Ten minutes my arse, Arthur thought blearily when his emerald eyes finally opened to darkness. He removed the pillow from his ear and noticed, with pinhole irises, the yellow curtains across the room dimming the blaring sun. It must be the afternoon by now. Damn that American. He put the pillow back onto his face.
The Englishman sat up begrudgingly with a grunt, the pillow falling to his lap. A sharp pang thrust throughout his body. Fuck. He hissed. He weakly crawled across the expanse of the bed, peeking over the top, hoping to see that blonde idiot surrounded in a pool of crimson. No crimson. A frown met his lips. And he was stark naked from the waist down, too. A small laugh ran between dry teeth.
He didn't want to move. It hurt to move. But that well-to-do shower sounded so tempting... Ten minutes. Ten minutes would be enough. It could wait.
...No. Be responsible. You're better than him.
Stupid bloody feet – naked, thanks to that pillock – nudged into the plush floor, soundlessly made their way across the map, toward the door-frame. His cold tea sat abandoned as the Englishman passed, forcing out the acknowledgement of his limp toward the bathroom.
The door ran smooth over carpet with a click. The squeak of the tap. Water punching into the ceramic of the tub. It flooded his ears. He needed this. His fingers tested the temperature. His other fingers tested his arse, rubbing it like a fresh bruise.
Stupid bloody clothing; corrupted, tainted and stained. Thrown to the floor and shot at with glares heavy with malice.
Water would sooth his wounds. It never failed him yet.
A hefty sigh rolled out of his extended throat curtained in warmth.
He bloody-well deserved this.
...
Giving his damp sandy blonde tresses a hearty shake under a greying towel, Arthur limped out into the living room, his eyes of emerald blaring upon that git sitting hunched over his desk. At least he had the decency to put trousers on. The smell of sex probably still lingered on him. Idiot.
Arthur dodged past him, knowing he would go unnoticed, entered his room and fixed himself up. He returned, heading straight for the front door arrayed in a sleeveless olive hoodie (perhaps a bit too small for him) over a thin tight black V-neck shirt, and royal blue jeans giving him just enough room.
"Don't forget shoes."
"Got them."
Who was he to remind the Englishman to grab his shoes? A man of duty never forgets his things.
"Keys?"
Oh shut it.
Slamming the door, hands jammed into his pockets. He was tired of this place. He was tired of Alfred. He was tired of his own unwanted commitment to that man's bloody intentions. Violating him in his own room, his own flat. Sick: it was sick. And the blighter just brushes it off his shoulder and continues to work as if nothing happened. What a piss-ant! He's dealing with another human being. His intentions are inhumane, unjust! And Arthur simply let it happen. No – That's wrong. He couldn't help the situation. It was out of his reach. He couldn't help it...
He mentally slapped himself as he entered the heat, the sun high above the clouds. No breeze. No birds chirping, unlike in England. This place was too busy. Like Alfred. Too busy. Too frustrating.
Joining a mob of faceless figures across the street, Arthur wedged past their plump shoulders, their stress, and ghosted through the clumpy sidewalks, searching for peace. It would be best. He could settle things there.
Not a single tree in sight. Wind blustering and weaving between the tall expanses of buildings. Not one sound felt natural. Cars, horns blaring, leather shoes tapping at concrete or tile, people chattering; hollering, battles of construction pervading; echoing. Such an unnatural mess. England was the better alternative. Always has been. Why Arthur decided to follow Alfred was beyond him. It was almost on whim, anyway. "There will be beautiful American girls in New York", he said. The only girls Arthur saw were either anorexic bints or round-as-the-moon munters.
Sure Arthur liked girls. He's just a bit picky about his women. Must be shorter than he, must be curvaceous, soft, sweet, able to cook well, know how to make a splendid brew... Mustn't want to rape him... - He's a gentleman, after all, and should treat his lady as if she were the very priest chosen by God. Although God must have fumbled in His line of work when He chose Alfred to be his roommate...
Blast it!
Think of something else, you bloody nob...
His footfalls ended upon grass. He peeked up and found himself in a manmade forest surrounded by a sea of skyscrapers. Car horns were distant and anonymous chatter went mute. Birds lay in lush trees and insects buzzed about.
Arthur strolled through it, mentally smiling at the smidgen of hope. He came across a little concrete bridge over a little blue river. Passing trees dangling chains of gold, the Englishman leaned over the rail and watched a rainbow of petals waft onto the flowing water's surface. He could just make out his obscured reflection down below.
I remember this place. Back when I first came to live here. Alfred toured me everywhere. He was so excited like a dog wanting to take a walk after a long and boring day...
No. Mustn't think of him like that. He's a sinner. He's worthless.
He's a rapist. He deserves punishment. But how...
Arthur looked up and scanned the sky so blue. Just like his eyes...
Just like his blasted bruise on the side of his face.
Revenge is perfect punishment.
...
"I'm back." Arthur muttered into the stagnant air, shutting the door behind him, slipping off his shoes. As usual, he met with silence. He entered the living room, discovering his tea still on the coffee table. He zipped his hoodie down as he approached the workaholic, peeking over his shoulder and finding nothing new or out of place.
"Did you miss me?" The Englishman asked dryly, not expecting an answer. He slipped out of his jacket, went into his room and stored it, returning, pinching his tea and entering the kitchen, draining the cup and stocking it into the sink.
"Glad to hear it..." He murmured sarcastically upon his returned, arms crossed over his stomach. He scanned over the tan body in front of him. "Aren't you cold?"
"Summer."
"Oh, it speaks." Frowning, Arthur lightly flicked the back of the American's head. The man scratched at it.
"Don't: I'm working..." He quickly fumbled for his pen and returned writing.
"Pardon me," The Englishman said mock apologetically. He stepped behind the office chair and leaned into Alfred's ear "We don't chat much."
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Because you work too bloody much and I'm not willing to talk your ear off."
"Can't multitask, moron."
"Git."
"Dickbutt."
"Wanker."
"Work."
"I win."
"Bitch."
He slapped the back of his head again. The man giggled and continued writing.
"Anyway...so, uh...Where have you been? Where'd you go?" Alfred inquired tastelessly, scribbling away. Arthur rolled his eyes at his attempt. He answered anyway, liking where this was heading.
"One of the first places you took me ever: Central Park."
"Oh yeah..." Alfred hummed delightfully and stopped writing. "We shared our first kiss there, too, right?"
"Don't blooming-well remind me." Arthur muttered spitefully, crossing his arms below his ribs. The American popped his head over the seat and gazed at the Englishman, smiling widely.
"Can't get over it, huh Arty?" His chair swivelled round a bit, facing Arthur who refused to make eye contact. "Remember when you fell off the side of the bri—"
"Don't you have work to do?" Arthur snapped, glancing at Alfred's crown.
"Didncha want to talk with me more often?" His grin only grew cheekier. "I don't even know how you managed to fall off a high railed bridge."
"Shut it, you blasted Yank!"
Alfred fully faced Arthur, a death-grip on either armrest. He wheeled over until Arthur could glare down at him.
"How about when we first got this apartment? - you and the landlord were hilarious. She asked if we were a couple—"
"I remember that, yes – now can we move on?" Arthur said concisely through gritted teeth, squeezing his torso.
"Move on to what? What else is there to move on to?" Alfred paused a moment until a bright and shrewd smile washed over his face.
"No." Arthur answered the unspoken question.
"I didn't say anything, Limey," He leaned closer impishly. "But what'd you think I was going to say?"
"Something stupid. Now you really ought to get back to work."
"Nuh-uh, dude," Alfred went to grab at Arthur's wrists, instead the man stepped back, placed his foot on Alfred's seat between his legs and shoved. He helplessly skidded backward until he collided into the desk. Papers floundered about and his pen plopped to the floor. In devastation, the American looked up at Arthur who stood emotionless between fluttering pages, watching them fall with little interest.
"Fuck!" Alfred yelled despairingly at the mess and then the Englishman. "Fuck you!"
"Not my fault you stack your paperwork." Arthur retorted easily, standing his ground in a gentlemanly fashion.
"You were the one who pushed me into the desk!" Alfred loudly accused, trying to collect as many papers as possible.
"You were the one who tested my temper."
"I don't deserve this. I work hard every day and this is how I'm rewarded? Picking up a mess that isn't mine?"
"It has your name on it, technically."
"Exactly! 'Technically' is the keyword, buttmunch." Alfred haphazardly placed mounds of paper back atop the desk, immediately going down for more in frustration.
"It's just a few misplaced papers. I think you ought to quit complaining and deal with it. Tisn't the end of the world."
Alfred turned around rapidly. "Don't say that, you motherfucker. This is coming from you who hardly works his ass off as much as I do."
"I'm on break, I hope you know."
"Shut up! Shut up with your smart-ass comments! I have a deadline coming up and these papers need to be in order numerically! Unless you can help me – which I predict you won't – I think I could get this stupid thing done a whole fucking lot faster."
Arthur didn't respond for a moment. A thick brow twitched. He lowered his voice.
"Fine. Do you really want my help?"
"That'd be peachy perfect, actually." Alfred said sarcastically, pressing his lips together tightly, expectantly.
"Then take back last night."
Alfred stared at him incredulously.
"You're still on about that shit? It was just sex, pipe down."
"No, it was rape. I'm still bloody sore." Arthur emphasised the notion, pointing all fingers toward his arse.
"Okay then how can I take it back, huh?" Alfred asked as if the answer blinked above his head in a huge bright neon sign. "Kiss your ass and wish it better? Apologise? I can't take back that sort of—"
"Let me top for once." Arthur answered seriously, not even a twitch. Alfred gave him a wide-eyed glare until he burst out into laughter.
"F-Fuck you, that's impossible." He blurted out through hyena-like laughter, bending over in his seat and holding his knees.
"Do you want my help or not?"
His laughter immediately died. He glared at Arthur, mouthing soundless questions, his eyes twitching in confusion.
"Pitiful." Arthur spat.
"Could you make it within ten minutes?"
"I'll take my flippin' time, bastard."
Alfred scanned the now white floor in consideration. When he paused to peek, the Englishman pointed a rigid finger at his bedroom.
"Bed." Arthur stated callously. The Yank blinked tightly, trying to compute.
"...J-Just give me a second—"
"We'd be done fixing your workload by now if you'd simply think faster..." Arthur hummed while he approached his door, stripping his shirt off casually. "It's awfully lonely in here, you know." He called out once he sat on his bed and tossed the shirt behind him as if it were rubbish.
Alfred smiled in defeat, shaking his head. "You're a prick."
"Since when has the almighty Alfred ever refused sex?"
The American rolled his eyes to the faceless voice. He stood, launching his seat behind him, picked up an idle piece of paper, placed it neatly onto the disarrayed pile and finally approached Arthur's room. The dirty blonde sat half naked as if he were alone but waiting. Alfred smiled as if this was a crazy preparation for a death stunt. He unzipped his trousers until the man on the bed shook his head and stood up, approaching him.
"Allow me." Arthur proposed lowly, hooking two fingers round the man's trouser hem and yanked. He steered the blonde chap toward the bed, facing him and pecking the tip of his nose before tipping him back softly into the sheets. Arthur followed closely behind, cradling his victim with his feet dangling off the edge alongside Alfred's.
"Just making sure," Arthur whispered, staring down at the American's awkward countenance. "Do you really want this? Are you really in the mood?"
Alfred scoffed as if this were all but a simple prank. Where did they hide the camera?
"'Am I in the mood'?" He mirrored incredulously with a funny face. "If I supposedly 'raped' you, then wouldn't that mean it's your turn now?"
The Englishman chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the former's nonsense.
"Such a pillock," He sighed, smiling, "I'm a gentleman, remember? I'm not an animal, like you."
"Time's a-tickin', mofo," Alfred teased "Start off with a kiss or something – like I do."
"No – You molest first, have sex, then kiss. You're not exactly a role model."
Fuck it.
A hand forced their lips to meet, passionate but resistant. Arthur peeled away before things could go wrong and clicked his tongue in disapproval. He slid his hands across the American's arms until their fingers met and meshed, pinning them into the white sheets, easing them near either ear. Half-lidded eyes gazed laxly over this man, scanning his pale pink lips before plunging onto them with his own. The former moaned approvingly, smiling beneath their embrace. He opened up and allowed tongue to explore and met with another, dancing until it felt forced.
The Englishman retracted, nipping at the other's bottom lip before sliding his hands down Alfred's arms, torso and hesitating at the single button left undone. Slowly, he eased the fabric and ringed his fingers beneath the obstruction and pulled down. No undergarments. Just as he thought. The American lifted his hips slightly without permission and allowed his trousers to leave until teeth nipped at his inner thigh disapprovingly.
"This is faux rape," Arthur explained, leaning toward Alfred who smirked slyly, bringing his thigh with him by the crook of his knee. "I'm behind the wheel, sir."
He kissed him once and moved them down again until he met belly button, nipping the skin which immediately drew back and he heard a pure spell of laughter before he flushed lightly and leaned away.
"I'm totally not ticklish." Alfred lied, pressing a finger to his brow in embarrassment. The suffusion to the Englishman's cheeks drained and instead a cheeky smirk surfaced.
"Fuck you," The American laughed softly, "Just fucking blow me already."
A single thick brow twitched in interest. The corner of his mouth tugged high. "'Blow you'? I'm not sure I'm that amazing."
"Cut the British crap and give me head." He ran his fingers through sandy blonde tresses, gripped the roots and pulled down. Arthur's cheek rubbed down the man's shaft, feeling its warmth until he sprang up, shaking his head.
"I'm the driver, remember?" He reminded the American, closing in on his face. "Keep it up and I'm moving back to England."
An arm ringed round his neck and pulled him in with care.
"No." Childish, but it made Arthur smile warmly and press it against the American whose response was minute but delectable. He tenderly bit the man's beckoning lower lip, pulling away and letting it drop, hungrily going back in for more.
Their lower halves cradled passionately. Moving in rhythm, stirring excitement. Fingers drew to useless trousers and unbuttoned them, sliding them down. It was okay. They kissed like nothing else mattered. Like nothing lived beyond the sheets.
Their pelvises were together, finally on good terms, warm and wanting. Hands rubbed well across tan skin, mapping over wonderful curves, smoothly shifting down, swirling a massaging finger on the edge of his naked hip and holding it, caressing it. Hesitating.
He mouthed 'Are you sure?'
The Yankee gripped the man's shy wrist and pulled down. He mouthed 'I dare you.'
Take the plunge.
Be a tease.
He pinched his cheeks and he giggled like before.
Do it. He's waiting.
His finger crawled closer like a body in quicksand.
They kissed as it went in slow. He moaned as he withdrew and returned smoothly, tightening over him. Frightened?
Deeply. Thicker. Faster. Almost... So close...
Right there.
They shared smiles as if they landed on the moon together. He escaped and adjusted, nipping the Yank's shoulder and neck, steadying a certain beat to his hands rolling through maps of utterly naked skin. They were welcomed, swept up in the motion and delighted. He kissed his ear and when his head lifted, he pecked his chin.
Gently. Steadier. Closer. Almost...
And he plunged. Slowly. Smoothly. Nicely. Like a gentleman.
The Yankee breathed thickly and hotly, brushing into the Englishman's neck before licking it. Arthur lifted away, displeased, and sunk deeper in, wishing for a melody. Faster. He bit into the man's neck where it was familiar on his own. Slobbering baboon...
The man's breath fluttered over his ear and was satisfied. Then he jabbed his tongue into it. Arthur jerked away and sneered at a sloppy grin, forcing a dry peck to his toughened cheek. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge...
A bit of premature pounding and the Yank strung onto his breath and winced as if a blade pierced his heart. The Englishman smirked. Winner.
The man clung tightly round the other's neck, bracing himself, adjusting at every entrance. Feeling himself gradually dense between his hips; hot, tense, curdling with the want for more. His nails dug into the man's shoulder. Deeper. Dots of crimson.
It fucking hurt.
Arthur rejected any silent pleas for safety and peace. 'You're a grown man. Deal with it.' He pushed further. Hips and arse connected. Alfred suppressed a pained moan horribly. 'Never been dominated though, I suppose.'
Shut up...
Uncontrollable shudders. Almost there. Numbing toes. Shortness of breath...
Steady...
'That's fine. Quite all right with me.'
He tensed and clung to the Englishman desperately. Just do it. The entire bed shook and squeaked dangerously. Oh God.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-
Their lips met powerfully. Sucking them hard. Take a breather, release. Go, go, go. Keep going. Don't hesitate.
He squeezed the man between him until his legs broke apart wide. He almost let out a scream of pure pain. The ear near his mouth caught the squeak. The quakes occurred too fast.
He knew he was about to burst. Hold it. He can't. Just...No. Fuck.
...
Too hot. Too raw. Too messy.
A finger played with the white mess across his stomach. Failing to hold in his laughter ̶ A tongue raced over his tender skin. Trailing down, kissing the man's tip.
Arthur pulled away, smirking.
"Oh no," Alfred shook his head. "You're not just going to leave me like this."
"'Fraid so, love." He slid a hand over the American's manhood teasingly. The man quivered slightly. Arthur hopped off the side of the bed, pleased, grabbing on a pair of boxers. "It's bitter, isn't it?"
"Fuck you, man," Alfred sat up with blurry vision and watched the man dress himself, quickly leading his hand down to his own shaft. "I'll just...do it myself."
Arthur peeked over his shoulder, pulling up a pair of trousers. "How about your work, though? Isn't that important, too?"
He didn't respond. Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes, buttoning himself up.
"Going to take a break?"
Nothing.
"Procrastinate?"
"Fuck."
White hands. Arthur smirked, turned, and left the room. Shuffling pages before the American could situation himself, entering the room and watching the other clear the floor.
"At least put some boxers on for Christ's sake." Arthur glowered, thumbing through the pile of papers in his hands. "And wash yourself."
Alfred simply shook his head and helped the Englishman instead.
"At least promise me you won't work as hard – for future reference."
Alfred sort of nodded, understanding.
"I like having a chat with you every now and again, you know."
"I know." His award-winning goofy smile and everything was determined. Arthur couldn't help but return a smile.
Childish as ever.
A/N: I'll admit while writing this - and this is why it took so bloody long - I got frustrated while trying to find motivation to continue this fic. My obsession for Hetaria has burned out and my motivation to finish Frustration was at bare minimum. I'm surprised it's even here.
Thank you for reading. I hope you like it though. :)