As distressed as Arthur had been when he went to bed by the events hours before, he had slept dreamlessly and awoke around eight PM sore, but rested and clear-headed. It surprised him. He thought on it while he bathed and applied various healing charms to his bruises. Had it really been as simple as him needing to find release? That he just needed to get it out of his system? Wasn't that really rather reminiscent of ridicule aimed towards him for his rather serious demeanor: "a good shag would sort him out"?
Yes, he remembered that. As he recalled, it was normally followed by some jab about his appearance (his eyebrows, his hair, his thinness) or his personal hobbies making the possibility of a lover quite remote. He had always been a very reasonable man and always found those cracks particularly hurtful. He found he didn't much care what was said about his looks: he knew he was unpleasing to the eye.
Francis had made sure he understood that from a very early age. Oh yes. But he had one thing Francis could never have and could never take away from him: his magic. England worshiped his magic; the power that it gave him, the possibilities it would open up for him. Magic and alcohol would be his escape from misery, wouldn't they? It was never that straightforward for him though, was it?
No time for reverie, he thought as he dressed. He needed to check in with the queen. He'd been very... rambunctious lately, and it must have been driving her insane if she actually handed Alfred the responsibility of taking care of him. He was feeling well today: better than he had for weeks. He wasn't concerned about seeing the American either – he knew the boy had been humiliated this morning, even if it had cost Arthur no small amount of shame himself. Thinking back on the yank's anger and shame gave him some small pleasure.
But yet, at the same time... it made him feel hollow. And for some reason, he felt as if he was sinking into an abyss. Like cold, dead hands were pulling him down, pulling him in and tearing him down into the dark, cold, and lonely existence he had found himself a part of. And he kept sinking. Even after he made his way out of the hotel and to the nearest drugstore, he felt his heart deflate. Strange...that body part didn't seem to be there most of the time. But the thought of him being all alone pulled at his heart-strings, yanked them out and drowned him in his own blood from the inside out.
He paid for his pack of cigarettes with a gruff thank you, and then left the stuffy shop. He walked around, feeling more lost and feeble than he had in weeks. It was strange. He had thought this morning was when he was truly weak, but he saw why it was now. It was BECAUSE of earlier. Sure, he had wounded Alfred… but the boy had taken a much bigger shot and caught him right in the chest. Where his soul apparently WASN'T.
Arthur choked on air and hissed in frustration. Who the hell was that whelp to believe that he was any better than him?! He wasn't! He...wasn't...Arthur sighed and collapsed on a random stone porch, fiddling desperately for a fag and his lighter. When it WAS lit, he brought his trembling lips to his mouth and took a deep, shaky breath and inhaled as much smoke as he could.
As he tried to relax a women, who seemed to be in her forties, began to descend the steps. She stopped, hesitating with her hand on the rail as she looked down at him. Her dark skin and looks, obviously from another country, graced Arthur's appalling appearance and she sat down. She was clearly overweight, as were many of the people roaming this land, but she still looked beautiful in her turquoise shirt and black, flowing skirt. She placed her bag down beside her and spoke to him.
"You shouldn't smoke. It'll kill you." Her Jamaican voice was like music to his ears and he wanted to tune it out. She was too precious, too pure to be tainted by his presence.
The woman leaned forward to get a better look at him. Arthur blew out some more smoke, his thick eyebrows drawing together as he shook his head. "I don't care."
"There are plenty o' ways to die. But you have to figure out a way to live. Now, tat's hard." She replied softly, gazing intently at his face. Arthur looked down at the cement steps, her words sinking into his brain and finding purchase. The first seed was planted, and she stood up, making her way into her apartment with nothing more to say to the strange man who had decided to perch himself upon her doorstep.
*Le POV Change*
"This stuff with England, like, is totally, crazy!" Poland huffed, rolling his eyes. Toris just sighed and reached into the mini fridge, pulling out a cold beverage.
"Yeah... Mr. England isn't... feeling very well lately. I think Mr. America will fix that though. He's a very kind person."
"Yeah, I guess. A bit stupid though, dont'cha think? He, like, totally doesn't like my fashion tips." Feliks grumbled in annoyance, his green eyes glinting with an irritable shine as he flicked his hair.
"I think its because last time you tried to get him into a frilly pink night gown." Toris smiled and leaned down from behind the Polish man. Feliks puffed up a bit, his arms crossing defiantly against his chest.
"Humph." He deflated a bit, his shoulders slumping as he whispered, "I'm just worried about those two fashionless dweebs is all..."
"Leave them for tomorrow," Lithuania said. He brandished the bottle of whiskey. "For tonight, just worry about us," he smiled. "We should really be more relaxed with each other, I think. Make the most of things." He murmured sweetly as he brushed aside the hair that stood between him and that pale, soft neck.
Feliks moaned and tilted his head back, giving him more room to work with. They both knew Toris was lying. In truth, there was only one person he really wanted to be with, but the abusive - clearly psychotic woman - wasn't interested. So Lithuania made do with what he had.
It wasn't as if he DIDN'T love Feliks, but if he had to be completely honest, if he could choose, he'd be in bed with Belarus right now, working on making her forget all about her brother. It made Poland want to grit his teeth, but he didn't want to ruin them so he just sighed and pulled away when he felt the long, gentle fingers caress his skin.
Feliks lifted up two glasses from the mini-bars top. "I agree," he said. "But I wish to be relaxed in the bed." The Polish boy whispered seductively in his ear and led Toris there, who followed smiling. Feliks undid the bottle and started to pour. No sooner than when two glasses were filled, Lithuania was undressing his partner, deftly and swiftly. It took him by surprise but Feliks joined in, heat pooling in his groin immediately as he felt startlingly thick with desire. Only once they were naked did Toris draw him into an embrace and kiss him deeply and searchingly. Poland responded eagerly, their bodies now pressed against each other, their erections caught against each others stomachs.
Still standing and kissing passionately, their hands wandered firmly over each others torsos, raking each of their chests and sides, tracing patterns over their backs and down their spines. Their kisses broke as they explored the exposed necks and shoulders with teeth, lips and tongues. Feliks marvelled at the other's reactions, sighs and moans excited his own stomach and groin. It no longer felt alien to Poland to vocalize his pleasure to Toris, who rewarded him with more pleasure for any pleasure shown. Lithuania was a heady and intoxicating man. Who needed whiskey?
Like always, Toris had brought Poland to his tipping point, and was now tracing his fingers between his butt cheeks, hovering around his opening teasingly and around to massage his balls. His other hand was lightly caressing his too hard erection, in a manner calculated to drive Poland insane. Poland took hold of Lithuania's erection firmly and he pressed into him, kissing him hard. He knew from other nights that he would have to tell Toris what he wanted if he wanted the man to stop tantalizing him. "I'm ready Toris. Please," he breathed.
Lithuania guided him back onto the bed, and pushed his legs apart to gain access. Leaning in to kiss Poland fully, his hands swiftly working to stretch and relax his lover further until his breathing became shallow and low moans escaped from him. Holding onto Feliks' hips, Toris then let himself into to the other gently, slowly and inch by inch, softly moaning with each push into Poland's muscles. Feliks had wanted him to thrust into him in one movement, but Toris wouldn't give in to Poland's hands hungrily grabbing his backside to pull harder.
His other hand pushed Feliks back onto the bed and held his shoulder there whilst he leisurely worked in and out of him, holding his eyes intensely, almost unblinking. Then he lent in again to catch Poland's mouth with his own, searching deeply with his tongue, his hand grasping Feliks' erection and stroking it firmly. His thrusts became deeper and faster, his hand in time with his hips. Toris was hitting Poland's prostate now over and over and Feliks called Toris' name loudly and sharply as the waves of pleasure hit over and over again, radiating through his body to his very nerve endings.
Both men were moaning, their bodies sweating, each man panting. Poland writhed underneath Lithuania and bucked against him to encourage Toris deeper and harder still. They moaned against each other's mouths, Lithunaia murmuring "Natasha" over and over again, as their blood coursed in their veins loudly and violently.
Poland wanted to cry, wanted to yell, wanted to do a lot of things, but he only moaned and pretended he didn't hear that sweet voice whispering someone else's name. Finally they came together fiercely, Poland with a moan and Lithuania with a cry, pushing the last of his orgasm out. Toris lowered himself next to Feliks and both lay there for a while to steady their breathing, Lithuania occasionally brushing light kisses against Poland's mouth, cheeks and forehead.
Once they were both calm again Lithuania sat up, pulled Poland to sit against him, and reached for the two glasses of whiskey on the bedside table, offering one to Feliks. "Are you relaxed enough for this now?" Toris smiled.
No... Poland thought. "Duh, of course I am," he replied wryly, thinking how very easy it would be to get used to this type of relaxation, but knowing it was only glamor and acting put on by the man he loved. Then man who loved someone else; but was too desperate to let go.
*Le POV Change*
"He's not here, Matt!" Alfred called out, having run into the bathroom of his rented living space. "He... he left..."
"Well... you had to of been expecting this, Al, I mean... it's ARTHUR." Matthew took a seat on a nearby chair, having thought twice before sitting on a bed that had not only his brother's release, but Arthur's as well.
"Yeah, but I didn't think he would just... LEAVE!" Alfred raked his hands through his hair as he spun around, looking for any clue or lead as to where Arthur may have gone to. "He didn't even write a note..."
"Would you?" Alfred frowned at him, not amused. But Matthew's face clearly showed he was being serious about what he'd said.
"No... I guess not... but he KNOWS! He KNOWS he's under my care! What the hell does he think he's DOIN'?!"
"Getting away from you." Canada stood up and pulled on his hoodie, making sure it was nice and snug around him, and then tossed Alfred his jacket. Arthur must have thrown in on the floor when he left because there it was. "Now get dressed, we have a depressed nation on the loose."
Alfred wasted no time in getting dressed and was running out the door as he fought with his coat, trying to get his arms through the familiar leather sleeves. Matthew shook his head and closed the door behind them.
As they walked, they asked people if they had seen where a moody blond person with humongous eyebrows had run off to. One had admitted to being in a drug store with a man who looked just like that earlier, but the had guy stormed off, and the citizen human hadn't seen him since.
They took their only lead and searched every block around a nearby drug store, but couldn't find any sign of him. And they continued their search. For hours they looked, and scanned, and walked looking for him, but Arthur seemed to be long gone.
"I think he's in another part of the town by now, Al... who knows where he is…?" Alfred shook his head, his hands buried deeply in his pockets as he stomped along.
"I can't stop looking. I can't. I gotta keep searchin' for 'im Matty. I have'ta." Matthew sighed and they continued onwards, facing the ground as they trudged along the windy streets of New York. They occasionally asked people if they had run into Arthur, but none had or, at least, they didn't remember having encountered the wayward nation.
And soon, Matthew had to leave. It was eleven at night and he had to meet with a few other people in the morning for business. He gave Alfred a long look of sorrow and apology. He wanted to stay, to help his brother in his time of need, but he had to go. Carlos had picked him up in a small, silver car he'd rented for this trip and gave him a small, crooked smile.
"Hope ya find him, ya capitalist pig." Alfred only huffed back, turning around and picking up where he'd left off. Carlos rolled up the window with a frown and gave Matthew a concerned glance. "That Arthur guy is gonna drive that kid nuts." Matthew only nodded and swallowed the feeling of betrayal as he spotted a blond hair that wasn't his on Cuba's shirt, looking forward with a small, sad smile.
*Le POV Change*
Dark had come and there Arthur was, still resting on the same porch he'd been before. Waiting, just WAITING for an answer for his problems. But he never did get one. "Child... what you still doin' here, don' you have a home to go to?" The thick, black woman from before was staring down at him, her hands on her hips as she leaned against the door frame.
Arthur sighed and curled further into himself. He shook his head as he replied: "No... Well... I suppose I do, but its not really anything you'd call a home. I don't have one of those anymore."
The Jamaican was silent for a moment before she grabbed his arm. Her soft, yet beefy fingers curled around the thin limb and she tutted. "I was righ. You need 'ta eat, child...now get on in tis house for some of my home cookin' or I'll kick you offa tis porch righ' now." She threatened lightly.
"Don't touch me," he protested weakly as she pulled him up with ease. "I'm sick."
"More liked starved." She murmured. "Now get in!" Arthur was escorted into a shabby, tiny apartment. The walls were a dirty shade of pink, ruined from all the previous tenants who had smoked within the cramped walls. Holes where nails and pictures used to hang, and a fairly clean splotched from where frames were hung and protected the poor paint job from all kinds of unhealthy things that had riddled the air years before.
Arthur stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do as the woman disappeared into what he assumed was the kitchen. After a moment, he heard her yell, "What chu waitin' for, get your ass in here!"
He quickly scrambled into the room, and then looked around. There was faded and stained floral wall paper, old, tattered drapes and ugly tiles beneath their feet, but all in all, the woman was clean and kept it all in spotless condition. He felt a bit of pity for her, having to clean up the mess others left behind, and try to make something decent of it, only to fail... it sounded like his life in some sense, but he pushed that murky thought aside.
On the table were two plates. They were chipped and mismatched, but she didn't seem to care. The lady was sitting patiently, looking up at him, expecting him to take a seat beside her, and so he did. It was a stiff and robotic movement, but he slid into the metal chair - with ripped leather cushions - and eyed his food.
It was Gumbo and god, if it didn't smell like heaven to his hungry nostrils. He looked up timidly to the person before him and she nodded. He dove into the bowl with about as much vigor as a person who'd got to fuck for the first time after spending a lifetime in prison. The woman just smiled softly before quietly, and much more sophisticatedly, ate her own fill.
"So...what a kid like yourself doin' on my porch at tis time o' night?" Arthur looked up and shame filled his face. He looked back down to his plate and set his spoon down onto the table.
"I..." He shook his head a bit. "I was trying to... to find some answers."
"Answers to what...?"
"About myself."
The woman stared at him for a moment before sighing lightly. "Nobody can give you them answers but yourself. And if you tink you can find tem on my porch, I'm going to let you know righ' now 'fore you disappoint yourself, I don't tink tey're here." She joked. Arthur chuckled nervously.
"Yes... I... I discovered that myself, ma'am. And I'm sorry I took the liberty of just...sitting on the steps of your home without permission, but I... I didn't know where else to go..."
She hummed and gave him a curious look. "How old are you?"
"I'm twenty three, ma'am."
"You seem so much older, you can tell," she said. "In your eyes. You've had a hard life."
Arthur nodded. If only she knew..."I can't say it's been particularly easy."
"I don' tink any of us in tis city can say tat."
"Heh, yes...'New York, the safest big city in the world', right?" He joked. The woman smiled bitterly.
"It really no differen' from any otha place in tis planet." She looked up at him suddenly. "Why you really here, child? What happened to ya?"
"What DIDN'T happen to me is the better question..."
"Is it a man?"
"What?" The question caught him off guard.
"Is it a man, a relation? Boyfriend?"
"Why do you just assume that I'm gay?"
"Honey, I've lived in places all over the world. I know one when I see one. Besides," she added. "I saw you limpin' when you came in here, you didn't get that from hurtin' no ankle." She smiled warmly at him, understanding in her eyes. "So...was it a man?"
"...Yes."
She hummed. "What he do?"
"He... he wants to love me." The lady gave him a confused glance.
"Is tat a bad ting?"
Arthur thought about it for a second. Was it? Yes. Yes it was. Alfred wanted to change him, to make him something he wasn't to make him vulnerable, to wheedle his way into his heart only to rip it out by the strings.
"Yes, ma'am."
"How so?" She leaned forward, resting her head on her palm as she listened intently.
"I don't want to love, you see. I want to... I want..."
"Do you know what cha want? Because it seem like ya don'. An' I seen many a folk who know wha' tey WAN' but NOT wha' tey NEED. So tell me child, what is it cha WANT?"
"To be free..." he whispered. "I want to be free. I want it all to end, to just give up, but... but I can't... I'm STUCK. I'm STUCK in this body with no way out."
"Child... I tink ya need ta dig inside. You jus' wanna quit, but cha CAN'T. An' you don' know why. Tis... tis confusion ya facin', ya tearin' yas'elf up doin' tis ta ya'self."
"But I HAVE dug."
"Did ya find yer ansa?"
"... No..."
"Ten dig a bit deepa." She responded, leaning back into her chair.
"I... I've been digging and all I've found is... is this EMPTINESS. It's... astonishing... numbing to find that... inside of you is a stranger. One that has your arms, your legs, your eyes... A sleepless, restless stranger who keeps walking, keeps eating, keeps... living." Arthur's voice was hollow and quiet, and his eyes glazed over as he spoke. He began to tremble a bit; the dark, cold, numbing feeling returning inside of him. The warmth of the Gumbo was dissipating within him.
"I tink, maybe... maybe ya need some help diggin'. Maybe tis isn' sometin' you can find all on ya own. I tink, you need someboday like dat man we was talkin' 'bout earliah ta help chu."
"I... no. I can't..."
"No, you can. You just don' WANNA let 'im in. But dat's not what'cha NEED now is it?" She said a bit louder, her powerful, yet almost... magical voice rung in the air. "I tink dis man can help ya find out who ya are. If you really wanna stop bein' a stranga ta ya'self, let him help ya. Let 'im in child. And if not 'im. Someboday who can actually feed you properly at least." Arthur felt his throat clench at her beautiful smile. It was so radiant, so wise and strong it made him feel so small and insignificant. Did he even know how to smile anymore? He doubted it.
"I-" Arthur jumped when he heard the chime of the clock on the wall, twelve strokes of the bell. "Its late... I should be going." He murmured staring down at the table. The woman shuffled a bit before standing up. She grabbed his plate and her own before she set the dishes on a counter near the sink.
"I'ma ask you again, child." She whispered, leaning in a bit closer. "Do'ya have a home ta go to?"
"... I'm not sure, ma'am... but I suppose I'll figure it out." He walked to the door with her on his heels, and without warning, something wrapped around his neck. A scarf.
"Eitha way, you keep warm out t'ere, a'ight?"
Arthur chuckled and nodded, wrapping the cloth securely around himself. "Yes ma'am." He stepped outside and down her steps. And gave her one last look before her door closed completely. "My name is Arthur."
The woman smiled through the crack and he could have sworn her eyes twinkled a bit. "I don' know why, but it's a pleasure to be able ta call ya tat." And the lock clicked shut quietly in the busy night.
"Maybe because you're the only one who can call me by that name now..." he whispered to himself. His words must have carried on the wind because as soon as those words were uttered, an exhausted American look up from down the street.
Alfred walked calmly, his messy hair blowing gently in the night air as he made his way over to England. Once they were before each other, Arthur stared at the ground. America was mere inches in front of him and he hadn't a word to say. Alfred stared at him intently and after a moment, slowly reached his hand out. Arthur flinched at the motion and Alfred felt himself choke up for a second before his hands graced the knitted strings of Arthur's scarf.
England felt a rush of air leave him and America clutched him to his chest, looking up at the sky like it had the answers for both of them… like it had words for him to say, sprawled out in the stars. But it didn't. And he supposed that was okay too, because Arthur clutched onto him too, and it all seemed alright, if only for a moment.
But just as quickly as it had started, it ended. And they released their hold on each other and the world felt a bit colder, a bit more scary without their shared warmth, but they walked in it anyway, making their way to the hotel together.
And that's how it should be, America thought to himself. Me and him against the world. But I know, and he knows, we got to find ourselves before we can find each other...
((Jesus H. Christ...this was really difficult to write for some reason. I fell like I can do better...I don't know. But here's some awesome news! I have a beta you guys! Yaaaay~ she's super nice and patient with my mistakes and is a big help in this project! Sora Resi!
But yes, this isn't the end folks, NOPE! In fact, far from it and shit ACTUALLY STARTS HAPPENING! OMG! I know, you guys have been so patient with this, I don't know how, I'm slow...but anyway, I'm not sure when I'll have the next one up because I'm still plotting it out, but I'll eventually get it up sometime soon, so don't worry!
If anybody has any pairings they'd like for me to put in here, let me know, because, as you can see, I've been dabbling in other peoples lives in this story to make it more interesting and it will have a purpose later, I swear.))