himself.
But Alfred would eventually have to be with someone else. He would eventually have to have sex with others, not only Francis. While Alfred was mostly isolationist, one could not stay that way forever, and one could not completely ignore the world.
Was Francis being selfish for wanting Alfred for himself? Yes. Perhaps his imperialist streak hadn't ended yet. Perhaps it never would.
Francis only let out a sigh allowing the thoughts to dribble from his head. Such things would never happen; he had learned that long ago. He opened his eyes as Alfred began to rub his thumb over Francis' hipbone, three fingers scissoring him open in rhythmic motions.
"Take a look at my posture Alfred; can you see how my body is trying to get closure to you? Can you feel how easier it is getting to move your fingers? That is when you may go about slicking yourself up and entering your partner. You can also drag it out and tease them, if that is your intention," Francis paused, watching as Alfred took all of this information in.
His eyes darted over Francis' body. He squirmed.
"You are doing wonderfully. You may sit back now."
Alfred followed Francis' command as the man sat up. He sat back similar to how he had been before. Francis dumped out some of the last of the oil before once again pumping Alfred a few times. He was hard again, already.
Francis could tell Alfred was starting to finally get embarrassed, truthfully embarrassed.
"I wish I still had a sex drive that high," Francis commented as he finally lifted himself over Alfred's hips. "To be young again."
"You're plenty young Francis."
Alfred opened this mouth to say something more but he only let out a choked up gasp as Francis sank down. Francis let out a choppy sigh once he reached Alfred's base, watching as the younger struggled to breathe.
"Do you feel okay?"
Alfred blinked, looking up at Francis in slightly bewilderment. Francis watched as his Adam's apple dipped down as he swallowed once, then twice.
"Oh dear God," was all he managed to get out.
"He surprisingly has nothing to do with this," Francis teased.
He placed a comforting hand on Alfred's stomach, feeling it move rapidly under his palm. Alfred looked stunning like this, sprawled under Francis, unable to speak, skin marked with bites and hickeys and sweat. His hair was sticking to his forehead, cowlick still present despite the fact.
"I never commented, but I do like the shorter haircut. It suits you, as do the glasses," Francis reached over to brush Alfred's bangs back. His glasses were partially fogged.
He looked absolutely debauched. And Francis loved it.
"Thanks," he finally looked Francis in the eyes. "I like your hair too; it looks much better this way than under a wig."
At that, Francis felt a warm smile take up his face. Alfred returned it. It was a strange moment, quiet, warm. Light streamed in from the outside casting shadows. If he listened hard enough he could hear the humans down below. One of Alfred's hands came up to hold one of Francis'. He gave it a gentle squeeze making the moment real, actually real.
What would he give to experience this again?
What would he do to feel this way again?
Alfred's other hand twitched and he shifted his lower body causing Francis to move atop him.
"Where should I put my hands?" Alfred asked. He let Francis' go.
"Right above my hips," he directed Alfred's hands to the right spot. "If you feel the need, I give you my express permission to move me along faster."
Alfred froze up at that, his grip getting firmer. Not nearly enough to bruise, no, but enough to be noticeable. He seemed flustered at that comment. His cheeks flushed darker than they had since Francis arrived.
"Why would you say something like that? How can you say something like that? So easily?" he fired off question after question. He shifted nervously causing Francis to groan. He froze again.
"We will have to work on this bashfulness of yours. Alfred, I am saying it because you literally have your penis shoved up my ass-"
"Oh my god, Francis-"
"- so I figured that saying such would be appropriate in this situation. It is not as if I go around saying such things at random to humans and nations alike. I admit I have said such things to Britain in the past to rile him up, but it was merely a jest, and he needs to get over it."
Alfred had nothing to say to that, averting his eyes towards the crown's openings. Francis only sighed before he lifted himself up. Alfred immediately looked back up at him, worry on his face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin the mood or-" but he didn't get to finish as Francis sat back down. His mouth stayed open, no sound coming out for a few seconds before he let out a choked 'oh.'
"I assure you that you have not."
That was the end of the conversation. Francis moved back up, Alfred rubbing circles into Francis' skin where they had not moved from, and back down steadily. He purposely went slow watching Alfred's desire grow as his hips twitched then bucked up to meet Francis' movements.
"Please," he finally gasped out. Sweat had begun to run down Francis' brow.
"Please what?"
Alfred let out a pitiful noise in response, head falling back against the ground with a solid thunk. He mumbled something out. Francis leaned in closer to try to catch it. He didn't manage to.
"Use your big boy words America."
France only smiled when he finally looked back into his eyes. Francis' tone of voice had a challenge behind them. They both knew it.
"Please. Go faster," it wasn't asked. France tsked.
"I already told you how you can do that."
Alfred frowned. Francis let one of his hands rest over Alfred's own.
"Is it going to hurt you to do so?" Francis asked. If that was the case then he would indeed do something.
"No," Alfred paused shifting so he could sit up a bit more. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to take that chance."
Francis' expression softened. No, he definitely didn't want to give Alfred up. But he would have to. After two weeks. They only had two weeks.
"You will not hurt me Alfred."
"But-"
"Ravish me."
Nothing happened at first. Francis thought he might have gone too far, but that doubt was gone the second Alfred's grip tightened. He lifted Francis up without a falter in his breath before bringing Francis back down, hard.
Francis knew he would get bruises now. He welcomed it.
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes-" Francis' words were stopped with a punctuated moan. Pleasure shot up his spine and sizzled, he saw white under his eyes.
They moaned and panted and sighed as Alfred kept going. Skin slapped against skin. Laughter and clapping could be heard from outside. Alfred would remember this for the rest of his life. He didn't need to think about a century's worth of longing or a growing resentment since Louisiana, growing and growing through the Civil War, he only had to think about Francis' gift and Francis' smile and Francis. It was all Francis.
Francis.
"Francis," he half moaned half called out. He brought Francis down again sitting up so he could smash their lips together. Francis grinned, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and shoulders as he kept bouncing up and down.
Alfred was close, as was Francis. Alfred reached down between their bodies to pump Francis slowly which was what pushed him over the edge for the second time. Alfred came soon afterwards their bodies finally stilling.
They stayed that way for a while. Francis presses his face against the side of Alfred's neck, lazily pressing kiss after kiss to the same patch of skin. Alfred rubbed a hand over the small of Francis' back still dazed.
"You, wow, wow," he finally whispered out, smiling sheepishly at Francis' laughter.
"I could easily get used to this," Francis said. He finally sat back, sliding off of Alfred's now soft member to sit on the floor.
"Well, we only have two weeks, but I believe we will be able to do something like this again within the time, my legs withstanding."
Francis' smile morphed, his tongue poking out between his lips.
"Did you not hear me Alfred? You have a lot to learn in the art of love, and while you are a quick learner two weeks is still cutting it close," he winked letting his fingers tap against the floor. "But, I have full confidence in your abilities."
"You do?" it was asked playfully, Alfred's eyes lighting up.
"I do. In fact-" he leaned forwards, Alfred doing the same- "what do you say we leave a bit early and continue back at your home?"
"I wouldn't object, however, I think we're going to need a lot more oil," he pointedly looked at the mostly empty bottle set off to the side.
"I have plenty more in my luggage."
"You planned this."
"I cannot confirm or deny such a thing."
Alfred opened his mouth to continue only to stop when a yell sounded up from the staircase inside of the statue.
"Mister America, do you and Mister France plan on returning to the city with the main envoy!?"
France put a hand over his mouth as he tried not to laugh, Alfred scrambling to stand up not know if the other was coming up or not. If they were, they were in for quite the sight.
"We will be down in a few moments Mister Stevenson! And I have told you a million times that you can call me Alfred!" he called down, trying to put on his pants without hurting his legs.
"Would you like me to come up and escort you both down?"
"No!" Alfred spoke to quickly. "No, please do not bother. We are coming right down and it is a long ways up."
There was silence, no sound of anyone climbing. Alfred let out a sigh of relief.
"Understood! I will be with President Cleveland at the docks, please do hurry," and with that, the human walked away, most likely. Francis burst out laughing as Alfred finally relaxed again, shoulders slumping.
"Who was that?" Francis finally asked, standing up in order to also get dressed.
"My vice president, who is a good man but a bit nosy, in my opinion," he explained, buttoning up his shirt.
They got dressed in comfortable silence after that, Alfred offering Francis a handkerchief to wipe some of the sweat and cum off of himself. Francis only raised a brow at the stitching. Alfred shrugged, trying to use his fingers to put his hair back in order.
"Is this..?"
"He sends them to me around Christmas every year. What a better way to use them, right?"
Petty. Francis liked it. He would have to tell Arthur about how he had used Arthur's own embroidery to wipe America's cum off of his body. He would probably get a bloody nose, but it would be worth it. Maybe he could even take it as a souvenir.
He could frame it and 're gift' it then.
He shoved the now used handkerchief into his pocket next to the oil bottle before making his way to the stairs, Alfred directly behind him.
They walked out to the boat, smiling and nodding at the others who had no clue what had transpired in Liberty's crown. Alfred's president looked at them for a few seconds too long, but surely he knew the way nation representatives intermingled anyways. There were so few nations who were women that it was laughable. Almost that is.
They stood next to each other on the back of the boat once again. Francis had an arm wrapped around Alfred's waist and Alfred had an arm slung over Francis' shoulders.
If anyone looked their way, they would appear to be two old friends speaking amiably. Alfred was smiling and laughing as Francis appeared to be telling a joke. Alfred replied back which made Francis laugh in turn.
Little would anyone know Francis was pitching his idea to Alfred who was readily agreeing to sending a Christmas gift and letter to Britain. Or that they were itching to get to Alfred's home to enjoy themselves. Not with a game of cards or a catch up chat either.
Something else entirely.
When Alfred woke up the day after Francis arrived, in the early morning, he was confused, even if only for a few moments while everything clicked into place.
Francis was pressed up against his side, one of his legs thrown over Alfred's with Alfred's arm tucked under Francis as the man used Alfred's chest as a pillow. He was warm and Alfred felt more relaxed and comfortable than he had in months. There were no painful twinges in his legs and while he felt sticky, he was completely at ease with the situation.
He looked down to find Francis' cheek resting on his pectoral eyelashes fluttering while he slept. Light crept in from one of the windows making his hair and skin glow. He was glowing. He was beautiful. If Alfred was an artist, he would paint a wall mural of this very sight. If he were a poet, he would write verse after verse about Francis. Francis' smile, Francis' laugh, Francis' cheekbones, Francis' hair. Everything. Everything about Francis.
If Alfred could wake up to this every day, he would be the happiest man alive.
Francis shifted in his sleep, smiling as he seemed to cuddle into Alfred more. Alfred found himself moving to make that easier, resting his face against the top of Francis' head.
Francis wasn't waking up yet and Alfred did not want to risk waking him up if he moved out of bed. Besides, he had off of work while Francis was here. It was better to relax and sleep while he could.
He had no doubt that Francis would keep to his word about teaching Alfred how to make love. Have sex. However you wanted to word it.
Alfred sighed at that thought, cuddling further into his and Francis' embrace as he closed his eyes. He was warm. He was safe. He was happy.
In his last moments of consciousness, he realized something else. Something more alarming than the fleeting moments of longing and appreciation he had felt. After the smiles and hugs and kisses and sex and now this utter domestic awakening, he realized what had been bubbling in his gut the previous day. The previous months. The previous years.
He was in love with Francis Bonnefoy.
This is a prequel to Showing Political Favoritism, as myself and an anonymous reviewer (on AO3) expressed the idea of exploring this universe more. So, I wrote about Alfred and Francis' relationship, from the very beginning in 1886 to the 21st century. I am trying to keep it historically accurate as possible and do keep in mind that history/politics is not the main focus in this story, so things will be glossed over in favor of focusing only on their developing relationship. It can be read stand alone to the other piece and vice versa.
There will be about 4 to 5 chapters depending on how the final chapter goes and, in turn, if I decide to do an epilogue of a sorts.
Hope you enjoyed reading, comments/likes are always appreciated!