Apologies for a late chapter~! Both of us have been rather busy recently…;;
Lots of headcanon in this chapter, I'm afraid.
Chapter Three: Cats, Ravens, Crotches
Flits and flickers of sunlight streamed into the seeps of the curtains, the radiance gradually sliding up, up, up until they settled on the giant lump amid the bed. The chartreuse sheets gleamed, rustled rustically from the way the lump was slowly, soothingly heaving up and down. A few random limbs stuck out from under the covers: an arm, part of a leg. Two blonde figured nestled together, foreheads pressed against each other's, close together.
After a long, long, pleasure filled night, in which both nations showed the other just how much he was missed - exhaustion, and deep sleep. They hadn't meant that to happen - it was merely for a break, when they both slipped under the covers, sweat soaking and slicking skin and sheets, when they both promptly fell asleep and had unconsciously cuddled together. This was their current predicament.
Peaceful. The battering of rain had ceased, it was wonderfully calm and comfortable.
Then a clatter. A faint scratching like noise. And like that, a cerulean eye cracked open, finding himself centimetres away from his British love. A faint, peaceful smile was on those perfect lips, that Alfred dipped to plant an air light kiss on, and the American did his best not to move as he inched his way out of bed. Arthur's bed.
What he wouldn't have given, a year ago, to be here now. A broad grin lit up Alfred's face as he grabbed boxers, slipping them on along with a t-shirt he'd quietly unpacked, when the tinkling noise and quiet scratching happened again.
The American stopped and looked back at Arthur - serene and seemingly not bothered by this noise. Scratching. The American opened the door, and stepped outside, looking around just so cautiously. "Hello - AAAaaaaarrrghhh!"
The furry ball fell off his face, hopped of his shoulder, and slipped into Arthur's room.
For the first time since yesterday evening, Arthur's body went without Alfred's body plush next to his. Even in his sleep, he noticed the change - darkened eyebrows furrowing in recognition and in need, and fingertips flexing for the man that had departed from him. His hands soon found the warm of him in the sheets of the spot next to him, and he subconsciously rolled over to that side; seeking out the smell of him. Though that, as a task, was not hard. Alfred's presence was smothered all over him - a result of love-making through the entire night.
Alfred's shout was not what woke him up. It was a cold feel on the tip of his nose that finally got Arthur's eyes moving behind his lids and body tensing in reaction. At first he shook his head away from the strange touch, with a insignificant 'nn' passing his lips despondingly. Then, when a sudden weight toppled onto his chest, Arthur's eyes flew wide open and snapped up to a sitting stance; object on his torso slipping down to his lap.
"What was—Oh!" Instantly, his shocked face turned to one of adoration. "There you are!"
Upon his lap was, without a doubt, a medium sized cat - a Scottish fold of breed with a mainly white coat but with small, ginger additions. Due to the breed, its ears flopped cutely and apathetically down. Arthur reached to stroke them, smile absolutely dominating his face as the cat sat proudly and winningly, kneading the duvet underneath its paws. "You sweet little thing! I was wondering where you were—Did you go hunting? Did you? I hope you didn't leave me another present downstairs... Do you know how hard it is to get a grasshopper out of your house?"
Arthur was cooing at it, the little monster! Alfred stared, and stared, and then just pouted. Had his loving boyfriend ever even used that special tone of voice on him before, that sweet little tone he was using to the - was that a cat?
The fur ball - it just crept there and stretched and purred and practically claimed Arthur's lap as its territory, the monster did! And his poor Arthur didn't realize it, still captivated by its deceivingly sweet furry face, he talked to the thing like it was human. Alfred strode up, intent on grabbing the thing by the scruff of its neck and tossing it where it belonged: out of Arthur's lap, Arthur's bed, and everything else that was American territory.
"I'll get it, Arthur, no worries!"
Arthur looked up at Alfred as if he finally remembered that Alfred was there, eyes blinking as if he was pleasantly surprised. The smile remained, stretching that little bit further, and Arthur cocked his head marginally to the side as if trying to discern what the American meant. "Get what?" He wondered aloud.
A sharp, attention-seeking miaow sounded and Arthur's focus turned straight back onto his cat. It stretched its paws up, elongating its body and patting around the Briton's collar like it was hugging him, and Arthur wrapped his arms around the pussy cat in consequence. Stroking the fur till it was turning sleek in his hands, Arthur muttered more silly and nonsensical drivel to the thing. "—Do you want some fish? Do you? Do you, you little devil, you?" He chirruped before glancing up at his boyfriend again. "Alfred! This is Henry—He's my little baby. Aren't you, Hen? Aren't you?"
It had leapt to the safety and warmth of Arthur's arms (more of what was Alfred's, mind), and was now trying to seduce his boyfriend away. Henry, as it was apparently called, purred and nuzzled and did all sorts of stupid cuddly cat techniques. And Arthur was eating it all up. "Arthur..." The American perched at the edge of the bed, pouting again. "That thing scratched me." Pitifully. "And it woke me up. And now, how am I supposed to kiss you when it's in the way?"
Jealous of Kitty - Achievement Unlocked.
Arthur ruffled the fluff under Henry's neck as he looked over at his boyfriend, smile wiping off of his face. Alfred was right - he could see a scratch on his cheek. What on Earth was Henry doing getting so close to Alfred's face? "You must have angered him, then?" Arthur suggested. "He's lovely to me but he's a right tom cat to anyone else. France came once and he scratched the living daylights out of him - I must have fed him fresh fish for the whole week afterwards. Come on, love. He just needs to get accustomed to you."
A pout, but for Arthur, Alfred bravely extended a finger to the kitty, blue eyes still grazing over Henry with an air of offended mistrust. He sized it up. Fluffy tail, floppy ears - very sly - lazy green eyes, and... "Arthur? Did you say, uh, his name was Henry?"
"Yes, indeed I did!" Arthur called happily, shifting Henry off of his lap so that the cat was laying next to Alfred, tummy facing skywards in the air. He slinked out of the bed and moved to his cupboard in the search for some clothes; still naked after the night before, residues of then remaining on his slim thighs. He scrutinised a shirt inside, rubbing the fabric. "I'd tell you his full name, but you will make fun of me."
"I was about to make fun of you anyhow, so you might as well tell me..." The American stared at Henry - as it has been called, stared at its snowy white chest, milky stomach, its... his... her... oh dear. "Arthur, darling, erm..." All hard feelings at the kitty vanished, replaced with some pity.
The cat rolled over a few times, smothering Arthur's side of the bed with cat hair - as if possessively claiming the area back from the scent of Alfred. With Henry's stomach in the air, it was absolutely clear that there were a number of nipples going down each side. The cat, without a shadow of a doubt, was female. And for some reason, Arthur had not noticed, automatically assuming its gender.
"Sir Henry Randolph Miaowingtons..." Arthur muttered unhappily under his breath. Personally, he thought it was really cute. But when he told it to Francis last, the Frenchman had laughed so hard that he almost suffocated the bastard. What a shame he didn't. At the call, Arthur turned to face his lover, beginning to shove one of his punk band t-shirts over himself. "What is it, Alfred?"
But Alfred wasn't there. He'd fallen off the bed, laughing his heart out. And he'd thought Henry was a stupid name...oh, Arthur really was cute, adorable, the American rolled and tried to hide it, but Lord... "S-sorry! Sorry, it just...ahaha, Miaowingtons!" After a few gasps of air, he struggled up, look one look at the cat, and went under again.
"S-Shut up!" Arthur snapped at him, and threw the coat hanger that he nicked his t-shirt from over till it clonked Alfred on the head. How dare he laugh at him? It was an adorable name! It suited his little kitty cat down to the ground, and who was everyone else to judge? Fine! He was a cat person, and where was the shame in that? Tons of cat owners called their kittens silly things! Huffing, the Briton returned to get dressed fully. When the cat miaowed, he nodded. "Yes, well! I love your name too, Hen."
The cat purred and nudged its master's hand fondly, as Alfred rose from the ground, clutching his head. "Ooow, I said I was sorry, baby, why so harsh this morning?" Jealous feelings returned, his adorable boyfriend parading around, he hadn't even gotten his good morning kiss yet! "Arthur? Your cat is clearly a girl - Arthur?"
"Nonsense! Henry is not a girl, Alfred. I had him spayed. That's for boy cats, you idiot." Arthur scowled at him, after putting underwear on and hopping into a pair of skin-tight black jeans to complete his look. No. No, it wasn't. It was so easy to get the two operations mixed up for the genders, yet Arthur was so sure of himself. As he fixed himself up, he turned to Alfred and spanned his arms. "Well? Am I not going to get a good morning greeting?" It was like he read Alfred's mind at that moment, though easily turned the blame onto the other instead.
"T-that's terrible! And that's not for boy—" Distraction number one. Had Alfred ever told his boyfriend just how much he loved that punk look of his? His hair was still mussed, he looked annoyed, those legs - Said American flew over and swept Arthur into his arms, pushing their lips together. "Mmph...you are, you are…" he assured, through the clashing of lips. His hands slipped down.
Finally, the now seemingly grumpy cat - of which was watching them intently now, like it was disapproving of the touches - became ignored, as Arthur lost all of his thoughts about the animal in favour of appreciating his lover instead. The Englishman wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and accepted his kiss, pushing back with the same degree of intensity. He moaned at the contact, arching into Alfred's hands. Their fire still very much alight. "Like me in skinnys, do you?" Arthur mused, chuckling. "I should have known you're into the Brit punk look. British invasion, indeed."
"It's fucking sexy as Hell," Alfred informed, running his hands up those slim, denim covered thighs and to those hips, pulling him in. "You should dress like this more often, damn it." Another sloppy, wet kiss, easing his head back, tasting and probing through his mouth. Satisfied noises from both before pulling away, Alfred's blue eyes on fire. He stepped off quickly. "Before it's pointless for you to have put that on in the first place, how about breakfast? I'll cook something."
"Alfred F. Jones's amazing cooking skills, wow, how honoured I would be." Arthur muttered sarcastically, before shaking his head and smiling encouragingly. Alfred was not a bad cook, in honesty. He had tasted it before - it was the problem of him eating too much fatty foods that the Englishman tended to discourage.
Arthur took Alfred's hand boldly and started to lead the both of them away from his bedroom, down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Once there, he glared at the cupboards as if they had wronged him. "Now... I think I bought some bacon and eggs, those'll be in the fridge. I've got cereals if you want them? Only frosties and cheerios, I'm afraid. Nothing extravagant like your 'Captain Crunch' or 'Count Chocula' or whatever. I got some juice in case you're the 'ooh, let's have freshly squeezed OJ with my brekkie!' type."
"I have the most perfect boyfriend in the world." How adorable was that little speech? Alfred shook his head in amusement and detached them, going to the fridge and tossing out some basic ingredients, mushrooms, cheese, eggs, bacon - the like. He searched for a pan - yes, there was one hanging by the fridge, he saw, and took it up, stifling a smile at the chipped blackness at the bottom. Yes, Arthur had tried to cook for them yesterday, he recalled. Clearing the remnants of that battle, he set it on the stove and flicked on the fire. "Hope you're okay with omelettes. And...oh. If you want to help," he added, seeing his boyfriend hopefully look at the sizzling. "You can pour the OJ."
Arthur grumbled gruffly, going to the fridge to retrieve the carton of orange juice. Personally, he was more of an apple juice type - but whatever floated Alfred's boat. He got him out a glass and started pouring. Then, classically, a distraction hit him. Arthur did not realise that he was staring at Alfred's lean body as the man messed around with preparing the ingredients until a strange wetness hit his foot. Looking over, Arthur yelped and straightened the carton. He looked horrified as he gazed at the mess he had made, orange juice having poured over the top of the glass and spilled all over his kitchen surface. "Oh, for the Gods—!" Arthur threw his hands in the air and quickly warbled around, searching for the absorbent kitchen roll.
The shout made Alfred look up from his sizzling bacon bits and mushroom omelette, and he grinned again. Maybe Arthur was feminine, but he did not belong in the kitchen. At all. Setting the spatula down for a bit, the American located the roll and tossed it over. "Tough luck, Artie! Maybe...you can help by, um, setting the table instead." A small smile, eyes warm, as he turned back and flipped the two perfectly made omelettes.
Arthur stared jealously at Alfred as he made the omelette with ease, narrowing his eyes at the actions he was taking. He hoped he knew how infuriating that was to watch, while he was dabbing the kitchen side dry of orange juice. It was only because of distractions, Arthur vowed to himself. Just distractions. "Christ, I feel like I'm being made love to by Gordon Ramsey..." He mumbled. With less wrinkles, obviously.
"Whose name did you put instead of mine, now, baby?" Alfred flipped the omelettes, golden yellow and steaming, onto two plates neatly. He looked in the fridge - aha. Strawberries. Fun to play with and eat. He took the red fruit and placed two on each plate in the shape of a heart and served, grinning, saving the rest of the strawberries for later. "Alright, breakfast time!" A cheerful laugh, he grabbed the glasses of orange juice, set them on the table.
"Hey, what about the cat?"
After finishing with the table and sitting down, Arthur licked is lips as he looked at what Alfred had cooked for him. Heavens, it looked wonderful. Francis used to cook for him back in the day, but he would never object to Alfred having a go too. Carefully picking up a strawberry between two fingers, Arthur kissed the tip of it and bit in, moaning in satisfaction. He loved the fruit so much... "Mm, what about the cat?"
Oh, fuck, what was he saying again? A cat or something? Watching Arthur eat seemed like a much better hobby, Alfred decided, and he slid into his seat, felt around for his fork and tried to eat without moving his gaze. "I...never mind." Distracting...
"If you still want to go out today, I'll be all for it. I could show you a few places that are important to me, if you wanted?" Arthur asked of him, watching intently while his teeth and tongue went back to work to suck and chew on the strawberry. Swallowing, he wiped the juice away with the back of his wrist. Heck, he had not exactly laid out napkins for just breakfast - and he was not going to let it dribble down his chin now, was he?
Alfred grabbed that wrist and brought it to his mouth, lapping the juice off of the fair skin, captivated. He let go, grinning. "Mm, sure. As long as it's not some old boring place full of angry people yelling "Yank! Yank!" at me again." Alfred turned back to his breakfast, popped some of the omelette into his mouth, and chewed.
"Again?" Arthur asked, laughing at the sheer idea of it. Alfred was such a cute little puppy of a man when he wanted to be. He reached over the table, stroking his lover's cheek as he chewed, watching him adoringly. "No, don't worry. I'll take you to places you'll like. I promise you. We'll skip the eye, since it's not worth riding. You'll get bored seeing the crown jewels and the library too, so... I guess I might take you to see the tower? I'd let you see Big Ben, but you've seen it before, and I still remember your remarks..."
A snicker, rather, at the last comment. "You know, Big Ben ain't so big compared to the empire state, or even - ah, I'll shut up, I'll shut up!" He turned his head just so, flicking his tongue out suggestively between his lover's fingers before laughing, and taking another bite. "Sure. I'd go anywhere with you."
"I-It doesn't matter if I'm smaller than you! Big Ben has nothing to do with it, and I'm not exactly small anyway! I swear!" Arthur groaned out defensively, pulling his hand away in reaction to it being effectively licked. He begrudgingly started to stab his omelette, continuing eating and shunning the American for a few moments as a result. Finally he placed his fork down. "It doesn't matter when it's your cock that I'm riding on anyway, and I like it that way around."
"...Can I get that in writing?" Alfred finished off his omelette, leaning over and kissing his love on the cheek. "I was kidding. You're pretty big too," he soothed, rather Humoring his tough little love. "I like it that way too. I hope it stays that way, huh?" The man leaned over the back of Arthur's chair now, drawing little circles down his spine.
"I don't have any intention of changing it, unless you do? It's just something that I'm uncomfortable with, if you can understand." Arthur told him, laying a hand over his own.
He had topped before in his past, but... no. He could not do that again. He used to be a pirate, of sorts. The linked raping and pillaging was something that he, as a reformed, loving and sensitive man, wanted to keep buried. He would never do it again, so he willingly surrendered himself to anyone as their submissive partner. He did not want to remember. It gave him much more sanctity and pleasure that way. Those days were over, and, contrary to popular opinion - he was glad.
"Oh, I can promise you: I don't mind at all," Alfred assured. He'd been thrilled to learn that Arthur preferred a dominant partner, and he was more than thrilled to be the one to fill that request. "We can keep it this way. Doubt we'll get tired of it, really..." The American yawned, standing up, downing some orange juice. "Hey, you know that sex burns more calories than my usual workouts?"
"Does this mean that I'm going to make you even fitter?" Arthur asked, peering at him curiously. A hand extended and dragged down Alfred's perfected muscles, flexing over the washboard of hardness underneath his skin. Arthur took one last bite of omelette before straightening up and moving to stand next to his man, tilting his neck - annoyingly - to look at him in the eyes. Though he was not shorter by much, one or two inches meant a lot.
"Would you like that?" A prideful gleam in those blue eyes as Alfred looked down into Amazonian pools of crisp, clear green. His own hands went around Arthur's slender waist, rubbing the edges of skin that showed under his t-shirt. "I love your body the way it is." Slender, flexible, lean - with that beautifully pale skin. "You're a beautiful country."
"You, contrarily, are an idiot. But I would not want to have you any other way." Arthur smiled, kissing the American's chin in adoration. There was so much about Alfred that he loved, as a country as well as a man. On the surface, he was variant and beautiful with an environment that was stunning – never mind the people and his thoughts, and the way that he butchered his language and made stupid sounding cereals; his land, his looks, everything was gorgeous. Why would he want the golden haired body any other way?
They were a godly pair, weren't they? Perfect. For each other, at least. Made for each other, found for each other, undefeatable if together and ever so vulnerable apart. Alfred pressed his lips to his boyfriend's forehead. "You're sweet. But so, so gay. You know that?"
"I know for a fact that that is not an objection," Arthur purred, licking a small line under the American's Adam's apple, gnawing slightly on the protruding nub.
Distraction. Whatever the American was going to say next vanished, and he gazed at his boyfriend through slightly hazed eyes, shivering at the touch. "Arthur...you'd better stop that..."
Arthur pulled away slyly, giving Alfred a certain indistinguishable look. He glanced his boyfriend over, before a witty smile pulled over his expression. "Aah, that's right. You don't want to have a hard-on while we're out now, do you?" He said in a low, sexily mumbling tone. "Very well, I won't help you. Go get yourself ready, love. I'll show you a good time." Precisely chosen words.
A slight raise of the eyebrows to Arthur, showing that he'd better not do anything bad, before Alfred padded back to the bedroom and changed, faded jeans with natural tears, Green Day T-shirt, and a very worn pair of Vans. It was there that he leaned against the wall thinking about things like dead rats, taxes, communism, Russians, poverty, and more Russians, as he calmed himself down and cleared his mind of England for that minute.
After hearing Alfred finish, Arthur approached his lover; a smirk appearing on his face at how odd it was that they were seeming to match. Punk and a downplayed rocker, by the look of it. It was sweet, really. Neither of them were dressed as their actual age. The Briton stroked Alfred's chest and led him to the front door with nothing more than a teasing wave of his hand. "Ready to go?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," came the reply, as they stepped out. Alfred was more than aware that this meant displaying his dead gorgeous boyfriend to the rest of his people, and kept an extra protective state of mind on him, a hand barely touching the small of his back in a highly possessive gesture. "So, where is it we're going?"
"There it is." Arthur murmured gladly, resting his arms upon the stone wall as he looked on at the well-made structure of the tower of London. Back in the day, nobody else had seen anything like it. When William the Conqueror built it in the 1080s, it was as much a simple masterpiece as it is now. From a fortress, to a palace and then to a prison, the tower of London had so many stories and legends that he could not even hope to tell Alfred in one afternoon. "...Served as a prison for a lot of its days, but it has its own secrets too. I believe that several skeletons were buried in one of the walls, some conspiracy to do with the monarchy, but I've avoided paying attention to it too much."
It didn't look very big, compared to some things, or very grand, but it had a style of its own. It was solemn looking now that Arthur had described the history - creepy too. Alfred felt a few chills run down his spine. "...I really don't like skeletons," was the comment. Vampires, zombies, cool. Not skeletons, however. "It's not very friendly lookin', now is it?"
"It's not supposed to be," Arthur grinned maliciously, something peculiar glinting in his eye as he gazed upon up, head now nestled in his hands. Re-living many memories. "Historically, it's a horrible place. Dangerous and mythical combined. Do you know about the Ravens of the tower?"
The blue eyes went wide like a little kid's. Personally, Alfred didn't like ravens much either, after what they did to Poe, and he didn't want to hear much. "No..." He admitted. "It's probably really boring, right...?"
"It concerns me, actually. On a more personal level," Arthur purred, gazing upwards at their cleverly rounded steeples. "'If the ravens leave the Tower, the Kingdom will fall'. If the six ravens in the tower - mind, there are seven right now, just in case - then apparently it signifies my death. Charles II insisted it, and the King's word always is truth in this country. Or at least, it was back when the Monarchy had power."
Ravens meaning death? Oh, fuck. "Arthur, sweetheart, for you...I'd catch all the ravens in the world and cram them into that tower. That's fucking terrible." Stupid kings and their stupid ideas! And Arthur- the man's eyes were shining! How on earth was he not creeped out by this ghetto tower, Alfred seriously wondered. "Let's go to the next place...it's cold."
"It's fine, Alfred. One of each of their wings are clipped to stop them from flight. Not that they would like to leave regardless. My birds are treated like royalty. In fact, Ivan's boss popped around at some point. One of the ravens said 'Good Morning' to each of his men!" Arthur told him in a surprisingly soft, nurturing tone. "I have been cheating death in this way for quite a while now, I lead myself to believe. I might be striving for immortality more than I should."
White grey swirls of cloud reigned overhead, a bright, cold day, and Alfred looked at his boyfriend's perfectly serene face. In his own habitat, his world, every colour on him was perfect, ivories and emeralds, the contrast remarkable. He was beautiful in a godlike way. "Keep striving. We've wasted so much time before. We gotta make up for it with the rest of forever. Better not die on me. 'specially not for a few ravens." Alfred leaned up against the wall, looking at him.
"Don't worry, my love. I don't intend on dying yet," Arthur smirked in return, eyes set alight with a sense of life beyond that which he usually displayed - though the smile did seem unusually out of place. Sadness possibly existing underneath. The sun was shining behind him, with a practical halo of light surrounding his figure. He look a liberty, reaching out and taking hold of Alfred's hand. A quick squeeze was all the reassurance that the Briton was willing to give. "Not when I have something in particular to live for."
Sweetest thing his old man ever said. Alfred squeezed back at the promising pressure, it was such a beautiful, picturesque scene. How could he waste it? "Better live forever." Their lips were smashed together, dominating hands pushing him up securely against the railing.
Thank Gosh for that railing as well, or Arthur would have most likely toppled off of the wall due to the force of that kiss. Despite how public they were, in a country that had still not altogether accepted homosexuality with another that had the same problem, Arthur did not give it a thought or a care. He kissed back, hand pushing into Alfred's hair.
In turn, Alfred deepened the kiss and swept his tongue inside, forcefully tasting and probing and feeling and making him melt as best as he could. One blue eye flicked open - some shocked tourists, a couple of disgusted businessmen - who cared?
There was only Arthur, his Arthur, in his arms.
Not too long afterwards, Arthur pulled out of the kiss and swallowed gulps of air. He kept close, noses brushing as he panted lightly against Alfred's lips, little trail of saliva between them taking its time before breaking. He gave one clear, precise laugh and massaged Alfred's head through his hair. "...First time you've kissed me in public..." He said.
Alfred's hands slipped from his shoulders to his thin waist, well hidden by that shirt of his, looking him over. "It wouldn't be the last," came the proud promise. Alfred loved his boyfriend and would show him off to anyone.
Arthur reached up, brushing a few strands out of Alfred's face and away from his glasses so that he could look at his lover easily in the eyes. A light but knowing smile appeared on Arthur's face; the rarest of treats, a subtle reminder that he was happy. "I know it won't." He said quietly. "...Come on, let's go get something to eat."
Omnomnomnom. Nomnomnom. Nom - Alfred finished his third burger and wiped his mouth with a napkin, grinning. "Gee, Art, was sure nice of you to let us eat here, hahaha!" The American picked up a fourth and unwrapped it, inhaling the heavenly scent and took another large bite of bread, lettuce, tomato, cheese, beef, onions, pickles, and saucy goodness. "'ow 'ours?"
Arthur just stared blankly at his boyfriend, crooked and uncertain look on his face. He had held up one of his chicken nuggets to his lips but had not taken a single bite of his food. Nice of Alfred not to notice he hadn't, just saying. He had gotten too distracted by the American's eating habits to rid his hunger himself. "...E-Er..." Arthur hesitantly raised a finger and indicated around his mouth. "You've got, erm. A bit of sauce..."
"Hm?" Alfred tried to look down, swallowing his mouthful, sauce and grease all over his mouth. He was really not the most attractive man when eating McDonalds... "I don't see it. Lick it off?" He teased at his boyfriend.
"Uh." Arthur groaned, taking one of the napkins that he had cunningly collected earlier and dabbed it on Alfred's chin to get rid of the excess sauce that had dribbled down as a substitute for his lips. "Look, Alfred. When I thought of us having a day out together, romantically, I really did not think of... this place."
The American stayed still until after he'd finished his cleaning then took another bite of his cheeseburger. "It was a romantic day! We kissed!" His voice was excited, cheerful, and oh dear, there went the fourth burger. "Besides, this place is totally romantic. There are... flowers on the window sill." He unwrapped his fifth and last burger, taking another bite. "Mmmm."
"Yes. Plastic flowers that are just about as romantic as a pigeon defecating." The Briton quickly retorted, placing his hand on his cheek. "Look... much as I do not want to be the sort of person that mothers you at every opportunity - do you not think that you're eating too much? And too quickly? If you get indigestion on the way back to mine, I will say 'I told you so' and be proud about it."
"You're acting like such a woman, Artie," came the comment, as the American licked his fingers and finished off the fifth just as fast as the first. He gave Arthur a small smile. "No worries. I've done all this before and more, I'll be fine!" All the trash, he layered onto one tray, grabbing another napkin and wiping off his fingers.
Arthur eyed the now empty pile of burger wrappers, feeling his own stomach churn at the thought of chugging all of those down. Suddenly, he was even less hungry than he thought he was. "A woman, was it...? Yes, well." He paused, taking a deep steadying breath. "Honestly, I was expecting you to direct us to a nice fancy restaurant so we could, I don't know, bond over a nice meal and a nice atmosphere. Rather than being surrounded by kicking and screaming kids, this is."
Alfred could hear the slight bit of disappointment in his lover's voice, and quickly backtracked, wiping his mouth clean. "Sweetheart, it's only six. And you know...we could still go to a nice place, huh? How about that?" And after thought, a quick comment. "You make this place fancy and valuable to me."
"Not when you've had five burgers and are soon likely to be offered the entirety of my chicken nuggets as well, we aren't. You'll be too full to eat later." Arthur complained, dropping the nugget in his hand and passing the whole MaccyD's meal towards the American. He sat back in his chair afterwards, crossing his arms. "Lovely as the sweet talk is, it has no merit. A child screamed in my ear earlier, I hope you know. I only said yes to coming here because you looked like I kicked Bambi when I initially refused."
"Honey, precious-" The American got up and went behind that chair. "We can still make romance without a fancy dinner, can't we? We'll have a nice walk later...I'll get you some roses, your favourites, alright?" Some of it was whispered into his ear, the American's hands rubbing at the soft skin at his boyfriend's collar, the base of his neck.
Arthur scowled, tipping his neck away and looking off in another direction, refusing to fall prey to Alfred's subtle techniques - or to at least to give him the impression that it was not working. He did, however, release the tension in his shoulders in tune with Alfred's rubs. "You should know by now that I am not that easy." Lies, every word of it.
His boyfriend hummed and manoeuvred his hands over to gently rub over his shoulders, cooing in encouragement as he felt the tension leave, breath still tickling the back of Arthur's next. "Hey. I never said you were, beautiful. I was just wondering if you wanted to go on a date, Hm? Look at how tense you are..." The fingers kneaded into a few hard kinks in his boyfriend's neck area. "Just say yes."
"...I... I won't fall to your cheap tricks and lunacy!" Arthur objected, covering his face with one outstretched hand. Gosh, with Alfred acting like this, he wondered how many children were looking unto them with interest and parents in disgust. Finally, taking no more of it, he grumbled and threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Let's! Christ, let's get a fucking gondola and sing about moons and pizzas! Drown ourselves in wine and have sex on the streets! Gosh, our evening will be so damned active!" He added sarcastically.
"Not that that isn't totally appealing to me," came the reply. "But keep your lovely voice down. There's a little girl over there, and she just ran away." The American straightened in triumph, and pulled his boyfriend up with him. "Come on. I know where we can go..."
Now, when he first came out, he did expect that he would end up having bollocks thrust deliberately straight in front of his face; but not quite like this. Arthur watched - unable to look away, totally mesmerised - as one of the strippers monopolised him, rocking his hips in time with the overly loud music and pressing his shoulders back into the comfortable but squeaky sofa seats. He eyed Alfred to the side of him, trying to forget the blush on his cheeks and the fact he was crossing his legs very, very hard. A significantly tipsy look was dominating the Briton's features, and he took another hard sip of his cocktail. Ha, get it? Cock. "...Whutsimatter? You've hardly touched your drink...!" He slurred, arching up as the stripper ran his hands down his chest.
At that, Alfred glanced over, his expression half amused and half annoyed, watching for now with his arms crossed. Unlike Arthur, his legs were not crossed, but like him, he was getting hard and hot and just wasn't bothering to hide it. Personally, he thought Arthur was cuter and far more sexy than any one in the entire building, and he thought that maybe Arthur was drinking one cocktail too many, but - "Hey." The American's hand reached out and slapped the stripper's deviating hand away from his boyfriend's crotch. "That's not yours," he informed, his eyes constantly on his boyfriend now rather than the mass of moving men in front of him.
"Alfred—He's just doing his job." Arthur defended the stripper, and nodded so that the muscular and barely concealed man could start riding his lap again. The Briton squirmed slightly, licking his lips and relaxing back easily. "As I recall... y'were the one that wanted tuh come 'ere... cus it's a laugh or summat..." His accent jumped all around the Kingdom when he was in a half-drunken state, speech impaired enough to reflect that he had been drinking some. He did think at first it was strange, but he had gotten into it so quickly. It was far too clear how homosexual Arthur was, when he was put in this type of position. Quite literally.
And as hot as that position was, Alfred could feel jealousy now with his arousal. It was probably just that Arthur was drunk beyond belief, wasted, horny, hot, but it did still give his boyfriend chills when another man got that close, and was defended by that sweet mouth. "It is a laugh, Art...don't you think you've had too much to drink, now?" Alfred plucked the beverage out of the Briton's hand and sipped some, eyes roaming through the crowd again.
There. A slightly shorter, brown haired creature danced by, and the American boldly pulled him over by that - was that a skirt? Wasn't a kilt - he wad wearing, pressing a five dollar bill into his clothing, making sure that Arthur could see even in his drunken state. The brown-haired male gave a seductive smile, understanding the situation.
"N-Nonshunce..." Arthur fumbled with his words again, before he glanced over at his boyfriend; just in time to spot the American slipping a crisp bill into another stripper's clothing. Dollars as well - poor man would have to exchange it and everything! What was he doing? Well! Two can play at this ridiculous game. He grabbed his own stripper by the shoulders, gazing up at him. "Come on, Pablo, you Portuguese beauty. Show me what you can do." He moaned and tipped his head back as the stripper rocked harder, also rubbing himself against his chest. "Ohh..."
It earned him a glare from his boyfriend. So he thought that that was something? Letting the stripper touch all over that skin that was purely Alfred's, no one else was allowed... Alfred pulled his own fair skinned beauty onto his lap, grinding up into him, running hands down his sweat soaked back, and allowed the man to cascade hot breath against his shoulder, his neck, ever so close to his mouth. "Good... Mmm. They don't make ones like you back in the states- or here." It was just loud enough to let them all hear, their frictional dance continuing, and the man whispered back dirty things and ran his small hands down Alfred's chest in appreciation, moaning over exaggeratedly for show.
Arthur felt his heart strike the hour and ring alarmingly when he spotted Alfred and the other stripper getting close and personal. Far as he knew, touching like that was against the rules of strip clubs - it was usually look, but do not touch. Pangs of jealousy pierced through him. How could Alfred do that to him? One more bad move, and he would have to intervene. Stepping it up a notch in return, Arthur slipped his legs from underneath his own stripper and spread them so he could slot in-between and get closer to him, hands straying in places Arthur tried not to think about - desperate to give his boyfriend a taste of bitter medicine.
Meanwhile, Alfred hadn't noticed yet, he'd pushed more money into that tight slot, running his hands over his stripper's hips, down, down, under that short skirt- he saw Arthur. All time stopped. Was he...was his boyfriend...his own sexy, adorable, precious, beloved boyfriend- spreading those gorgeous legs for someone else? Were his eyes smouldering with the molten passion for another man? This wasn't allowed, no, the American felt his steely heart burn...
The brown-haired man on his lap looked at his client questioningly, wondering whether he was to back off now, or - Alfred slipped him off, pushed him aside, and furiously, enviously pulled Arthur away - none too gently - from the tall, handsome Portuguese man, slamming him up against the nearest wall and roughly forced their lips together, furious. "How dare you - I'll fucking show..."
"Oh, you'll fucking show me will you, Alfred?" Arthur snapped at him, half drunken eyes narrowing dangerously and bordering-on-crazily. He pushed up against his boyfriend - hands, rather than chest and the stomach that usually arched up into him - in efforts to shove the other off of him. "Will you show me again how you're rutting up against that slutty brunet like a rabbit with a fever? Or are you going to go and dominate whatever idiot falls for your boyish charms, just because you can make a fool out of all of us? Well, Alfred?" Oh, Arthur was pissed.
And Alfred wasn't any less pissed, really. He held Arthur there against the wall, using all his superpower strength, trapping the smaller man. "Oh, so I'm the problem! That's real nice, what about you?" Voice filled with anger and jealousy still, blue eyes flaming, volume rising until the floor had formed a little arc around them as people wanted to avoid a scene.
"I'm the one with a problem when you're...you're my boyfriend! And you're just sucking up to some...freak, moaning against him, you're saying I'm supposed to tolerate that? You're saying I had to tolerate you practically begging for that guy to bang you, you're acting like...like... Like a total whore!"
The resulting and resounding smack echoed even over the top of the music, and Arthur's hand burned with pain as soon as it left Alfred's cheek. His brows were knitted in such a furrowed manner, so angrily, so rarely that it looked so unusual on Arthur's face. The expression was not unknown, but not at that extent - not that hurt.
"...You will not talk to me like that." Arthur hissed, clenching his fists and huffing.
Alfred looked too in shock. He stood there for a bit, motionless, his cheek was numb, his mind more so. Had Arthur just hit him? Really, actually hit him? It couldn't be, it wad just wrong, it - it -..."I'll talk how I want to, it's a damn free country. You think you weren't? You acted low."
People around them were starting to move away, whispers started, and Alfred- Alfred grabbed Arthur tightly around the wrist, pulling him along, out of the noise and the heat and the mess and tension inside the building. Outside, it was a half moon, hardly seen stars, cold air. Their breath fogged up into white smoke, and the American shoved Arthur away from him. "Explain yourself, honestly." A growl. "You shouldn't have done so much of that. Or we're over."
Arthur stumbled backwards as Alfred let go of him, soon finding a brick wall behind him to lean against as he glared up into similarly heated eyes. Behind those spectacles, Alfred was possibly the most furious he had seen him in a long time. The words he spoke was like poison. Finally, Arthur's expression was starting to relax - especially when he heard those words. Over?
"...I don't know if you noticed, but I kept it clean. No physical contact except hands. You were the one that pulled the other stripper on top of you and started to hump him as if... a-as if... as if he were me!" The tipsy Brit sucked in a sudden and desperate breath, externally shuddering. Tears were in his eyes. "What is it? Am I just not good enough for you? Is that it?"
Alfred stopped. His angel was crying. Crying. Tears, his anger just melted away, seeing those translucent drops made him feel weak. "Arthur...Arthur, don't cry. That's not it. Don't cry." Tear stains, Alfred looked into those miserable eyes, then sighed. This was going way too far.
"I didn't want you to act like that with anyone else but me! If that's not it, then what is it? Well?" Arthur sobbed, hands wobbling as he brought them up to his eyes; rubbing his lids to try knock the moisture away. "...G-Go to Hell!"
Alfred came up, attempted to pull Arthur into his arms. "Going to Hell already, Arthur, precious, don't cry...I wasn't thinking like that." Of course his boyfriend didn't mean anything bad. Arthur was sensitive, Arthur was rash - but he wasn't by any means a cheater or a whore. And now Alfred had made him cry. Guilt and regret.
"Don't think you can sugar coat things and expect it to suddenly become so, so much easier!" Arthur scathed, trying to pull out. He suddenly ducked and went underneath Alfred's arms, charging a few metres away from the American before he could react. Turns out, Arthur could really be a slippery bugger when he tried. Tears, by now, were streaming down the drunk Englishman's face. "Get lost, you bastard! D-Don't bother coming after me!"
"No, no, wait-!" Damn, Alfred had really made a giant mess of things! He ran after his Boyfriend, who was currently intoxicated and running amok. "Arthur, get back here and listen! Arthur...!"
"Why am I never good enough for you? I-I... after all of these years, I thought you were beginning to forgive me—But that was a lie, wasn't it? You prick! Git! Dolt! How dare you!" Arthur screeched at him, pointing accusing fingers and attracting some action by people driving past. He sobbed harder, moisture running down his cheeks quicker than he could wipe away.
Crap, and Alfred had thought that he'd finally gotten over all that with their new relationship. He caught onto Arthur's arm and pulled him back, carefully, taking him to a corner and quickly pressing their mouths together, softly. "Shh. Calm down first, Arthur, please calm down..."
As Alfred kissed him, Arthur did the opposite to what was expected. Instead of pulling away and insisting that Alfred left him alone, he kissed back needily; pressing into his boyfriend's arms. Once they parted, he stood still shaking and with his face all wet - though he was not crying any more. "I-I love you..." He sniffed.
The tears were wiped away by long, warm fingers, and Alfred held the little trembling figure close. "I love you too. How can I not love you...you're perfect, we're perfect, just relax, it'll be okay..." Meaningful nothings, as the American guided them back.
"Y-You prat. Whatever could you love about me? T-there's nothing! I've got nothing—no merits, no fortés, I'm not even a bloody empire anymore! I'm worthless now!" He quivered, lulling his head atop Alfred's shoulder and sticking close, holding onto his boyfriend's waist now as they were guided away from the night-life of the city and back towards home.
"You don't have to be an empire! You're fucking beautiful. Best one in that entire damn club, and the entire damn world. You're perfect. Why do you think I was so pissed stupid Portugal guy got you?" Soft kisses to his temple, warm promises in the chilly London air. "You're not worthless, Arthur. You're part of me."
"Why do you even like me... it makes no sense..." Arthur continued to drone, wiping the wetness out of his eyes while he continued to stick close to the other. "You should hate me. You shouldn't like me. Not like... n-not like this..."
"Like what, exactly?" Hate Arthur? No way. The arms around the small figured tightened, comfortingly. "You've just had too much to drink."
"No one has ever loved me before," He said quietly and solemnly, attaching himself to the other nation like a leech for love and affection. His wants were always more bold when he was drunk, because the barriers he internally erected against speaking what was plaguing his mind had been broken down. "They've lusted. France has used me - heck, I've used him. Portugal... oh, Port. He told me he loved me a long time ago, but that was a lie, wasn't it? I've been lying to myself, thinking that oh! Oh, maybe that's not true. Maybe he really does love... me... but it's a fucking lie, ennit? I don't get it. Why you? Nobody has... n-not when I love them too! Things aren't supposed to go right like this!"
Alfred held him back just as tightly, sighing a bit, kissing the shorter man's forehead tenderly, lovingly. "Dear God, Arthur." Such a tortured life, and for so long. England was crazy old, compared to America at the very least. They passed streetlights, a light drizzle drenched the pavement, a heavy London fog. Arthur's faded doorstep came into sight, and Alfred directed them towards it. "It'll be better in the morning, darlin'. You're drunk. Let's get to bed, huh?"
SSS (StarSpangledSilence) is 'bad at comments! :3 she reads all the reviews though'!
I'm worse comment-wise, so I'll let you guys react as you will~!
Sorry, we as authors have been cock-blocks this entire chapter, I don't know if you've noticed. But I personally promise you that the next one will be more rewarding on that respect.
Ta ta~3!
Thanks for reading, honestly.
Love, SSS and Des.
