DON'T WORRY, I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN. OTL. I'm such a bad author... gah. I'm sorry for not updating in almost two months. Not only was there a little bit of a lapse in motivation for me; but I have just gone back to college. I'm in my final year, so the workload at the beginning was shocking... so I really didn't have the time or mind to write. But I've finally gotten over the initial education blues and horror. Hopefully to everyone's relief.
Another factor is that I wasn't sure how I wanted this update to happen. Because I know exactly what I want to do after it - but this was what got me stressed out the most. But now it's over, hopefully it'll run much smoother!
Because its been so long; here's a quick re-cap:
After a night of full-on all-out masturbation; Arthur wakes up groggily in the morning after, being very well man-handled by one hell of a naked Francis and man-fondled by one hell of a manry Alfred. Cue epic fit, in which Arthur is told that he 'didn't' masturbate the night before - but that Alfred and Francis had had sex with him. Automatically coming to the conclusion that they got him drunk and effectively took advantage of him, Arthur breaks away - much to Alfred's, and eventually Francis's (when the bugger wakes up) chagrin.
Stressed by the fact that Arthur took off; Alfred panics in Francis's direction about his worries - while the Frenchman manages to somehow stay totally composed and tells Alfred that he should be angry rather than concerned, because Arthur was suggesting that he thought Alfred was nothing like the hero Alfred claimed to be.
In consequence; Alfred catches up to Arthur and tries to explain that it was not because they just wanted to fuck him, but because he really did love him. To which Arthur did not listen to - causing Alfred to take drastic measures. Alfred then forces Arthur down, pinning him to the kitchen counter top (sacrificing a perfectly hospital cup, we thank thee not, on the way) and initially pretending that he was going to rape Arthur.
Although he stops before it got too far, and tells Arthur that he couldn't do that to him. Because he really does love him, and that he would never hurt him - which eventually, albeit hesitantly, results in their first mouth-to-mouth romantic kiss.
[/End mini summary].
And now for the fill...
IMPORTANT: I'm really sorry that I haven't replied to any of the more recent reviews. My mail suddenly decided that email alerts from Fanfiction dot net were spam - so I didn't get any of them until a little while ago. But I have read through them all now, and I thank you very, very much for the support! It's relieving, because I don't see very many responses on the actual kink meme because it's so long to catch up with. Thank you guys so much.
Here's the kink meme link, for those that asked: hetalia-kink (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 15769 (dot) html ?thread = 50352281#50352281
...
There were many memories that usually preserved themselves between people when they have their first ever kiss. Not that Arthur believed this was what it really was; while Alfred and Francis continued to pretend that there was a 'night before' for the three of them. Usually it's a memory that stays with you for a life time, in the nation's cases even more, whether it is good or not.
It's like a new discovery; a whole new world opened up to you, and a new environment to explore. Although the same was true to first kisses with a particular person – though to a lesser extent. Fair enough, you've been introduced into the love and care of another and by some extent that does apply as discovery. But instead of thousands of doors for you to open, there are only two - the first to step back and the second to embrace.
Needless to say, however; with Alfred's lips pressed quite eagerly against his own, there were far more doors – paths to travel down – than for anyone else. Of course, the questions weren't eluded either. How long had Alfred felt like this, while Arthur was oblivious to his feelings? For how many years have they danced around each other with harsh words and bitter insults as their medium, when in reality they could have met in the middle a long time ago?
"Mm... Arthur, I-" Alfred panted, as the two of them let their lips slice delicately against one another's. His hand splayed against the Englishman's side, pulling him closer plush against his half-naked body. Arthur could feel how erect his nipples were in the crisp air through his own clothing, as loose as it was. Along with other assets, his mind did not hesitate to remind. "-you have no idea how long I've... no idea...!"
'I can dominate you completely'
The Englishman underneath him said nothing, doing nothing other than letting his fingers reach upwards and wrap gently around his ex-colony's shoulders. He loathed the fact that his fingers were shaking - he really did. It should not have been so shocking - so nerve-wracking - to kiss the man that you have fallen in love with several times over. But it made sense, didn't it? When you really do love someone, then it scares you at every opportunity. The fear that they would one day leave you, or maybe be deterred or repulsed by your actions was a heavy burden. For someone like Alfred - someone that has betrayed him in the past; it was especially hard for him to close himself balanced and composed.
"Nn..."
A brief murmur - fleeting moan, perhaps. Something so fragile that it could have been mistaken as a whisper carried by the outside wind - was all that left Arthur as Alfred dropped his hand lower down, brushing the Briton's shirt out of the way so he could touch, fondle, and love the expanses of skin at his disposal. Alfred licked the bottom of those thin but surprisingly soft cherry pink lips, begging for access that was willingly granted. Their tongues slid together heatedly, spreading essence of one another into the other's mouth; while the American danced his palm over the subtle, white sand coloured dunes of muscle Arthur had at his abdomen.
'Touch you. Violate you'
It was entrancing, really, how Arthur would gently lean into the touch without consciously giving consent to his body's actions. If Alfred raised his hand by an inch, Arthur's back would bend and his stomach would follow to seek that hand's warmth and comfort. Alfred would have grinned at the realisation; had he not been so busy tasting Arthur's mouth, pushing the opposition's tongue into submission. The Englishman acted like Alfred was his puppeteer; strings being tied weightlessly to the American's hand, so he could conduct Arthur to do whatever he desired.
While Arthur probably still did not believe Alfred in mind - accusations of a drunken cavort hanging very much questionably in the air, even after his heavily weighted words - his body definitely told that there was nothing the Englishman wanted more than to believe his words.
Their lips clicked and popped as they passionately frolicked in the release of tension between them. Neither was too sure of how it happened, but soon, Arthur had lost the entirety of his shirt and was panting quite vigorously underneath Alfred - of whom had either forgotten to zip up his jeans throughout the whole fling, or had pulled it down God knows when. Still; since he had gone commando in his rush to reach Arthur quickly, it managed to give Arthur another look at what had been assured by those fervent kisses.
If anything could give him shivers; seeing that again was what captured him the most.
Recovering from said shivers, Arthur tilted his head back - letting it lull against the kitchen counter top underneath him. Without a doubt, this was possibly turning out to be one of the most terrifying things he can ever done. Or had almost done, at least. Nerves were erupting in his stomach like some sort of volcano; boiling up slowly over the edge, and expanding heat ifast/i inside of his body.
The Englishman squeezed his eyes shut tightly, as he felt a weight being lifted off of his legs and a sound of clothing go 'flump' on the floor besides them. Knowing what he was doing - what Alfred was doing to him. It was all his fault. All his fault - was almost setting his body into automatic shut-down. All because he was quickly being overwhelmed.
Arthur barely stifled an urgent moan when he felt Alfred cup the tip of his clothed erection. He still had his boxers on then, as the Briton didn't hesitate to think, as the slightly wetter fabric clung to him. As his ex-colony's lips returned to him, kissing quite chastely, Arthur went almost stiff as a board as fingertips teased the rim of his underwear.
Though something other than Alfred's touches were bothering him significantly. The first and foremost question that was slowly filling Arthur's mind was 'what of Francis?'. The third party to the two person dance had so far disappeared, feelings completely ignored as they, Alfred and Arthur, continued to frolic with each other.
If he was in a right state of mind - and Arthur did severely doubt it - he would have claimed he understood Alfred now. It was a complete lie, but, it was a weight off of his mind. And it was his lips sealed there, against his own.
But for Francis; this whole thing was questionable. The Frenchman was always the type to make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Maybe that was one of the things that pissed Arthur off so much about him. The man never spoke his true mind, other than a few wisely placed sentences; he always knew what he was doing perfectly. He was a psychological mind trap. Nobody could see him, but he could see everyone else – so clearly that he often understood someone else better than even they did. Had Francis had any clarity, he would have used his strategic gift on the battlefield far better. But while war was useful, his mind was always elsewhere. It didn't take a genius to understand where his head really was.
Francis Bonnefoy always claimed dictatorship over the system of 'love'. It was the reason he understood people so well, and why he – despite his proclaimed military record – was still one of the most prestigious countries in the world. He had history, he had class; and he was always there to lend a hand to those who needed it - whether that was helping his enemies or not.
Let's not forget, Francis helped Alfred break away from Arthur. Was this not something good in the long run? All he did was to break a heart on the way to mending another. And eventually, now, it all fell into place. Here Alfred was, and here he was. He could be happy. Arthur supposed this must mean that love really does make the world go around. Was it really the only thing that mattered? Were wars and death really all for a tiny moment's gratification?
Along with the door forwards and the door away from Alfred, three more doors lingered behind - one for Francis, one for neither, and then the one in the middle; the one double padlocked, chained, and missing its key. Though for now, only two of the doors were unlocked. There was an overwhelming urge in the Englishman's unconscious mind to grab the handles and rattle until the locking mechanism clicked and set him free.
Alfred pressed one more subtle kiss to his lips, and then to the tip of his nose. Arthur couldn't place the look that he received as anything other than one of concern. He had no idea where the nerves were coming from at all. Bugger, who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he was nervous. He could tell exactly why his mind was whispering to him that there something wasn't right about this - that there was something that didn't add up.
Cerulean blue eyes connected with earthly emeralds, gazing down questioningly. They were wide with worry. "Arthur?" The Englishman heard the American's voice say. "Arthur, is this... is this really okay?"
He knew exactly what Alfred was trying to say. 'Are you really fine with me touching you like this?' was more exact. 'You really want me, of all people, to be doing this - right?' could have been another connotation. Heaven knows; Arthur could hear it in his tone all too clearly. He wanted to reply. He wanted desperately to say 'yes'. 'Yes. I'm sure. And I do, in fact, love you too', even, at his very best. But he was frozen.
Instead of speaking, Arthur's eyes cast elsewhere. Pressure suddenly seemed to clog in the atmosphere, from absolutely nowhere. The hand at the entrance to his underwear had gone. Their breaths slowly managed to level out and quieten. And then silence dictated them.
"I need to think." Arthur sliced through the heavy tension. He didn't look at Alfred, but he could far too easily imagine the confusion and perhaps even distraught on his face. His mouth opened as his mind suddenly had a compelling need to speak, but he shortly closed it - having discovered that the apology died away on the tip of his tongue.
Without meeting the other's eyes, nor being at all contested, Arthur turned and pushed himself off of the kitchen counter top - carefully avoiding the broken mug pieces on the ground - and listened to the tap of his bare feet as he escaped, leaving the room and his American love behind. But until something became clear to him, he would not be able to settle. He had to know. Heaven hold his pleas for love for a bounty.
He had to know whether Francis was one and the same.
