A/N: Second part is finally finished! Thanks to Maya, of course. She's more than an angel- she doesn't really like USUK yet still she translated this looong thing for me! She's absolutely the best. ILU!
Reviews are appreciate. REALLY.
August 'XX
It was some time now, that you couldn't take your eyes of Alfred. You savored his sight as if starving, you listened to his warm voice as if you miraculously regained your hearing. Obviously, only when he wasn't looking. If he were to suddenly give you a glance, you'd hide quickly behind your documents, deep shade of red blooming on your face, not quite sure whether it is you or him that you're trying to trick.
You always thought yourself aware of his looks; definitely too tall, blond hair, eyes like the sky. Broad smile, broad arms. An already ancient pilot jacket, tanned skin, glasses. But it was only recently that you'd start noticing that there is much more to that and every newly discovered detail made you swallow nervously. Suddenly you noticed how Alfred is just tall enough to give you trouble ruffling his soft hair. Not until today have you seen that his eyes darken whenever he looks at you and you couldn't understand why. You were never capable of guessing his thoughts – this endless smile seems to work as a good cover. You can never be sure whether you should restrain from pointing those stingy remarks of yours, but even if you were, if you knew what America's humor was, would that stop you from saying them anyway? Usually you get no more than his laughter in response, though sometimes you manage to extinguish that sparkle of joy he has in his eyes. They get dull and Alfred turns away with a big smile plastered to his face.
About a month ago, when he waved at you vigorously, making hundreds of gestures per second, you noticed a hole on his elbow. Your hands were almost itching to patch up that small sign of sloppiness. Because Alfred never thought about things like that. At times, he'd leave his clothes at the site of meetings, you'd just take out a needle and sew up all the holes. Strangely, he could always tell of that and give you a broad smile as a thank you.
Sometime recently, you were sitting completely immersed in some document and he walked up from behind and leaned over, his hands on the table. A thought came, that his tan is a beautiful effect of sitting outside a typical summer house and those archeological trips of his. You were curious whether he'll ever manage to dig up some bone, or whatever he was searching for, and if he'd even had a slightest idea how and where and whom and where.
His palms are big, his arms are just about as large as to lock you in a tight embrace. At least that's what you think judging by his looks, not that he ever hugged you this way. But you'd give up everything to feel it.
Thick autumn air is pouring into the room through all the open windows available. You try loosening your tie just a bit, putting a sweater on was definitely not the best idea of yours. Your head feels heavy, but the meeting is approaching its end, you're not missing anything. The eyelids slide down heavily, you can still see Feliciano, who's already fallen asleep and snores quietly, leaned over Ludwig's strong arm. On the other side Francis seems to be reading a magazine under the table and you don't think you want to know about its content, especially looking at Frenchmen's beautiful red stains of blush. It must be either a porn or fashion journal. The room is drowning in the sun and you regret for choosing Italy as a conference spot this month. On hot days like this, you should be sitting at Ivan's, if even. You can feel the unbearable sultriness taking over you and you close your eyes, letting yourself be taken away by the pleasant feeling of slipping into the nothingness.
The dream is obscure, as usual, there is more premonitions and misunderstandings to it than actual visions. You can see blurry colours and enormous heat. It's like this warmth is coming from the inside of your scull, you can feel it flowing down your body, hot streams tickling your oversensitive skin. Someone's hand strokes your cheek ever so gently, it causes your head to turn in its direction; The palm is big and warm and familiar. Broad arms surround you in the darkness and you're seconds away from melting completely; yes, suddenly you're melting down, there is no you, nor your body, nor the heat, arms spring back all of a sudden; it's getting brighter, there's a flash, you don't know what's going on; they're bombs, falling down on all those roofs you know so well, blowing up your beloved houses, bricks and tiles and fire and rumble; horror in the eyes and pain inside, it's not warm anymore, now it's just burning inside, makes you want to scream; you scream with difficulty, your throat feels all stingy from the smoke from others' screams; you know you're all alone out there, broad arms left you, they're gone and there is no one by your side, it's just pain and amazement; but suddenly somebody takes you away, you can feel your own existence back, slowly, piece by piece you regenerate, arms holding you in place, preventing from collapsing; standing again as a whole, you hear a voice in your ear, words you already know, whispers you've already heard; you hear them and you know this tone, this soft voice; you're close to saying this so familiar and often said name; but just then the last bomb falls down and you open your eyes violently and the vision is lost in the light of August afternoon.
The conference building is gone. You're sitting on a bench, actually more like half-lying. Slowly, you start to feel wooden boards stick into your back, quite painfully. The shirt is open at your neck, your tie is missing and Alfred is sitting right next to you, face with a worried expression. Upon seeing you awake, his brows rise slightly and it seems as if he's sighing with relief. He must have been guarding you for some time and now he's delighted being able to go. He's not springing up, though, he does nothing, just relaxing his arms slightly and leaning more comfortably on the bench, hands hanging down carelessly behind it. A tin of coke is given to you and for the first time in your life, you don't complain on this sewage of a drink. You drink quickly – it's so hot you'd even drink petrol if somebody told you this was going to help.
' Y'all right?' first word come out of his mouth and you tremble, as you can hear something else entirely, said by the very same voice, the same voice. You wonder how come you're both here now. Is the meeting alredy over?
'Why would I not be? I simply dozed of a little, though I find it hard to admit. T'was not truly elegant.'
Alfred frowns a little, not really understanding what you're talking about. He rushes on to explain how you fainted right at the start of the meeting and that you're not actually in Italy, but California. Alfred tells you how he managed to pull you outside and how you've been lying like this for the last two hours.
'T-twonk. If I have in fact fainted from the sun, then you've surely proved your wit! There's way more bloody heat out here than there was in the building!" wrinkling your forehead, you gazed at him. You thought he'd start arguing with you in his own, twee way, trying to convince of his own rights. But instead, he just rises up, throws away the precious coke, pulls you up and suddenly you find yourself on a piggyback ride; soon afterwards you're in a cool hall of the building. The air is a bit stiff in here, but still, much more pleasant than outside. Alfred sits on a concrete bench with two refreshed drinks and puts one of them up to your forehead.
'I always do that when I wanna chill' he smiles broadly and looks at you with his happy eyes. If you smiled now, the balance would have been disturbed, so you fuss a little and move away from the glorious cold.
'Cut it out, or else I might develop a thermal shock, and then you would have no clue what to do.' Alfred takes the tin away from you and stares at the floor as if wondering what elso to say. And just then, this odd sensation overcomes you again. You are anxious about your dream and that feeling you've expirienced. And for the worse, somewhere deep within your memory lies an event suspiciously alike that dream. But it was impossible, Alfred was never there for you, not when you were in such condition. He was way too little at the time and even now it seems incomprehensible that he'd be able to protect you in any way. But this memory of a warm hand holding yours, the reflection of his voice whispering words you cannot forget. And there, you remember, blurrily, how greatly you suffered, lying uncouncious, hearing some daft idiocies this bloke was saying, was constantly whispering, without letting go of your hand even for a second. You couldn't make out his words, but it was all so anxious, his voice, as if he was afraid of something, as if he was in a rush. Like he wanted to confess everything before it's too late. But it was no more than your impression, something stuck in you deep, very deep within. You cannot say for sure whether it's real or just something you desperately want to believe in. Not, that you'd mind. Since you love fairies, why would you be against fake memories. You wish to abandon those thought about the broken dream and get back to the meeting, you've already opened your lips, when you hear Alfred's voice.
'Gee, this August is just as hot as tha'one in 40', aint' it?"
And suddenly you feel the entire world collapsing on your head.
--
You never knew so many different emotions could fly past Arthur's face so quickly. 'Course, he was a person blessed with an ability to switch between a malicious grin and a curled up ball of despair, but what he was showing at the moment really had you confused, which doesn't happen too often. Arthur opened his mouth, then closed them in a silent awe, blinked several times, blushed heavily all over his face, blinked again; he bit his lower lip, averted his eyes suddenly and sniffed quietly. And cried.
At first, you froze completely. Can't you even mention the weather without causing this dude to cry? You leaned carefully, asking what's going on. Only weak cries came in an answer, so you decided to give up on talking and just held him instead. Arthur sobbed unhappily and you were surprised by his soft and natural surrender to your embrace. Usually he'd rather eat his crochets, or whatever they are, than allow you to hug him like that. Or at least so it would seem. Every time you'd lean over him when he read his documents, he'd only get redder and hiss with hostility, tell you to stop goofing around. Looks like now he lacks air to scold you, you couldn't hear his cries, but judging by the frequency of his arms trembling, you guessed this remark about the hot August really got into him. He couldn't be still reliving that airstrike on London, could he? That was, what, dammit, some dozens years ago! Not to mention he couldn't remember a thing, he was lying unconscious. You shuddered at this memory. Today or maybe tomorrow, there'll be 60th anniversary, as you recall right now. But it couldn't be all about it, so?
Arthur finally calmed down a little and you reluctantly loosened your grip, not wanting to annoy him any further. He stayed in place and pulled out a tissue with his initials embroidered along with a tiny unicorn. He blew his nose in a way far from charming and looked at you with his blurry eyes. Arthur's eyes always brought English grass to your mind – moist in a rainy, foggy day.
'Gonna tell me what's it all 'bout? Jeez, how can I talk with you, if even the safest of the topics ever, like, friggin' weather makes y'all histerical!' you're laughing happily and use your finger to wipe of one of his stray tears. He winces at your touch and averts his gaze yet again. Gosh, he's running away, away, always away. Not even saying a thing, just looking somewhere else. You don't like this kind of silence, and recently he's been quiet more than usual.
He'd always get on your case, usually without any particular reason, though recently you've noticed how he looks at you and seems to ponder about something. You had no idea what's on his mind, after all Arthur, of all people, knew you well. Of course, you knew him almost by heart, which didn't change his ability to surprise you. In a way. But you were always fond of riddles and Arthur was like a riddle you were constantly trying to solve. Every time it seemed as if you've collected all the pieces of a puzzle, it turned out that you've missed some empty spaces. Even now he wouldn't tell you what's going on and you'd probably never know. It's not the first, nor the last time and you believe, yes, as a matter of fact you still believe one day you'll get to discover each of his secrets. Arthur finally clears his throat and rises up, buttoning his shirt and pulling up his tie properly and looks at you with a pinch of disdain. Is there, like, anyone on earth to change moods quicker than him?
'We should return to the meeting at once, I don't want to miss anything of importance.' He says with his forehead slightly frowned. You wrap an arm around him and lead into the room, out of which you carried him out not even two hours ago.
'Not sure it's a good idea, tha'room is sunny, ya might just collapse again.' You speak carefully, trying not to cause an explosion about to come either way.
'So unbelievably typical for you to organize a conference in the sunniest part of the building! Are you planning on ever beginning to think?!' his bragging seems to have no end, not that you'd mind. You're always amused by his preaching. Opening the door with a nonchalant gesture, you smell an overwhelming perfume scent. You can see Arthur blinking from the excess of heat emerging from the room, but bravely proceeding inside anyway. He stays close to the wall, apparently not feeling too safe. Which is why you follow him closely. Several countries are asleep, others listen to Roderich's speech. Where is Austria anyway? flashes through your head, but you immediately shift your attention to sneezing Arthur. Korea turns on his table, glances at Arthur and crooks over his head.
'Was he not fainted?'
China looked over them impatiently.
'Yes, so what?'
'He must have had fever. In morning he said his belly hurt, now sneezing. We should isolate him.'
Arthur wipes his nose and makes a muffled sound of surprises. Amused, you look at the countries waking up and turning to your direction. Korea goes on about the swine flu, you glance over sleepy Ivan, surrounded by several countries which used to belong in his union. A French sounding voice brings you down to earth and you see France standing between you and Arthur and leaning onto him with his smut kind of smile. You wonder how the hell Francis managed to get so close to you and why did you not notice a thing.
'Eef Athur is not feeling well, per'aps we should take 'im somewhere out. I could show 'im to 'is room or take 'im to ze sickroom. You could use severàl moments een solitary, cherie, and eef you're bored you may always call for me.'
And he looks at you with those blue eyes of his. Is that a challenge or are you just imaging things? No flipping way, Francis challenging you? Even so, you're laughing and lean over the wall, in a way separating Arthur and Francis from each other.
'Easy, France! As the host and a hero, I outta be the one to get sick England to his hotel room! Y'all know there are no hotels more friggin' awesome than american, so he's gonna be cared for well.'
You pay no attention to Francis' scornful remarks and turn around to open the door. Arthur leaves sort of unwittingly, he must have felt really bad in that room. You give the Frenchman one final look to check whether he's not making any silly faces at you. He simply stepped back and returned swiftly to his seat. So much for the French will to fight.
Your car is parked right next to the building, so both of you get in the vehicle and after several minutes you stand in front of the hotel Arthur had his room in. After a while of listening how pathetic are your driving skills, how in Great Britain you'd get billions of penalties and at least a thousand of fines, in addition, the radio station you're currently listening to is a cluster of just about the worst songs Arthur has ever heard and on top of that, why would anyone want to drive a car with a large "Superman" sign on the boot. You're simply humming those happy melodies coming out of your super modern radio and you're trying to contain laughter at Arthur's futile attempts to change the station or at least turn down this bawling vocal. The two of you walk out of the car and Arthur looks at you, puzzled.
'You aren't staying here, why are you stepping out?'
You stand there, pondering for a minute, actually you should be getting back to the meeting. But it's not like you're in a hurry to listen to all the whining of countries that can't quite deal with themselves or to that sultry room and your huge leather hot armchair.
'I'mma take ya to your room an' make sure you wen'to rest like a proper sick man.'
'It is truly a pity I am not ill.' He mumbles under his breath and you're landing in front of his door. You walk in without asking for permission and sit on a comfortable-looking chair. Eyeing the pretty rook, you nod your head with acknowledgement. You take two glasses out of the full fridge and pour juice into them. You're driving and Arthur has serious alcohol problems. Better not to drink.
'Ain't that room great?' You strive to start a conversation and Arthur replies in a predictable manner how his London hotels are way better and cozier. Yes, especially cozy. Even when there's no hot water or the tap are the other way round. But you say nothing, trying to avoid another hysteria attack. It gives you this kind of sick pleasure, you've been thinking recently how today's cry was different than all the others, it wasn't a cry of an impatient person who failed at something again. Conversation dies out and you're sitting in silence, sipping juice. Finally Arthur goes to the bathroom and when he comes back and sees you still on his chair, he grumbles until you rise up and get the keys from the table. You roll your eyes and repeat your request that he went to sleep already.
'If anything comes up, just call the lady. We got a hotel doc, so dun worry. And if something happens, y'know my cell phone." You grace Arthur with a broad smile and go outside. Later on, you text him to remind about the incoming farewell evening for everyone, in the sweet bar on the beach that you've recently discovered when that charming actress or whatshername singer, asked you out.
You're not coming back to the meeting. Even though you're use to the hot temperature, today you feel particularly weary. You're driving straight to your bungalow and fall asleep, throwing off your shirt beforehand. No dreams appear and you wake up to see a bloody colored sunset. In two hours or so, you should all gather in place, so you get up to take a shower. Before you leave, you put on your jeans jacket and sunglasses. No idea why, it's already dark, but you just like having glasses in the pubs. Force of habit. You come by the bar on your motorcycle – couldn't be bothered to take a car. You're not planning on taking anyone home with you anyway, you don't feel like flirting with any women tonight that Arthur's sitting few tables behind you. You'd rather sit with him, making sure he won't get into any drunken fight or drunken hand.
Upon walking into the bar, you spot him right away. Obviously sitting as close to the bar tender as possible, there's three or four glasses in front of him already, can't see too clearly from the entrance. Next to him, you see Francis, all straightened up. How else. They're gonna get wasted and you'll be the one to drive each home, listening to all the whining about how ungrateful and discourteous you are. You greet a couple of people you recognize, a couple of countries you happen to meet on your way to those two blonds. You sit at Arthur's left and move his glass away.
'Doncha think you've had enough?' you say gently and sweep away the alcohol even further when the Englishman lies on the counter to reach for his happy potion. Francis leans over Arthur's head and gives you a puzzled look, though his sight quickly lands on some Italian girl, blessed by mother nature, sitting nearby. Slightly staggering, he stands up and walks up to her, getting the girl a drink and starting some pleasant conversation. Arthur mumbles something under his breath, but he stops his attempts to pull out the drink of your hand. You raise your glasses onto the forehead and glance at barely conscious Englishman with a frown. Couldn't Francis prevent him from drinking this much if he saw Arthur's already falling of his chair? You clench your mouth and get up, pulling Arthur after you. Cool evening, all in all. The minute you enter, you have to leave, cause this guy doesn't know when to stop. But you don't really regret it all that much. You'd rather spend 20 more minutes with Arthur, ever drunk, then this anonymous crowd. You pull him up on your motorbike and put a helmet on his head, frowning upon smelling the alcohol. You'd definitely rather drink, the smell is disgusting. You arrive soon enough, excluding a little break Arthur insisted on, in order to use the benefit of the darkness and return some of his recent purchase. Nice waste of some 30 dollars, yup. You're giving him a lift to your place, aware of the fact that he'll probably scream a lot and bounce against the furniture, you don't wish to bother the hotel staff and would rather save Arthur from further disgrace in yet another city. Which is why as soon as you drove in, you packed him into the shower, trying to ignore his silly drunken words and awkward questions. You had to admit to feel a tiny twist in your stomach upon seeing the water dripping down his body, his lips parting to catch breath, his pretty hair wet. You chased these thoughts away. Whatever comes, you will not abuse him in such state. You are not Francis, no, not that he ever actually touched Arthur, obviously. Yes, precisely. Something flashed in your head, but you simply chuckled to yourself. Of course, that's impossible. Arthur got out of the shower in the end and you put a bathrobe on his back. Nights are warm here, but your house was air-conditioned. You didn't want him to catch a cold or anything. While he sat on your bed, you tried drying his hair with a towel. The room was rather dim, the only source of light being a single bed lamp. Nevertheless, you got the impression Arthur's eyes are becoming slightly more sober. You hung up the towel and put your shirt on him. He looked slightly comical in this oversized t-shirt, but you contained your laughter. You stroked his cheek and got up, but before you managed to get more than few steps away, you felt something holding on to your jacket's sleeve. Fingers clenched so tight it made the knuckles white. You sat by his side again and Arthur looked at you, his eyes not so much like the grass in a foggy day, but clear, alive. You remained still, wondering what sort of purpose he had in stopping you.
He mumbled a faint 'Stay, sleep in here' and even though this was nothing out of the ordinary, you opened your eyes widely. You took of your jacket and sweatshirt, your pants followed. Arthur crawls under the blankets sloppily and glances at you, his eyes half-shut. You get on the bed, careful not to break the eye contact. There's something alluring in this moment and just when you're already close enough to kiss him, like in movies, Arthur turns away, escaping you as usual. You're close to sigh with resignation, when he touches your cheek and strokes it all the way down to your chin, as if exploring. You lean to kiss his forehead. Arthur is smiling, he falls on the pillows, shuts his eyes. You feast your eyes with this sight, but just when you want to kiss him, the way you always wanted to, you can hear his breath slow down and see his head fall onto the side. He fell asleep in less than a minute. Motionless, you fell some kind of anger, irritation. You want to wake him up, kiss him until he'll be gasping for breath. Instead, you lie down next to him, eyebrows frowned. You hear his steady breath and turn away from him. When you close your eyes, you can see those two green spots in the darkness, like the eyes of a cat staring at you. You recall the sight of his wet body and you already know that if you don't stop right now, you'll end up satisfying yourself with your palm, right next to him, nonetheless. So you try thinking about something disgusting and soon enough you fall asleep too, or at least it would seem so. In the middle of the night, you feel his hands against your back, which make you flip over. His eyes are wide open and fixated on you.
'Why do you always put me back together' he mumbles barely audibly and you smile lightly at these words. You brush away some hair from his forehead and put your head up on your arm.
'If that wasn't for me, who'd be your hero, eh?'
You're both probably equally surprised when Arthur leans over and kisses you on the corner of mouth, his eyes completely sober. You don't let his run away, even though you know, you can see it in his eyes, how he's planning to turn around, fall asleep, escape, escape, escape, anything to escape. You rise up violently and stop him right where he is, grasping slightly too hard, maybe, you can see fear in his eyes. But you're fed up with pretending, his escapes and awkward behavior. You kiss him slowly, still holding in place, not letting him go. You can feel his arms tense, it's as if he wanted to turn away. As a response you decide to press your lips harder against his, finally he relaxes. For a moment you lost your guard and he slips away onto the pillow, pulling up down by your slippers. You simply smile and lean over him – how great not to have him complain or grumble. Perhaps you found a way to sedate him? You explore his body with your lips and fingers, inch by inch. You've been dreaming about this evening almost every single night, but you never imagined it'd happen so quickly, so simply, as if it was about somebody else. Heat is rising, as you hear Arthur moaning quietly, answering to your touch on his thighs or stomach, your lips kissing trails on his oversensitive skin. It is something completely different than sex with women. Their reactions were basically all the same, as long as you gave them enough time and words, each left satisfied. That was always pleasurable, of course, however nothing, no women could evoke such reaction in you as Arthur was doing right now. The way he just looked in your eyes, half-shut, his lips slightly trembling, as if he wanted to say something; head leaned to the side, stand of hair stuck to his cheek, apparently you haven't dried them well enough after the shower; and these sounds he made for each kiss; low, vibrating purr, piercing you to the core; the way he arched his back, when you meticulously caressed his neck and right ear (noting he has two beauty spots between his ear and neck); his hands wandering on your back, you felt that he tries being shy, but at the same time is just as impatient as you, as if you both wanted all at once, though you know, no, you just wish this moment lasted forever; Arthur throws his head up upon the next kiss and leans it over your shoulder, whispers something. Hot air tickles you lightly, you nod your head and plant a long passionate kiss, making him fall on the pillow. You pull a condom out of your pants' pocket (bending impossibly in order to reach them from the floor) and you search fervently for something on your nightstand; found it – good thing the last girl who slept here left her Vaseline. You smile thinking she had used it for entirely different purposes than you will now; one look at Arthur and you can barely restrain yourself from pouncing on him; chest moving quickly, one hand covering blushed lips, striving for air, slightly swollen from the kisses; his eyes are foggy, but in entirely different way than they always are; the other hand lies on his stomach, as if trying to cover completely understandable excitement; you look at his thin arms, thin chest, thin legs and suddenly you're scared you're gonna break him; Arthur clenches his eyes and pants something, and suddenly you have absolutely no objections. It takes you but a second to get on top of him again, you want to lift his legs up, but he does it on his own; you smile. The cream's cap ends up thrown somewhere behind your back and you squeeze it out on your palm, having lots to spare. Taking a glimpse at Arthur, you hope he's not afraid. But he looks completely nothing like a worried person, he even seems to be rushing you a little. Your forehead frowns a little, as you push certain thoughts to the back of your head; no time for that, you can find out later. It's curious whether this whole preparation for sex thing may actually be pleasant for Arthur – but it seems that way, his head thrown back and hands grasping at your hamburger sheets don't suggest otherwise. When Arthur throws a curse in the air, through his teeth clenched, you kiss his arm and enter him slowly; Arthur breaths are jerky, he tries to catch air in every way possible; you also have problems with that, this feeling of unbelievable closeness you've never experienced before is crushing you; at first you both move in some sort of an odd, completely chaotic, uneven pace; with time, though, the rhythm stabilizes and you end up moving as one; the thought itself, how close you're with him now, here, that it is below you that he bends and moans with his voice broken; you see his green eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of yours, but keep slipping away, numb with pleasure; you both are; you kiss him fiercely, and stroke his thighs with your hungry fingertips; you can feel beads of sweat trickling down your back and Arthur's fingers digging into your arm, your back; An impression, a hope, that they'll stay there forever, that this pleasant feeling won't ever leave, this pure, basic pleasure, feeling of complete submission – as you are both now devoted to each other; you know, you just know that if this is your first and the last time with him, you will never feel anything like that again; Arthur scream and it is a scream full of exultation; you move in the same way again and cause a similar reaction; the pace is even faster now, you can feel both of you are reaching the edge now; but you don't want, you don't want to finish, not yet, you haven't preserved him well enough in your memory; hair scattered on the pillow, oh my, flushed cheeks, God, bitten lip, faster, light outlines of the hickeys you gave him, faster, dammit; but Arthur's grasp on your neck is getting tighter, you lower yourself, you can almost feel the pain in your arms on such a fancy position; and then your vision goes blank, you feel the last arch of Arthur's back and next thing you know, you fall onto the bed next to him.
You both pant heavily, air still full of sex. The faster your breaths are calming down, and the colder the air start to feel, the sooner the last minutes dissolve, as if they were never to come back. The clearness with which you could see is fading and you try moving your hand nervously to grasp onto the previous sensations. You turn towards Arthur, but you can't see his face – he covered himself with an arm. You want to rise up, give him a blanket, but he simply turns around, his face still invisible and hugs into you. At first you feel slightly uncomfortable, but still, you put on a duvet on both of you and pull him in a close embrace, so that he can feel you are ready to put him back together, as he said it in his own funny way. He puts his hand on your chest and something is tempting you terribly to look at his face right now. You're hoping that tomorrow he won't wake you up with a shriek, won't stop talking to you (he'd start again either way, you were never good at the lack of contact or all that childish stuff). You kiss the top of his head and smell the scent of shampoo. Arthur is breathing slowly and you think him asleep. You pull back a little and want to raise his chin up, he hides his head between arms and mumbles to you, to curses, go back to sleep and aren't you tired after all the sex. You feel like laughing at this tone of his, it sounds as if he was scolding an unfortunate child to stop watching cartoons in the middle of the night and went to sleep instead, not as if he's just experienced the greatest pleasure of his life, in the arms of another man, nonetheless. Because you are absolutely sure that Arthur has never been with anyone before and this was an unforgettable night for him. You whisper a soft goodnight and pull him closer in a possessive way. You're sure he'll start grumbling in a second and it is likely that he's already frowning those impressive eyebrows of his, but he says nothing and soon you both fall asleep or at least that's what you think.
As you don't know that for the next few hours Arthur will be smiling to himself, with an angelic expression, trying to contain quiet sobs of relief and happiness.
Once you're awake in the morning, you've got an impression this was just another vivid night fantasy of yours. But a warm body by your side, breathing quietly and mumbling in its sleep, make you smile broadly and lean your head on an arm, looking at slightly ruffled, sleeping Arthur. You kiss his lips and he opens his eyes, at first quite unsure where he is and what happened, and you begin to pray to God for England to remember everything. You'll even go on a diet, just make him remember. Arthur blinks several times and covers his eyes, blinded by the morning sun. He stretches in a bright rays and you feel tickling in your chest, seeing that. Arthur, sprawled in you bed, tousled and sleepy. That's the way it should always be, why wasn't it?
'What would you fancy for breakfast? I will not let you feed me with those abominable fast-food of yours.' Arthur murmurs under his breath and gets up, wrapping himself with a blanket. You pick up the bathrobe from the floor and hand it over to him with a smile, pointing at kitchen at the same time.
'I could use some of tha'Brit breakfast of yours, I'm starving' you grin at him and Arthur rolls his eyes, but you still spot a blush blooming on his ears. He must have guessed the hidden meaning of that sentence. You pull on your shorts and follow to the kitchen, embrace Arthur from behind and put your chin on his shoulder just as he finishes cutting bacon. You know it must be a bit of a nuisance for him, but whatever, he has to get used to it. As you're waiting for the eggs to be fried, you put your hands up his bathrobe and without waiting for any protest, you murmur into his ear:
'Once we're done with it, we gonna take a bath.'