Author Notes: Last chapter. Yay. The more short stories I finish, the better. Then I can focus on my main storyline so I can get to the stuff I really want to write. Haha. Anyway, you can expect more USUK goodness from me in the future. Apparently, I really enjoy writing them. I do have those two other shorts to finish that are USUK so, yeah, I'll keep writing in this pairing for a while even though my main story is PruCan-centric. Uhm. Let's see. Thank you for everyone reading, all reviews, favorites, alerts, etc – anything at all makes my day. (Though reviews are always special).
Warnings: sex, sex in a hotel room, sex in bed, sex in a shower, eh, not too incredibly kinky though but there's quite a lot
~!~
As You Wish
3
~!~
Lips on his own. Again. The bloody idiot doesn't know when to stop, and its breaking down all of his walls. He's still trying to wrap his head around what just happened in the elevator. He can't believe he did such a thing. He can't believe he allowed such a thing. As fireworks explode outside the window and his insides ache at the memories, he's trying to wrap his head around the fact that America is still here. Still here, not leaving, still holding him, still kissing him.
He must be dreaming. There's no way such a thing is possible. He even tries to push America out, but the bloody idiot stays and insists. Arms around him, rubbing at his back, breaking down more walls. Bleeding hell this kid is serious. After the heartbreak of losing America, of losing the child he had cared for, he never expects the grown man to be someone he cares for on a different level. But after years of watching, after all the wars, all the world meetings, all the random phone calls in the middle of the night, he has grown fond of the boy.
No, not a boy anymore. He's proved so much to you tonight.
Still, he doesn't want to keep America from his party. This is supposed to be his night. This is supposed to be a celebration for America to enjoy. Not something that England steals him away from. It's terrible timing, and maybe a part of him really does want to kick the bloody idiot out of his hotel room. In one night they've gone from confession to sex and it's all so fast and yet America stays.
"No, really," he says, pulling away from the blue-eyed boy. "You left your house with France, Prussia, Spain, and a number of other countries I wouldn't trust."
To his surprise, America merely laughs and tosses the worry over his shoulder. "It's fine. They're probably making a mess of things, but that happens all the time and it's nothing new. The authorities will get called and Germany will most likely handle it."
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "You trust Germany to handle your house for you?"
"Well, yeah," America says with another laugh. "I'm usually too drunk to handle things by myself anyway."
Silly child. That's no way to hold a party. He should have taught him better than this. If you're the host of a party, you're supposed to make sure things stay orderly and that there's no need to call authorities. This means as host you shouldn't be drinking too much to handle any messes thrown your way. Or at least set it up so the crazy trio has no reason to turn things into a destructive nightmare.
He sighs. Then again, it's not like he has any experience hosting parties. The other nations don't really care to show up to anything he hosts. Well, they used to, but he has heard how America's celebrations are the best and the wildest. Perhaps it is because they are so crazy and uncontrolled that the others enjoy coming so often. Christmas parties, New Years, birthday...America does it all. Every year.
Before he can comment on the idea of everyone being set loose on the American city, the body he's standing so close to changes positions and then suddenly he's in the air. His face flushes immediately and he looks around to realize Alfred has picked him up. Bridal style, holding him in his arms like he weighed nothing. Bloody hell this kid has too much strength lying around.
"We should just celebrate together," Alfred says, smiling down at him.
Arthur is about to snap at him. He wants to yell at him to release him and set him down this instant. This is entirely not fair and embarrassing and why does America have to keep catching him off guard like this? He's about to complain and push the man away from him, like he has pushed away everyone else.
And that thought alone makes him stop and rethink things. He has always pushed everyone away. Anyone that tries to get close, he shoves back. Here America is doing the same thing – a bit forward, of course, but that is America. Alfred has been incredibly forward, but he's also been sweet in his own way, somehow knowing all the right things to say to crack through the walls Arthur had thrown up.
The sex has been good, too. Really good. The younger nation knows things that make Arthur wonder if he really had done a good job protecting the boy for so long. Where could Alfred have learned such things? Perhaps his own people were more adventurous than they appeared or -
His face flushes when he realizes the direction his thoughts are taking him. Stop thinking about the sex. You're not the pervert here. He's the one pushing everything...even if you enjoy it. No! Stop thinking about it!
Turning his head, he takes a breath and decides to give in. He'll stop pushing people back. Even if America is the one who hurt him the most in the past, ever since then Alfred has been willing to help, willing to work with him, and he has always been there for the idiot. So, he's going to break the last wall and let go. Give in and let the younger nation have his heart, especially with how insistent he has been. (And all those compliments certainly weigh a point in his favor).
"Fine," he whispers. "Today is your day."
It isn't exactly what he means; it's not a real confession or anything. He just gives in and lets America have his way. There's so much he wants to say, and yet so much he wants to keep hidden. He wants to share all of his unease, all of his issues, all of his concerns with someone who will care. Maybe he's finally found that someone in America. Maybe he can finally have someone to talk to about the problems and have someone to lean on, instead of giving so much only to be hurt in return. His hands cling to America's shirt and he realizes with sudden clarity.
He needs America. He wants America. He has America.
The bed is cold when he's unceremoniously dropped on it. For all his sweet talk, the younger nation has no tact or sense of gentleness. But when blue eyes meet his in worry, he realizes that at least the boy realizes as much. There's another kiss. Short and sweet and it gives Alfred all the excuse in the world to climb on top of him. There are two hands on either side of his head and for a moment, Arthur just stares back at him like he can't believe that the boy is asking for more so soon.
For a moment, at least. "What are you doing?"
America smiles and when he speaks Arthur can catch the minty scent in his breath because he's so close. "I have a lot of time to make up for."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"Well, I should have said something about my feelings a long time ago." America keeps his smile but pushes Arthur's bangs to the side and then leans over to kiss him on the forehead. Which makes him blush because of the intimacy in such a simple gesture. "Now I have like a hundred and fifty years to make up for."
That really does make him blush. "R-really? That long?"
"Mmhmm," America hums as he nods, still hovering over him.
Arthur swallows. "Well, uh, could you get off of me?"
A smile and shake of the head. "Dun wanna."
The terrible English makes him groan more than the meaning. "Alfred, really -" He cuts off when the lad leans down to lick his cheek of all things. "H-hey! Control yourself!"
"Dun wanna," America repeats, whispering in his ear this time.
There are now teeth against his ear, nibbling lightly, making the heat rush to his face. "H-hey. Stop that."
"Hmmm," America hums again and then he pulls back thankfully, but there's a smirk and Arthur is sure the lad has something else planned and he's still not climbing off - "Do you want a back massage?"
It makes him freeze, blinking in confusion as he wonders what the hell he heard. It is so random, so off from what the younger nation had been aiming for. A back massage? It's...huh?
"Alfred," he says, noting the little upward acknowledgment nod he receives. "Where did that come from?"
Blue eyes twinkle behind a pair of glasses. Fireworks explode and shine against the glass, spurting out different colors across the blue. The owner of such eyes gives a smile and a shrug. Arthur finds himself captivated as the lad explains himself, and he has to ask again because he is too entranced by the facial expressions and the hanging forelock of hair that refuses to be styled correctly. The man on top of him chuckles and then repeats his answer and Arthur forces himself to stop being such a lovesick teenager. Even if he is slowly realizing how much of a man America has really grown into.
"You just seem really tense, Arthur," America says as he pulls back so England can move around as he wishes. "I want to make you comfortable."
"That's actually," Arthur mutters, sitting up, "kind of sweet."
America smiles again and then leans in to gently press his lips against Arthur's own. It's so gentle, it's unexpected, and Arthur gives in with a lick of response. The kiss is entirely too short, though, and America doesn't take the opportunity England gives. Instead, the lad pulls back and smirks.
"You wanna take off your shirt?" Alfred wobbles on the bed, as if asking the question is awkward even though they have already seen each other at their most intimate. "It does make it easier and all and should feel better, too."
A pop from a firework and Arthur stares at America, trying to read the boy's intentions. "Right...but promise to contain yourself."
While Arthur Kirkland removes his shirt and sets it to the side, Alfred hums. He feels his ears burning because this feels way too much like a stripping movie. He is sure to keep his face down, too, but Alfred surprises him and sets a hand under his chin, making him look up and meet those shining blue eyes. There isn't any words but another kiss instead. This time, America licks at his lips and England lets him in, deepening the moment. While he loves drowning himself in the taste of punch, alcohol, sugar, and mint, America doesn't have it last too long, pulling back far too early and leaving Arthur craving more.
Then there's a hum and a small laugh. "As you wish."
And Arthur feels his face heat up because he is the one finding it hard to contain himself. So he huffs and turns around, sending a playful curse at the bloody teenager. "Like a child, I swear."
"Nah," America responds, hands immediately going to Arthur's shoulders. "You're just old."
England shivers at the touch. Cold hands against his heat and he is almost expecting America to comment on it. But Alfred doesn't say anything else, leaving him at the playful insult at his age. Or maybe Alfred is focused for once in his bloody life. Those strong hands are suddenly incredibly gentle and soft, massaging with the right amount of force as they find the knots between Arthur's shoulders.
The hands move to the back of his neck and he has to hold back a moan. It feels so good; he has to wonder where the younger nation learned such a technique. He had never marked Alfred as someone to spend time on learning how to give a massage.
"I'm not old," he manages to mutter. "You're just young."
Young and experienced. How did you ever manage that?
"Mmhmm, just keep denying it all you want. I don't mind being called young, really, cause it still means you're an old man." If Alfred hadn't been so good at placing his hands in just the right spot, at rubbing and coaxing the knots out of Arthur's tired muscles, he might have snapped at him for his insufferable comments about his age. "Hmm...you should lie down."
Lie down? You really are just using this as an excuse...
He opens his mouth to say as much but because of Alfred's wonderful touch a quiet moan escapes his lips instead. He immediately decides against speaking and instead just lets the boy lead him down to the bed again. Stretching out, he buries his face in the hotel pillow and sighs in contentment. He can almost forgive Alfred for his impossible urges and the embarrassing sex in the elevator. Almost. At least the boy has the decency to make all those aches in his over used muscles feel better.
Alfred only laughs. "Haven't you ever had a massage before?"
Arthur hums, closing his eyes as he searches back through his memories. "Ah – well, once, from Japan, but that was a long time ago."
"Japan?" Alfred freezes, hands just below Arthur's shoulders. "Really?"
Arthur huffs into the pillow. "We did have the Anglo-Japanese alliance all those years ago."
"Ah, right," Alfred mumbles.
As fingers and thumbs start to work at the kinks in his back, Arthur hums and lets his thoughts take him away. Yeah, there had been a time with Japan. Back in the day there had been many times with many people. Such is how alliances worked back then, unspoken agreements, though not everyone resulted to crass vulgarity. Japan merely wanted to show off his kind hospitality, and England had easily accepted. No alliance had ever been as...sex-free. Until the times changed, at least.
Strange to hear Alfred mumbling to himself, though. Could the boy be jealous? Surely by now Alfred knew how the nations had struck deals in the past. Is he really jealous of the past? Well, best not mention Francis then. Lord knows how well Alfred would handle such information.
When fingers roam to his waistband, Arthur jerks his head around, only to meet an innocently smiling America. Hands on his lower back, pressing gently, rubbing in circles, working at the muscles. Blue eyes meeting his raised eyebrows and fingers running just at the edge of his trouser line. As if he isn't doing anything wrong.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, turning back to lay his head in the pillow. He can't deny it feels good. Might as well let the boy have his fun. But then Alfred's hands come up and England lets out a moan – which he quickly hides in the pillows – because making such a noise sounds like he's whining for more right now.
His hands are soon clenching into the pillow as he gasps. Those hands have moved to his legs, and their working their way up. Little massaging motions on his thighs and higher. And -
"H-hey," he whispers, biting his bottom lip because when did his voice start sounding so breathy?
"What?" America whispers back, and then those hands are working to remove Arthur from his pants. For the second time tonight. "You know you don't really need this-"
"Ah, hey!" Arthur turns around and does his best to glare at Alfred, even though he's sure his face is incredibly red. "What did I tell you?"
America whines. "Oh come on. We're in a bed this time."
Yes, we are, but that doesn't mean I can go another round.
Fireworks pop from outside the window and Arthur is reminded of something. Something important. It is not only America's birthday, it is his most patriotic day of the year. No doubt the boy has a welling of emotions he finds difficult to control and a stamina for such things beyond any normal human. Such is the life and suffering of the nations, after all.
So he sighs and turns back around, burying his face in the pillows as he murmurs. "Like a horny teenager."
"Hey, you can call me a teenager all you want," Alfred says, his hands too busy undressing England to care about continuing his massage. "That just makes you an old man."
With a frown, Arthur turns around to face America. He is tired of hearing all these comments about his age. Sure, he's older than America, but does the lad need to bring it up all the time? It's not like they're humans, mortals, where age actually matters. All that matters to them is the sustaining power of their nation. Age...so then why does it bug him so much?
He is ready to give America a piece of his mind, but then he finds himself staring into a pair of blue eyes without the glasses blocking them. Clear blue, and the young nation has not only removed Arthur's clothes, he's apparently de-clothed himself as well. A toned chest scarred from the battles, the wars, the in-fighting. They all have their scars, of course, so it is to be expected, even if England has tried so hard for years to keep America from suffering as the rest of the world suffers. He supposes there is no use anymore; the boy has become a superpower nation and is now spreading his ideals throughout the world. Still, those scars tell their own stories. Just as Arthur's do.
Closing his eyes, Arthur quirks his mouth up into a half smile. "I take it you want another round, then?"
"Yeah," Alfred says, "I could go all night."
Arthur sighs; it is as he suspected. "Of course you can." He opens his eyes and smiles. "I understand. You have this huge amount of energy waiting to be used. Excitement and pride from your people. Isn't that right?"
Alfred looks put off guard and something indistinct flashes across his eyes as he turns his head. "Y-yeah. That's exactly..."
The younger nation doesn't continue. Instead he acts. While America leans over to suck on his already hickey-abused neck, Arthur stares up at the ceiling. Lost in memories, even as he groans in response to the nips to his neck. "I know...I've had that feeling before, too."
"Huh?" America pulls back, but his hands can't stand to be still, ghosting over England's chest. "When?"
Arthur hums. "A lot of times actually. When you're as old as I am -"
He doesn't realize what he's admitted to until America starts laughing. Light chuckles against his ear, but the younger nation doesn't seem fit to explain himself or even comment on it, simply letting his light little giggles brush against Arthur. For his part, he can feel his face blush. Bloody hell, this idiot keeps making him turn red over silly little things.
Lips crash against his own, and Arthur lets his eyes slip closed, forgetting the embarrassing admission of his older age. He's willing to forgive the brat for his laughter because bloody hell the idiot is amazing at enveloping him in sweet yet deep kisses. He's breathing in mint and alcohol again, opening his mouth to inhale everything he can.
His arms almost seem to move on their own, wrapping around America's neck. He wants Alfred to be closer. He needs him to be closer. He presses against the back of the man's neck and holds him down, keeps him down, insists he stay until they are both breathless.
Such it is that America pants when he's finally allowed to break free. "Okay...weird question...do you want lube?"
Arthur opens his eyes slowly and stares at the blond haired blue eyed wonder. A part of him wants to fall over in giggles. Lube? Asking that now? Seeing as Alfred is trying to be serious – and trying to be thoughtful, he supposes – Arthur just shakes his head, quirks a smile, and then pulls the American down for another breath-stealing kiss.
"Heh," Alfred whispers when he manages to pull back again. "Do you like it rough?"
Arthur has the chance to blink, and then he is unable to hold back a gasp as the hasty American moves in without waiting for a response. Sure, he's already been invaded tonight, but the force of this attack comes completely by surprise. It leaves him clinging into Alfred's shoulders, digging his nails into skin, as his eyes widen and his head is thrown back.
Oh and there is the little shout of affirmative, followed by the moan and whispered, "Yes."
He reaches up to hide his face, but America moves again and grabs his arms pinning them to the bed. "Hey. I already told you. Don't hide your eyes from me."
Insufferable brat...
When Arthur tries to respond, he is thoroughly thwarted. A kiss and more rough thrusting making him gasp. He shuts his eyes and when the kiss breaks, tries hard not to whine in protest. Whine. Him. Does he really crave this man's touch and kisses so much?
"Hey," America's hands drop their grip on Arthur's own, moving to cup his face and rub at his cheeks. "Look at me."
Panting breaths echo between the two of them as Arthur forces his eyes to flutter open. Another move from the American and he damn near closes them again, but he works hard to keep them open, since Alfred likes them so much. Green eyes meet blue and Arthur feels an ache in his heart. A firework explodes in the distance, but the pop and crackles get lost even as the pain of this day's memory threaten to envelope him. Instead, he focuses on the man before him, above him, inside him. He gasps.
Inside...
White teeth shine in a full American smile. "You're so...perfect."
Such words threaten to bring tears to his eyes, but Arthur manages to keep himself under control, though he is tired and close to cumming again, and so hot with need no matter how impossible it is. Alfred pulls out and then shifts positions. Arthur finds his arms wrapping around the boy's neck again, clinging to the sweaty, muscled back. Fingernails dig into shoulder blades as Alfred decides to pick him up. Pick him up and settle him in America's lap, lining him up to fall on the man's cock, and it's so deep it makes him moan and scratch at the sweaty skin.
He quickly buries his face in Alfred's shoulder. His own legs react to the desire, wrapping around America's waist as he is lifted up and slammed down. He starts to bite into the skin between the man's neck and shoulder, earning a moan of his own, and panting breathes as Alfred begins to quicken the pace. Another firework. Another gasp.
He's close. Oh, so close now. He can feel it building, wanting release, needing more. Strong hands, slightly calloused as everyone's are, grip to his side, heat against his stomach. His body moves with Alfred's guidance, and he moves back. Impaled. Over and over and...
There it is. He slams his eyes closed and cries out into a mouthful of Alfred's skin. Fingers dig in tightly. He hears a gasp that is not his own and everything stops even though everything continues. No, not stop, just slower. Slower. The high takes him beyond and he settles back down to earth with an exhausted sigh.
Half delirious, he barely hears America's whispered question. "You want a shower?"
"Hnn," he hums in response.
Sounds nice...
Before he can register the fact that America took his mumbled nothingness as an affirmative, Arthur feels cool air, hears the slide of glass twice, and then the trickle and mist of a gentle shower. His back is slammed against a cold tile wall, and he moans in response, only to have lips capture his own. Alfred is still inside him. Still...
Dash it all, the boy is still hard.
When the kiss breaks, he blearily slips his eyes open and stares at the true blue eyed wonder before him. Wild blond hair matted slightly from the shower water and the forming mist as the heat begins to fill the room. He groans when Alfred smiles at him, and groans again when the lad pounds into him, his head rolling back to smack into the tile wall. It feels absolutely amazing, but...
"H-how are you...still...going?"
It's exhausting. The man is still pressing into him, still slamming into him, rougher even then he had been earlier. Or maybe he's just so sore now. How many times tonight? A confession on a birthday and this is what he gets. Two? Three? He can barely think to count because of how sleepy his brain is, and the heat is consuming him again. So quickly. His own libido is nothing to laugh at, and he's been craving such love making even if he pushes everyone away, but this is...ridiculous.
Another slam against the wall. His arms are having trouble hanging on. He's going to pass out. So much sex he passes out. No, he won't let it happen. He's the United Kingdom, the British Empire. He should be able to keep up with the younger nation, even if it is on the boy's birthday, which Alfred mumbles into his ear as an explanation. His birthday. All the sexual urgings and the insane libido to have round after round after...
Lips against his own. His neck. Water in his face. He gasps again because there's a curling in his lower stomach again. So soon, too, but it's there. When his seed trickles out instead of exploding, he whimpers. Four. Bloody hell. How many has the kid had? This is -
"Wow, Artie," America says against his neck, everything freezing. "Is it too much? Seriously, I don't want to hurt you."
He grimaces at having his stamina and tolerance questioned by this brat. "Nnng...no...you're not...hurting me."
"As long as," America says, moving again, so slowly pulling out and so slowly pushing back in; it makes Arthur shudder, "you're sure."
Gasping for breath, cringing at each movement, still feeling the brat against his inner walls, Arthur growls and he throws his own head against the shower wall. "Why won't you...just hurry up...and cum already?"
"Hah – about to -" America says as the pace suddenly speeds up, making Arthur shut his eyes tightly.
But then the man finally lets out a grunt and a long groan as he finally lets loose inside him. There is a pause, a moment in which neither of them say anything. Where Arthur looks at the sweaty man who has so quickly claimed his heart. Where Alfred pants against the one he's supposedly been wanting for so long. Then blue eyes look up and white teeth sparkle in a grin.
"I love you," Alfred says.
And it is so clear. So insistent. So heartfelt. That Arthur feels his face heat up as he stammers out his own response. Y-yeah...I..."
A finger reaches up to press against his lips and Arthur furrows his brow. "Don't. It's too early for you to say it, but don't worry. I'll wait."
Too early? The nerve of this -
Before he can comment on it, though, America grins and moves them away from the wall, catching the water directly. It's not as warm as it was when they started, but the cool pricks actually feel nice against his otherwise heated skin. He's calming down, cooling down, winding down, and so the yawn comes as no surprise. His feet touch the ground as they wash up, but then America picks him up again and decides to set him down on the bathroom counter as he grabs some towels, tossing one at him.
"Hm," Arthur says into the awkward silence, or the silence that should have been awkward but for some reason isn't. "That was nice. I haven't felt like that in a long time."
While he sets the towel on his head and goes to work drying his hair, Alfred stands in front of him, pausing his own movements to blink at the information. "Really?"
"Well what do you expect?" Arthur snaps, turning his head with a scowl, even as his face flushes a bit. "When you make me cum no less than four times -"
A hand gets under his chin and turns it to meet lips to lips. Short and sweet, punctuated by Alfred's big smile. "I knew you'd like it."
Arthur sets the towel down and smiles himself. "Next time it's my turn."
"Okay then," America says with a laugh. For a moment his eyes seem to shine in the light as he sets a hand on Arthur's leg and smiles with all the feeling in the world, as if his words mean more than what they seem. "As you wish."
~!~
A/N: There. Finished. Geh. Unless...I could do an aftermath chapter, if anyone wants?
-"Sure, he's already been invaded tonight, but the force of this attack comes completely by surprise." This made me giggle. So much. I couldn't help it, really.
-Note: the "as you wish" comments from Alfred actually come from one of my favorite movies "The Princess Bride." Headcanon – America loves this movie and so quotes from it like the hero in the story. That all important as you wish line. "When he was saying 'as you wish' what he meant was 'I love you'." Layers!
~I appreciate and adore all reviews, alerts, favorites; please let me know what you think~
~Reda