[Fanfic] Real Gone [2/2]
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva

(...Follow this link for the first part)

About an hour – or maybe two – later, Arthur was lying underneath the covers of the bed that was stowed away in Alfred's guest bedroom. A heavy weight clung to his chest, making it throb. He could not settle this bad feeling, consuming and eating him with guilt. Earlier was not wholly his fault, but he cared about Alfred. A lot. It was only because Alfred said that they should be with other people that he dared to even think about letting someone embrace him. If only the American believed that.

Because Francis was willing to give him a little bit of consolation. Did he love Francis, or even want to be with him? Not on your nelly. He sighed, and rolled over, tugging the sheets with him. His back still hurt so much, but that was the least of his problem. How come Alfred could play about, but he was not allowed? He didn't even want to. It was just unfair, and he reacted badly to that. He wanted Alfred to himself, because he was selfish and he knew it. He did not want to look away from Alfred at all. He just felt like... he had to. Dammit.

He... you know. Him.

Loved.

Arthur laid there for what seemed like hours. It had been, actually. Soon, the small clock on the dresser read past one in the morning. There wasn't a sound in the house, and Arthur did not even know if Alfred had come back inside. The only sound Arthur could hear was the soft ticking noise of the bed side clock. That is, until he heard the door knob turn and the door to his room creak open.

There stood Alfred in the doorway, shadows covering most of his body and face. Arthur could tell he had shed his jacket and tie, leaving him in only his button up. "Arthur...?" He called softly, moving into the room quietly though stumbling slightly. "Arthur... are you awake?" Alfred moved to sit on the bed and watched the still figure under the covers for a minute.

It would be lying to say that Arthur had not fallen asleep, because he had. Only for a short duration, though. He was relatively restless. He always was when he worried. He got sick often that way. Though while he was awake now, and had been for over thirty minutes, Arthur was determined not to let on. He tried to keep his breathing steady, even as Alfred sat down next to him. He could feel the mattress shift with the added weight. Then, of course, he remembered that sleeping people were not silent and unmoving. He tugged the covers again, and made a light 'nn' noise, to cover his tracks.

The American was quiet for a long time before he shifted, moving to lay on the bed on his side, facing Arthur's back. Alfred took a deep breath before he spoke again, reaching up to let Arthur's soft sandy blonde hair run through his fingers. "I know... I know you're mad at me. You have every right to be, I went too far. I...I shouldn't have pushed you." There was another silence before Alfred shifted a little closer, breath now ghosting over the back of Arthur's neck.

Alfred reeked of booze.

"I just hate knowing I can't tell the world you're mine..."

Arthur opened his eyes for a moment, considered talking to him, but then they were pressed shut again. Wasn't it silly that Alfred would rather talk to him honestly when he slept, rather than to his face? In the interests of discovery, Arthur remained quiet, just listening. Alfred was being so sweet, and it hurt thinking of what had happened and why. Knowing Alfred had smoked a lot and drunk a lot because of him—well. That was the worst thing.

There was a soft sniff before Alfred moved to let his hand rest on Arthur's hip over the sheets. "Why do you always have to be so far away? You... No matter what I do I'm never good enough to be with you. I'm the strongest nation in the world... and you still don't want to be with me," the American nation shuddered softly as he let out a small sad whine, then an odd chuckle. "You know... the other day when I was in bed with this one girl... I accidently said you name. Ha... she left me right there, yelling about how I was a homosexual and that I was disgusting. But, I couldn't help it."

Arthur tried not to smile. It was warming, but at the same time, it was so sad to hear him speaking like this. Like he was utterly hopeless, and that he thought Arthur did not appreciate him. How wrong he was. He would probably never know the sheerextent to which Arthur knew he was wrong. Still, he held on. What else would Alfred do or confess?

"Sometimes...I envy my people. How they have jobs that at most only make them leave the ones they love for a week, but they always come back. Come back to the ones that they care about most." His fingers started to trace patterns on Arthur's covered hip, pressing closer as he spoke so that Arthur's back was flush against his chest. "If I could... I would have you as my wife... or Husband... or whatever. I don't care. That way I could always come home to your sewing, swearing, drinking and your God awful cooking... but most of all to you."

"...You bastard," Arthur said sharply through the silence that Alfred had created. He did not listen to any exclamations of surprise that came from the American, and just swiveled around so that he was facing the man. His eyebrows were tugged, lines on his forehead indicating worry, and eyes heavy with upset and blame. "Do you get off on saying things like that to me?" He asked. "Alfred—You wanted to sleep around with other people. I never wanted to do that. Never. If anyone is to blame for you and I not... not having that, it's you. I was and am..." He swallowed, and trailed off.

Yours. Always had been.

Alfred kept his head down, not looking into Arthur's eyes as his alcohol flooded mind tried to think. "I'm sorry," He said softly, pulling his hand away from Arthur so that he could tug on them nervously. "I just...When you told me not to tell anyone after... after that night. I was hurt. I had thought I would be able to tell everyone that Arthur Kirkland was mine... But I couldn't. So, I guess I wanted to hurt you back." His cheeks colored in shame at how childish that sounded when he said it out loud, it had made perfect sense at the time and in his head.

"I slept with Francis—!" Arthur said sharply in response. "It wouldn't have happened if—...!" He shook his head as he looked at Alfred, and his face was filled with unspoken hurt. All he wanted to do was to keep the reputation of their relationship safe. Alfred went too far. He made them branch off to other people when Arthur was there for him, wholly, already. Who was the one that should feel this incomprehensible guilt? Arthur glared in another direction, trying not to communicate just how pained he really was. "Well done on the 'hurting me back' front. You fucking well proved your point."

Blue eyes widened and he sat up quickly, moving so that he had Arthur trapped between his arms as he loomed over the Briton. "I'm sorry, Arthur! Please, you gotta know I didn't want for all this shit to happen. I just didn't want to be seen as the weaker one by clinging to you and whining that I wanted to go steady or something." Alfred bowed his head and bit his lip as he tried to think of some way to make this all better again, but he couldn't. Damage had been done, and he didn't have some magic eraser that could fix all his life's mistakes.

"Arthur... I know what I did was wrong and I'm sorry." He glanced up to meet green in the dark room and swallowed thickly. "I..." He was supposed to be brave. Be the hero. He was the United States of America. So, he tightly closed his eyes and waited for the worst after he spit out those three words. "I love you—!"

Instead of a recoil in alarm or astonishment, as Alfred might have expected, there were a fresh pair of lips pressing against his. Arthur had kissed him - which was a surprise, because Arthur was the sort that waited for the other party to dive in and show him that they wanted a piece. The kiss was chaste, not searching for anything more, just expressing true affection. Finally, when Arthur was done, they pulled apart slowly - millimetre by millimetre. "...I love you too." He confessed, before he lowered the hand that had gone on Alfred's cheek, and squeezed it into a fist. "I mean, I care about you, you idiot. So..."

Lips were pressed against Arthur's quickly, pressing hurriedly down stopping anything else the Briton could say. "Shhh," Alfred clumsily said against his lips, one hand moving to cup the underside of Arthur's head while the other went to rest over the English nation's chest, right over his heart. "Stop... Don't pull back after that. Honesty. I want that from you." He then took Arthur's hand in his and pressed it against his own chest, his heart beating wildly even through his shirt. "You make it do that. Like no one else."

Thump, thump, thump, thump - a quicker succession than a regular heartbeat. Arthur knew what that meant. His own heart ached at the thought as he realised that he was making Alfred throb for him. He laughed under his breath humourlessly, because he knew how silly that thought was. He looked up at Alfred, and reached above him to brush some hairs out of Alfred's perfect eyes.

"So..." he said. "What does this mean for us, Alfred? Are we..." He tried not to look ecstatic. It was indecent. "Is it—just us?"

Alfred smiled and leaned down to nuzzle Arthur's neck, kissing it a few times as he hummed quietly. "Do I get to hold your hand at meetings and call you mine?" He whispered against the pale smooth skin of Arthur's cheek.

Arthur frowned. He was not terribly sure about advertising their relationship. It was risky. What if the rest of the world reacted badly to their union? He thought about it for a moment, and looked up at Alfred. This time, unlike the first time, he caved in. "Yes. You may," he said, before he held a finger up. "But first! You, sir, are going to get in contact with Betty and—In fact—All of your upcoming 'dates', and you are going to cancel, right now!"

"N-Now?" Alfred croaked and frowned down at the small Briton under him, shaking his head quickly. "Arthur, it's almost one in the morning. It's not like they have secretaries that can take down messages for them." He pouted as he leaned down to kiss Arthur's lips softly, a hand moving under the covers to rub at the Briton's side. "Can I at least wait until morning..?"

Begrudgingly, the Briton's shoulders sagged and he sighed. Yes, he honestly did want to have that over, but Alfred was right. The time was not of the essence. Still, might as well get something out of this. "Fine. But I have two demands. One, you have to call all those ladies, or sirs for that matter, and tell them that it's not happening anymore. And, two..." He trailed off, and found his hands rubbing up Alfred's warm but expansive chest. "...You may take me to your bedroom right now, and we can assure that we get a very cozy night."

The American didn't need much more persuading as he leaned down to capture Arthur's lips with his, doing his best to pull the covers away from the Englishman's body. He smiled as he tugged at Arthur's flannel top and nipped at his bottom lip before pulling away completely. "How is it you're still pretty foxy in those stupid plaid flannels?" He pecked Arthur's lips again before he hopped off the bed and leaned down to swoop Arthur up like he was carrying his new bride.

"That is the best compliment I have ever received from someone that has seen me in my matching pyjamas," Arthur commented. Ah, satire. He reaffirmed their lips, and again, and again. Sweet, noble kisses to pass the time as Alfred carried him to the main bedroom. It was funny, really. This was the first time Arthur had ever not complained when Alfred treated him like this - like he was protecting and taking care of him. Arthur hated it. Just—Well. Perhaps a one off, eh? A one-off to start many. "Are you sure I am going to be enough for you, Jones? Will your romantic urges be sated?"

Alfred laughed loudly as he actually kicked his bedroom door open, carrying Arthur in and tossing him down onto the springy mattress. "Trust me, you may act all poised and proper in front of other people. But you get downright dirty when it comes to the horizontal tango." Alfred waggled his brow at his reference to Antonio's dancing. The Spaniard had been far to eagar to show off when they had last met. He quickly crawled on top of Arthur and kissed him deeply, hand moving to the small buttons of Arthur's soft top.

Arthur bounced on the bed when he was tossed down, and his heart did a flip in his chest as his partner – his partner, mind – made his way on top and trapped him under his body. Arthur reached up and tugged at his buttons to help Alfred tug the article of clothing off of him quicker. Alfred was right - once you got him in bed, which was a skill for someone to do these days, he was stunning. Foxismonitous. Arthur pressed up against the kiss, letting their lips smoothly glide over one another's.

Alfred continued to dominate the kiss and when the last button was proving to be a problem he decided to just forget being careful and ripped at Arthur's shirt, causing the button to pop off and land somewhere in the room. "Finally." He gasped against the Briton's lips and moved to splay his cool hand over Arthur's warm chest. Looking down, he couldn't help but smile at how much darker his skin was compared to the others almost paper white color.

"You should get more sun, Sweets. You got the cream down, but you're missing the peaches." He joked moving down to kiss Arthur's exposed collar bone, hands moving to play with the waist band of the other nation's bottoms.

"Oh, do shut up, Alfred," Arthur said as he gazed upwards at his lover and watched those thin lips tug into a very defined smile. He ran his fingers up the tanned and broad arms of his partner, although they were concealed by his crisp white shirt, tightening them around the taut muscles for his amusement. "You know you like me like this. Pale. It's character." He pointed out. Once upon a time, people loved a pale complexion. It was the sign of nobility - no need to work one's back off in the sun. He shifted further up the bed, till his head was pressed against the pillows.

He let Arthur move as he stood up from the bed and started to tug at his tie until he was able to pull it over his head. He threw the thin black piece of silk to the floor and started to unbutton his work shirt, his dog tags jingling against his undershirt now that they had room to move. He let his shirt slip off his shoulders and plucked at the tight undershirt before moving to start undoing his pants.

After he had removed his slacks he gave Arthur a small show by reaching his arms up and stretching, lifting up onto the balls of his feet to show off his strong calf muscles. He knew he was good looking. Even in an undershirt and briefs.

Alfred's good looking body, instead of being met with praise, was immediately met with a firm pillow. Arthur had thrown it, smacking the American right in his abdomen. From the successful look on Arthur's face, he had hit his mark. "Pity," he commented. "I was hoping I would bruise your massive ego." Arthur curled his finger in a 'come hither' movement, and waited for Alfred to come join him. He lifted one of his feet. "You can start with the socks."

Alfred rolled his eyes and moved down to pick up the pillow, tossing it back onto the bed and narrowly missing Arthur's head. "Pfff. As if anyone could." He remarked and climbed up on the bed, stopping when he came to Arthur's lifted leg. He snickered slightly as he took the small foot that was offered to him in his hand and kissed one of the sock covered toes. "Now I know I'm sleeping with an old man. Only old people wear their socks to bed." He grinned as he moved up to start peeling the sock off of the Briton's foot.

"Only young people complain about their toes being cold when they're in bed without finding a clever but simple solution," Arthur remarked back as he held his foot up for Alfred, keeping his toes nicely pointed with precision. At the very least, Arthur could control his body. "Maybe I should keep them on?" He said in a tone that was mockingly seductive, and he pinched the fabric of his pyjama trousers so he could shimmy them down a little. They were a bit baggy on him, and with not much surprise. Arthur was a bundle of bones right now and not too much else.

Alfred stopped when Arthur suggested leaving the socks on, and with a growing smile he started to roll the sock back onto Arthur's leg. "You always have the best ideas," he pushed the Briton's leg back down onto the bed and moved in to give him a firm kiss. "Now, stop being a stupid tease and let's get these off you." He growled out and gripped the hem of Arthur's bottoms and pulled, sliding them easily off those slim hips and down Arthur's long legs.

Alfred blushed when he saw that Arthur was not wearing any kind of undergarment and he shook his head slightly as a smile came onto his face. He could make a comment on how Arthur was super perverted or if he had been expecting this to happen tonight. But he didn't. He just stroked Arthur's stomach gently and lifted a bare leg so he could kiss it. "You are..."

Skinny.

Malnourished.

All Bones.

"You're beautiful, Arthur."

After watching Alfred trail off and stare, Arthur's shoulders sagged a little. Oh, yes, he knew that look. He had seen others give it to those that had not got such baggy clothes to disguise it, or substantial clothes for that matter. Arthur pushed himself up, flexibility showing as he pressed closer to Alfred even with his leg suspended by the American in the air. He took Alfred's chin in his hand, and made certain that the other male was staring at him in the eyes. "You know there are worse people out there than me," Arthur told him, before letting go of his lover's chin. He regarded him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I..." Alfred ducked his head, remembering how Arthur had almost crumbled when he had pushed him earlier today – and how the other times they had slept together, Arthur always seemed ready to pass out after only two rounds.

"I don't want to break you." He whispered softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on Arthur's knee.

Arthur pulled his leg down from Alfred's hands, and moved so that he was kneeling in front of Alfred. Although his back still hurt, he was determined to not let a single indication of the pain show up on his face. Without a word, he gripped Alfred's broad shoulders - really gripping them, fingers tight on those muscles.

"Alfred F. Jones," Arthur stared at him, all determination appearing in those eyes. The only offense Arthur had gotten was that Alfred did not trust him to know his own limits. "I have lived through just over a thousand years of life, now. I can handle myself. Let me tell you this..." He trailed off, and leant in, pressing his lips to the shell of Alfred's ear for a millisecond before he spoke. "I—Will—Not—Break."

Alfred looked up, watching Arthur for a minute before nodding and giving that small turned up nose a soft kiss. He then pushed the Briton back down on the bed gently without a word and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's neck as he intertwined their fingers. He kissed Arthur's chest until he had run out of places to kiss, then while keeping their hands locked he reached over to the bed side drawer and pulled out bottle of lotion. He kissed Arthur again, pulling the other's tongue into his mouth and sucking on it softly while he pumped some of the cold lotion into his hand.

"I love you, Arthur Kirkland. I always have."

One finger slipped inside.

Arthur's breath hitched, but it was not because of the finger that had been slipped gently inside of him. The Briton was more relaxed than ever, giving an appreciative stare that was so rare from him. He barely ever showed when he was truly—what was this? Happy? He shifted his hips and lifted his legs a little and apart so Alfred's finger could penetrate the inner rings of muscle easier. "I don't—ngh—I don't think I could ever get bored, or used to, you saying that." He said, before he nodded ever so slightly. Time to stop suppressing his feeling and stop beating around the bush. "I've loved you from the second that I set eyes on you. Not in this way, obviously. But you were—ah—Always special."

He could feel his cheeks heat up at Arthur's words and he smiled letting his hand grip Arthur's tighter. He leaned down to suckle at Arthur's neck as he pressed another finger into the man's entrance, licking his lips when his blood rushed south at the feeling of Arthur clenching around him. "Love you..." He whispered again as his hips gave a small shift. His fingers started to move in a scissoring motion as he pressed his lips against Arthur's, loving the feeling of the Briton so close to him.

"Ah-hah... nnh..." Arthur's breathing, which was slow and careful right now, stammered a few times as Alfred scissored his fingers in order to stretch him. His body was not exactly pliable even when he had had recent sex let alone now - after all, he was smaller in body than Alfred. Even his fingers felt big, especially since Alfred's digits were not just solely bone. Arthur pushed his hips up as his body constricted around the foreign intruders. His member twitched with anticipation, and Arthur could not take his eyes off of Alfred's hand disappearing between his legs to plunge those digits in and out. "Alfred."

He continued the movement for a few more minutes and then bit his lip. "God... I love when you say my name in that kind of tone." He pulled his fingers out and moved to put more lotion on them, and carefully slid three inside the tight entrance. Huffing slightly, he tried to resist the urge not to just rut against the mattress while fingering the Briton.

Just then his middle finger grazed against something in Arthur.

Arthur gave an sharp exhale, breathing out quickly since he was startled. His head felt dizzy and somewhere behind his eyes there were sparks - like those that accompanied head-rush. Blood pooled further down on his body more attentively, and the pleasured Briton gave Alfred another stare - this one hopelessly unseeing. A sign that Alfred was doing well.

"Alfred..." No more 'Jones'. He lifted his hands above his head, and tugged gently at the bed-sheets and the pillow covers. It was ever harder to hold his legs up, but he could manage it. "Yes—Gosh, that's it..."

Alfred quirked a brow when he heard Arthur and he let his finger push up against whatever that was again. He knew prostates gave pleasure, but Arthur reacted so strongly every single time. Either he was sensitive, or he had one hell of a touch. "That good, Baby?" He whispered as he pressed feather light kisses to Arthur's cheeks and heavy brow, testing the Briton's reactions with different speeds and pressure.

Even when Arthur reached down as far as he could, he could only just touch Alfred's wrist. Still, he hoped that would be encouragement enough. He needed Alfred to keep going, and if not this, he needed something else. To be connected - that was the aim. Their minds, hearts, bodies, everything. A term his ex-prime minister had twigged popped into his head and made him smile, if silently. Special, was it? He cupped Alfred's cheek. "Now."

The American nation was quick to obey as he pulled his fingers out and shimmed out of his briefs, his hard cock bouncing a bit as he moved to pump some more lotion into his hands. As he slicked himself up he let out a soft moan, tipping his head back and getting lost in the simple touch of his own hand. Before he went too far, he pulled away with a soft hiss and moved to loom over the Briton again, lining himself up with Arthur's entrance.

He gave Arthur one last peck on the lips before he slid completely inside.

Their lips were still sealed as Alfred went in, but it was sloppy work. They missed a little as they both shuddered at the feeling, but because of different reasons. For Alfred, it was with pleasure. For Arthur, it was accompanied with the initial pain, and the almost suffocating feeling of being stretched and filled with something far larger than should be guided into a person's body. Arthur's thin thighs shook slightly, before he gathered the strength to wrap them around Alfred's hips. He slowly opened his eyes when he realised that they had rammed close as soon as the penetration started. As the kiss ended, effort shone all across Arthur's face - but with a strange radiance that suited him. Green eyes looked strained, but not regretful. "Al..."

Alfred watched Arthur's face and quickly his eyes filled with worry as he moved only the slightest bit in order to prop himself up on both arms. "Baby?" He asked quietly and stroked a pale cheek with his non-lotioned hand. "Baby..." He sighed softly and kissed those trembling white lips, hand moving to rub Arthur's sides. "It'll get better. I promise."

He was lying. He had no idea what it felt like.

"I'm going to move... alright?"

Arthur was silent through the first thrust, holding his breath. Though Alfred did not know what this felt, Arthur did. He knew that it got so much better. It was just that Alfred was—well, truth be told, he was the largest he had ever had, and he was also brutal at times. Thrusts that were strong and uncalculated, because Alfred commonly just went with what felt right. A timing of his own. Something that Arthur would never, ever fault him for. Finally, as his chest stopped jittering up and down from trying to recover from the initial insertion, Arthur found himself making a noise. A moan, to begin with, then words. "—ve you... t-that's... that's it... Mmn."

Alfred huffed a small chuckle when he heard the bed creak loudly with his thrusts and was glad he didn't live in an apartment or he would have some very unhappy neighbors. Something in his chest started to warm up as he rocked forward into Arthur and he let out long groan when the heat started to spill into his stomach. "Oh, Sweetie." He purred, hand moving to weave into Arthur's shaggy hair. "You are amazing."

The Briton's breath strained again and again as Alfred thrust up into him, pistoning his member in and out of his warm entrance. Each thrust accelerated with Alfred's enthusiasm. It was lucky that Alfred was not sending him straight into the headboard. Alfred had... changed, recently. The first time they had sex, it was when he was stronger and Alfred wasn't quite as powerful. His hegemony in this world was growing, and no one had the true power, right now, to stop it. Only the communist bloc in the East even threatened him. It was then that it hit Arthur that he was making love with the, perhaps, most powerful man alive.

And oh, did it turn him on.

Alfred let out a breathy moan as his hand slowly curled into a fist in Arthur's hair, pulling the Briton's head back slightly making him bare that long white neck. This had started happening ever since he had gained so much power, this need to show everyone what was his grew until it almost made him scream. Right now he could hear his blood rushing in his ears as he listened to Arthur make those sinful little sounds, and the need to lock Arthur in a room and never let him leave started to become heavy.

His hips picked up the pace as he gazed down at Arthur's throat in lust, his oiled hair now falling completely and into his eyes. "Nnnggh..."

The Englishman followed Alfred's eye-line and saw that he was watching his throat. His jugular must have been showing a little from the effort, and his Adam's apple bob as he tried to breathe through his mouth. He did not question the allure. Instead, sincere jade eyes were finding Alfred's as they bodies moved in time with Alfred's own rhythm. He did his best to follow along. "I know what y-you, ah, want. So do it," he said airily. "Mark me. Proclaim me."

Blue irises turned black when his pupils dilated to the point where there was only a slim ring of blue left, and he licked his lips when he heard Arthur consent to being marked up. He gave a pretty hard thrust before he dove down and bit into Arthur's neck, just hard enough to break the skin. He started to suck roughly as his hip twitched slightly and he pulled out only to slam back into the Briton.

Arthur cried out loud as Alfred dug his teeth strongly into his neck, and slammed back into him with more force than ever. A person that did not know what it was like to burn alive, as Arthur did, might have compared the feeling he had to a smoldering fire. It was a whole different emotion, but strong nonetheless. Arthur's legs trembled as he used his calves to help urge Alfred into him and hold on for grip. Searing pain erupted from the place Alfred had bitten into, a little bit of abuse right there. He did not even care if it was going to show up above the collar the next morning.

Alfred pulled away, loving the deep purple and red mark that he had left on that white canvas of Arthur's neck. "Mine..." He growled softly and then moved so that his neck was close to Arthur's mouth. "Now... M-Make me yours." He gasped out, the heat in his stomach becoming too much far too quickly. Balancing on one hand and his knees, he wedged a hand in between them and took hold of Arthur's leaking cock.

He started to play with the tip using his thumb. "Come on..."

When Alfred presented his neck to him, Arthur was not too sure. He did not mark other people much, even if he did like them a lot. Still, as that caramel expanse was offered to him, he could not help but react. His lips sealed around the area and he sucked and kissed. Not quite a full bite like Alfred had given him, but Arthur had another way to really show off Alfred's ownership of him - at least in him as Arthur, if not the nation.

As he shimmied his hips up to chase that cool thumb rubbing the head of his length, Arthur waited till the time was right, before he was dragging his fingernails straight from the middle beneath his neck towards the balls of his shoulders. Soon as that shirt came off, for any point, people would see the marks he made for at least a few weeks. He offered a few more kisses to that strong neck as an apology.

Alfred hummed happily when he neck was sucked and when he felt Arthur's dull nails dig into his skin through his under shirt he all out purred. "God, yessss." He hissed and his hand around Arthur's cock started to pump harshly while his thrusts became fast and erratic. His skin burst out in goose bumps as it started to tingle when the heat in his stomach started to spill over. "Fuck! Arthur! Shit!" He gripped sandy blonde hair tightly and fucked the Briton as hard as he could.

Any other man, and Arthur might have hated the power that they were forcing into the movements - impaling him with their thrusts. With Alfred, Arthur knew exactly why that was. With Alfred, Arthur was with a star. With Alfred, he would not have wanted it any other way. Each time Alfred was sent into him with a strong hurl forwards, making the bed complain loudly beneath them, Arthur could tell that Alfred was putting his all into it - and even if it physically hurt him, it was worth it. Arthur gave out a loud sob when his prostate was jammed into, and he almost spilled - reminding him of how close he was to finishing now. Alfred could not control himself, because he wanted to have all of him. He let go. That was the biggest sign of the fact that Alfred loved him that could possibly have befallen from him, or even from his lips.

The bed jerked and moaned loudly along with Alfred as he gave one last thrust and poured himself inside Arthur, not caring the slightest bit when some gushed out and dripped down Arthur's leg, onto the comforter. He screwed his eyes tight as he let his body ride out the feeling of ecstasy.

It ended with two climaxes - one for them each. After Alfred had the Briton spent and trembling beneath him as his rib cage struggled to rise and fall along with his lungs in unison, they realised that the constant groaning of the bed and exaggerated breaths they had grown accustomed to had dissipated. Arthur wiped the sweat off of his forehead, and glared at the shine now on his fingers. Effort, even for the receiving partner. The Briton flopped back into the sheets bonelessly now. "...Wow." He commented airily. "Aha. Alfred."

Alfred's chest heaved as he took in deep gulps of air, not even caring that his golden bangs clung to his forehead in an annoying and distracting manner. His mind was slowly coming down from the pleasure filled high, his skin cooling and making him shiver when the AC kicked in and brushed over his sweat soaked undershirt. "Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost..." He moaned as he slipped out and rolled over so he wouldn't crush the small Briton.

Arthur moaned uselessly at the loss, and let his legs fall back to the bed as well. As Alfred joined him, the mattress bounced a little. He used that to help him swivel around so he could look at his partner, eye to eye. "So it's just us," Arthur breathed. "Just you and I. I... just I get to feel that?"

The American hummed happily as Arthur curled up against him, he reached over into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Skillfully lighting the tip Alfred drew in a deep breath and blew the smoke out heavily before offering Arthur a drag of his own from the cigarette. "Well, I love you and from the sounds of it, you love me. Doesn't that sound like you're my only?"

Sharing the same cigarette. Hah. That was something for the movies. Though he could not help but keen towards the romantic gesture. Arthur took a long drag of the cigarette, before he blew the light smoke into Alfred's direction. He laughed a little huskily, before he nodded. "Yes," Arthur said. "Yes, yes I am."

Alfred smiled and took another pull of his cigarette before blowing it out and leaning down to kiss the Briton softly on the forehead. "Arthur Kirkland, you are now my official beau. The United States of America's lover." He smiled and pulled gently on a strand of Arthur's sandy hair. "How do you like that title?

Had Arthur been a weaker willed lover, he might have shied away from a thought that occurred to him. As it was, he smacked Alfred's arm lightly. "Be quiet and do stop being so into yourself," Arthur mumbled. The United States' lover - sounded like Alfred thought that was something to wave around and be proud of. No. He was not in this for the reputation and otherwise gains. "You, Jones, are mine too. So remember that, won't you?"

Alfred stuck his tongue out as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ash tray on the night stand, then moved to spoon against the Briton happily. "Oh, of course I am. Maybe I should get one of those tattoo things that says your name on my arm or something. You know like our sailors do."

"Oh? So your confidence in our relationship lasting is that strong, is it?" The Englishman commented as he shifted to look at one of Alfred's broad shoulders. He stroked and kissed the ball, before his fingers slowly traced further down on his arm till they lingered over the end of the tough muscle. "Here," Arthur said and kissed the area. "Right here, I'd have my name there."

The widest grin spread onto Alfred's face at Arthur planning where his name should be inked onto the American's arm permanently and he quickly moved so that he had Arthur pinned under him. "Mmm. You know... it's pretty late." Alfred barely glanced at the clock, but by the sounds of birds chirping he had to guess it was four or five in the morning.

"We could go to sleep right now, then get only about two hours of sleep and be grumpy all day. Or..." He leaned down and pressed his lips against Arthur's, making his kiss slow and lazy as something slightly hard pressed against Arthur's thigh. "We could have another amazing round, shower together, get some early breakfast and go to our meeting. Then some home and take a nap."

Arthur listened to Alfred's proposal, kissing his lover back with tenderness when needed. "By that, did you mean..." He started, and his face lit up with an air of deviance. "Stay up, have some cracking sex, shower, breakfast, and then sleep all morning and afternoon - or go in and pretend to listen to our bosses and fall asleep at random intervals anyway?" Arthur asked. His lips tugged into a grin. "Yes, yes. I think that would be lovely."

He grasped Alfred's chin and kissed him firmly on the lips as he settled down on the bed sheets, spreading his legs openly in expectance of another round. Finally, his chest was not so terribly heavy with resentment. Or with guilt. It was dangerous, insecure times - but they could manage it. He, meanwhile, as the former world lead, passed the baton onto this younger, fresher prince of economy and power. Frankly, it was a relief to see the end. Now, he knew his Alfred was here because he wanted to be.

His Alfred and his Arthur.

The Black Queen was nothing without his King.


Hope you guys liked it :3.

Chasing Shadows chapter 3 is going to be out in a while. But first, we have another PWP on the way for you.

Cheers for reading!


[Fanfic] Real Gone [1/2]
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva

Washington D.C. United States.

July 1950.

Five years since the official end of the war. 1950, July now, to be precise. It was a pleasant summer, more pleasant certainly than those that the world had recently been through. The world as a whole was still insecure, especially after the end of the Nazi party regime and tensions in the political landscape. For nations, one by one, declining dramatically was a fear that in some form or another they would all undertake. They were falling - the weak depended on the strong, and people were forced to sacrifice their pride and prejudices in order to survive. Slowly, the rift between the Soviet East, and the capitalist West were beginning to form.

It was like the international system was playing a chess game versus itself, and they – the nations that existed in our minds and those that walked the Earth – were the unfortunate pieces. Suddenly unease and dependency were splitting them apart, tearing the world into two opposing blocs. Their fortunes were being changed, manipulated as if the world was moving them forwards, twisting their paths - anticipation and unrest was like a finger, stroking their sides, as they decided upon their next moves.

The Black Queen lingered hopelessly as he watched the empire he had built slowly fall to pieces with the break-down of colonialism. After the many years he had spent collecting it – after all of the wealth he had accumulated was lost. Yet for once, his heart was not filled with anger nor resentment. For once, the Black Queen knew that he was powerless to stop it. Like the sand surrounding his borders, it all trickled out of his hands. The empire was broken.

Now, dimmed green eyes flicked up and lingered, almost unseeing. A thinned body was wrapped up well in layer after layer of grey, blue, and pinstripes. He squeezed his fists under the table, and tried to listen in on the conversation unfolding in front of him. The setting – Post-war United States, a meeting with two important men and their counterparts. The summer was warm, but it left an uncomfortable feeling inside his ever more frail body. A sickness, or a feeling of loss. His mind was elsewhere.

Across from the English nation and his Prime Minister sat a rather small old man, his glasses as thick as soda bottles rested heavily on his nose as he looked through a pile of papers and sighed softly. Grey eyes looked tired as he shifted in his seat, the chair creaking slightly at his movements and he settled quickly, not liking the loud noise the chair made. It only made it obvious how overwrought and tense it was in the room.

President Truman smiled at the two across from him and folded his hands over the oak table of the meeting room. "Let me say again, how sorry I am that we were not able to hold this meeting at the White House. It's not exactly... appropriate for guests at the moment." He glanced away when he heard a snort come from the large blonde in the chair next to his.

"It's okay. Arthur doesn't like it anyway, what with the burning it down and all." The American nation pulled a pack of Lucky Strike out of his pocket and shook it so that it produced a thin white stick. His skin, hair, and manner were all bright as day. The gloom of the war had barely touched him. Now, in the aftermath, it was him that was the most healthy – and didn't that just give him some pride? "Anyone have a light? I forgot mine in the car."

"I hardly think that is appropriate, Alfred. The remark, that is," Arthur said in a stern but controlled tone - he was trying not to snap sarcastically at Alfred in front of their bosses. That would be even more inappropriate behaviour. With a reluctant sigh, however, Arthur reached into his pocket and drew out a silver lighter, which he flicked open to light Alfred's cigarette regardless. "Careful. One false move, and obviously I'll set this entire room alight."

Detecting a frown from his Prime Minister, Arthur obediently sat back down in his place and tucked the lighter away for later use. He mindfully fingered the cigarettes in his pocket, but refused to light up. Alfred was more obsessed, if that were possible, with those smoky sticks. He eyed the American up, somewhat absent-mindedly, as the two political leaders begun their talks.

Alfred smirked and took a small inhale from the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned back as he let the wisps of smoke pool out from his mouth artfully. He licked his lips at the taste and could feel the need for the small stick fade away just slightly. He watched the Prime Minister carefully, intense blue eyes tracking every movement that the man made and it make him smile inside at how quiet and business like the Briton was.

As for Arthur and him. There was nothing Business like about them.

He took another drag off of the cigarette and moved his eyes over to Arthur, blowing the smoke expertly out of his nose. He gave the other nation a small smile and a quirk of his eyebrow to show that he wasn't really even listening to their bosses discussion. Arrogance. It dripped off the American nation like thick honey as he shifted to cross his legs and the English nation felt something brush against his leg.

Arthur flinched. That cocky bastard.

Did Alfred truly believe that it was not worth his time to pay attention? That said, it was not like the Englishman was concentrating to any particular extent either. He was there for formality, to make sure that there was nothing said that he had major objections to. These days, however, he was forced to have an open mind. He was expected to lean towards what was most advantageous for him, and his people. That was why he was tucked away in the smartest suit they could wrangle upon him in these times of relative vulnerability. It was all designed as an appealing proposition, a bid to continue an ever-strong alliance.

Basically, it was to pretend that he was not becoming weaker and less influential as the days go by. A purposeful delusion. Heaven knows, Arthur would not let anyone pity him.

It took him till blue eyes met their equivalent pair of jade before Arthur realised that he had been staring at the American for a few minutes now. The tickling sensation that trailed against his leg made his muscles stiffen, both below and above the desk. His eyes darted to their leaders to see if they had noticed his suddenly tense posture. Not that Arthur would slough regardless. He was a disciplined man, and able to feign interest in anything. Deliberate complacency, however, was unacceptable. Arthur shook his leg and gave a sharp look to the American across the desk - a silent warning.

Not here.

Alfred frowned as his touch was pushed away but he smiled coolly and took another long drag of his Strike before moving his foot back towards the Briton. This time it was easy to tell that Alfred had toed off his dress shoe because when he touched Arthur's clothed calf, it was soft. Not hard and pointy like his shoes.

Alfred let the smoke out of his mouth slowly, acting like he was watching the white plumes roll around and fade when his eyes were trained on the other nation. He laughed when Truman joked about having Alfred meet the King one day, even going as far to make a comment about the lovely Miss. Elizabeth and how he would not mind being shown around England if it was by her. Alfred could tell that comment about Arthur's Princess had made everyone in the room grow deathly quiet, but he really didn't care.

He smiled handsomely at Arthur, his foot moving higher.

Had Arthur been any more straight-laced, he might have stated out loud that he was uncomfortable and wanted Alfred to stop touching him up. However, the fact remained that Arthur did not mention a word. As the foot moved up higher, Arthur's trousers lifted a little too, exposing his legs to the air. A disapproving glance was sent Alfred's way, and he reached under the desk to slap his foot away manually.

His eyes darted to their bosses, before they settled on the handsome American once more. 'Stop that right now', he mouthed. His eyes flicked from the bosses and back to Alfred again, hinting something. Hiding something else.

The American frowned deeply at his advances being swatted off a second time and he rolled his eyes as he moved back in his seat, actually listening to Arthur's warning this time. When Truman asked him his opinion on a matter that he hadn't quite been listening to he smiled slightly and shrugged. "I think I would be able to focus better after a good meal and some sound sleep. Don't you think, Boss?" He tilted his head cutely at his President and watched with satisfaction as the man unwillingly gave in.

"Yes, I guess we have been in here for awhile now." To prove his point Truman turned to look at the ornate clock on the oak table and nodded. "Yes. Good, how about we break for today. Come back tomorrow around eight?" Both Americans, Nation and person, glanced over at the two Britons, looking for their nod of approval. Blue eyes held green as he waited for their answers.

Self-righteous boy. Alfred oozed charisma, and got exactly what he wanted. Now, since Alfred had rocketed to the top, he had grown cocky on victory. Perhaps that was what got Arthur's heart pumping. Whether he wanted to or not, he was drawn to power. Drawn to the protection and security that it provides.

C. R. Attlee nodded, and approved the end of the meeting for today. They gathered their briefcases and stood, preparing to leave the office. Arthur was unusually quiet. As his Prime Minister looked over at him to see if he was about to follow, Arthur shook his head and explained that he wished to have a moment to speak with Alfred. If they were suspicious, they did not impose, allowing them to have the room to themselves by leaving ahead of them to attend to their own business.

As soon as they left - Arthur banged his briefcase back down on the desk and scowled at Alfred, pressing his hands to the wood too. His shoulders were hunched and tense, body language expressing annoyance more than any other emotion. "What the Dickens were you doing that for? You could rumble us."

There was a long pause before Alfred let out a soft snort of laughter at the others temper and he leaned across the table to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray before he spoke. "I could rumble us? Oh, dear. Not that," he replied sarcastically and moved to press a button on the small intercom at the end of the table. When it made a loud click he smiled widely and leaned in close to the small speaker, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. "Betty, sweetness. Will you bring me and Mr. Kirkland something to drink? Our meeting was pretty rough."

There was another click. "Of course, Mr. Jones." The sweet voice poured from the small machine. "Whiskey or Gin?" Alfred glanced over at Arthur to silently ask what the man preferred, but before Arthur could even say Alfred just smiled and clicked the button again. "Surprise us."

Arthur watched him with a vague air of suspicion, especially after the way he asked for their drinks. So playful in tone, cheeky almost. Arthur recognised it - it was confidence, believe in himself, haughtiness more than anything else. Too right. Right now, Alfred was unrivalled. How Arthur missed that constant energetic feeling. With his mind in the past, the Englishman took his seat again, looking up at Alfred on the desk with a condescending stare. "You are abusing your strength, do you know that? Alfred, you certainly cannot go around doing whatever you would like. Not to mention - feeling me up during a meeting? What are you, four? Please."

Alfred's eyes trailed after Arthur unabashed as he moved back from the intercom and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He smirked as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth as he leaned over the broad table, blonde eyelashes fluttering slightly as he looked at Arthur. "I highly doubt a four year old would be feeling you up, unless there is a new epidemic sweeping the children in England," he smiled coyly, his lips curving around the slender stick as a few strands from his oiled blonde hair fell to frame his young face.

"Light me up again would you, Baby doll?"

"Yes, obviously. My children are perverse, well sexed Americans," Arthur rolled his eyes. What a stupid thing to say. He almost criticised himself for saying such an unrealistic age in the first place, but he persevered in his attempt to make Alfred's supremacy crack just a little bit. He hated that he was attracted to it.

Arthur reached into his pocket again, pulling out his own cigarette before the thin Briton lent over Alfred and lit his. He then popped his own stick into his lips, and let the end touch Alfred's till his was lit up as well. He took a deep inhale, and sighed the smoke out through his mouth. "Don't call me 'Baby doll'. It's indecent."

Blue eyes lit up when Arthur leaned close to light his cigarette with the tip of Alfred's and he let out a soft happy sigh. "Well, then what am I supposed to call you? Not Sugar, Sweetie, Sweetheart, Doll face, Kitten or even Baby. What the hell am I supposed to call you, Artie?" He inhaled on his stick and held the smoke in for a bit as he thought, then let it out in a rush. That Brit, so stubborn. He just wanted to be a little endearing. Besides, the British had way more pet names at hand. "Why not let me call you pet names? I mean we have already fucked enough times where I think it's appropriate."

Arthur's eyes opened as if now on high alert, and coughed up some of his cigarette smoke that had gone the wrong way. He looked over to the door, afraid that perhaps there might have been someone outside that would hear. Then his accusing glance was back on the American. "Don't say that so easily!" He said in a warning, perhaps even afraid tone. "Look, Jones, you're lucky I don't clobber you for all of those pet names—I'm not one of your flimsy little… I don't know, women or something. Do not treat me like that."

Alfred opened his mouth to retort but the small knock on the door made him shut it quickly and turn to look at the small pastel colored door. "Yes?" He called as he frowned at the Briton for being so difficult, taking another inhale then smiling and letting the smoke glide out of his mouth when he saw the door open.

Brilliant auburn red hair poked its way through the crack in the door way, while cherry red lips smiled softly."I brought the drinks, Mr. Jones." The woman at the door said softly and moved into the room when Alfred motioned her to come in. Her silky curls were pulled into a neat up do that showed off her pretty white neck while her red Chanel dress hugged her slim figure attractively. She smiled politely at Arthur and handed him his glass of whiskey before moving over to Alfred and handing him his own glass.

"Thank you, Betty." Alfred smiled widely, his perfectly straight and white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light as he took a sip, and then put a hand on her waist not hiding the fact that he was looking her over. "You look very nice today, Sweetie. Is that a new dress?"

She giggled softly and placed her hand over his, a playful look coming into her light blue eyes as she moved a little closer to the sitting American. "Yes, it is. How nice of you to notice. It's from France."

There was a roll of eyes, before a very long breath of smoke was exhaled into the room. Arthur seemed to be more preoccupied with his cigarette than watching Alfred undoubtedly flirt with the lady. Well. Excuse him for being proper, but he did not believe in showing off one of his lays in front of another. If Alfred claimed he had not slept with that Betty, Arthur would have accused him quite readily of lying. He stubbed his cigarette out aggressively, and took his drink.

"Thank you. Betty, was it?" Arthur said in an admittedly non-courteous voice. Yes, perhaps he was usually a gentleman. Perhaps. But not when Alfred's eyes were enthusiastically drinking her in, his nose and throat gargling at her perfume. Whatever happened to chivalry, or at least pretending that you were not all over each other as much as you clearly were? He hid his own endeavours plenty well, thank you very much. Very much indeed. "If you don't mind, Mr. Jones and I would like to return to our business."

He faced Alfred and gave a false, obviously forced smile. Oh, that berk. Could he faciliate a madder feeling in him if he tried? So, Arthur was prone to jealousy and Alfred knew that. Why else would be act like this? To punish him for not caving into his endearing phrases? 'Sweetie'. That was his name.

His.

The pretty little red head blinked and then smiled apologetically over at Arthur. "Yes, of course. I'm very sorry, Mr. Kirkland." She nodded her head to him in apology and turned back to Alfred with a soft smile. "I should get back to my desk."

Alfred nodded then stood up to walk her over to the door himself, hand remaining at her waist. He gave her a peck on the cheek and whispered something about next Thursday before she blushed and walked out.

By the time she had left, Arthur was standing stiffly on the other side of the desk, looking fixatedly at the ash tray. His face was redder than usual, and the reason why was clear. No one should have to listen to someone they were having sex with hook up with another person. It just devalued them - made him one of many. "So... so you're still having sex with other people." Arthur said, drumming his fingers almost nervously on the desk.

Alfred closed the door softly and then turned to look at Arthur, not even worrying when some ashes fell from his cigarette on to the carpet floor. "I don't see how that is any of your business." He replied in a bit of a clipped tone before he moved back to the table to stub out his second cigarette. "Besides, it's not like Francis is the best at keeping your escapades a secret." Alfred screwed up his face slightly, raising his eyebrows and cocking out his hip to the side. "Oh, you should have seen Arthur the uzer night. He had so much in 'im that 'e was willing to do anything I wanted. Oh, 'ow fun it was," Alfred mocked, the overly French accent he used making it sound like he was hacking up a hairball.

Arthur would have laughed, if he was not the butt of the joke. He sat atop the desk - oh, shoot him if you dared - and watched the American act. The jutting out hip taught Arthur's attention, and his eyes focused on the prize before he could remember the line his eyes held and shook it off. "At least I limit myself to you and Francis. Besides, the only reason I bother with him is because we're in an open relationship. You were the one that said that you were going to see other people. What am I supposed to do, keep chaste for you if you're going off with some pretty bird?"

Alfred's face turned sour when Arthur brought up that up, opening his mouth to tell Arthur what was what but then he just closed it with a soft snap and fixed his jacket. "Whatever, I don't want to fight with you. It's stupid anyway." He picked up his drink and downed the rest of the golden drink, not even flinching when it burned down his throat. He set the glass down and licked his lips then glanced over at Arthur and his own drink that the Briton had only been nursing. "You going to finish that?" He asked as he fished his car keys from the pocket in his jacket, running his fingers along the cool metal ridges.

Arthur gave Alfred an uncomfortable stare, before he knocked his head and the glass back, downing his whiskey in a few quick gulps. Slam, the glass was back on the desk, and he hopped off of it in order to follow after the American.

"Does that answer your question?" He asked plainly. Their relations had gone vaguely cold now. Mostly out of uncertainty. Arthur could not help but wonder if Alfred flaunted his prowess in front of him on purpose. He already knew that he was sexy. He was already hooked. He did not need to reminded of his decreasing worth, and it annoyed him to be reminded.

Alfred sighed at Arthur's attitude and knew it was going to be a long night if that stupid stick did not come out of Arthur's ass. He rolled his shoulders as he walked over to the door, opening it up for Arthur to pass through. After they had moved to the lobby Alfred let Betty know that they were done for the day and that she was able to leave if she wanted.

"Come on, I'll take you to Le château bleu. Because I know how much you love the French."

If it was a dig at Arthur hating everything French or a comment about him and Francis's late night activities, Arthur not know. The American quickly followed the comment up with chatter about his brand new buick, circling his arm around Arthur's waist – only for it to be slapped away again.


Dinner was better that Arthur had expected. At least Alfred had introduced him to a fairly good restaurant, and he refused to let him pay for anything – though he did get a cheeky few snubs in, like how he would be paying for it anyway since Arthur's money mostly came from him, the bloody fecker. There were some comments about weight too. Concerns rather than amusements and titbits. Arthur had tried to refuse the situation by turning the focus of attention away from himself, in pointing out that right now, there were people that were most certainly worse off. The conversation had not lingered.

"I told you to get coloured key caps. Without them I'd never know which is for my cabinet in my house, and which is for the cabinet in parliament," Arthur scoffed, hand on hip.

Alfred frowned slightly when he fumbled for the right key. God, it wasn't like he was drunk. He had only had two Tom Collins and a Mint Julep, but he was still struggling to figure out which key on his ring fit into the house lock. "Ah! Got it!" He cried happily when the key slipped into the lock soundlessly and turned. Pulling it out of the lock, Alfred smiled at the Briton over his shoulder as he turned the knob and opened the door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

It was anything but humble.

When Alfred brought Arthur into his house – one that was larger than he had expected to see in these times. The reminders that Alfred was still doing well, perhaps even thriving, were cropping up everywhere. While Arthur was resentful, deep down, it was not unaccompanied by acceptance. Honestly, he was impressed. Proud, maybe – though the more he thought about it, it did strike him quite deeply. Alfred had only really done so well after Arthur had lost his grip on the boy and his policies. Still, he had opened his arms to a genius and a hero - there was something golden about that boy from many years ago. Was it really a surprise that he had flourished so well?

Instead of maintaining his bitterness, Arthur caved in. He kept a relatively pleased expression on his face and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes in the hallway out of manners. He looked over at Alfred, watching the American and wondering how he felt now - living in a world where he was the main actor in control of everything, atop the highest stool. Arthur knew that seat well, but somehow, he thought that Alfred would be far more courteous. "You're doing well for yourself."

Alfred smiled as he slipped his shoes off as well, tugging on the knot in his tie as he moved further into the living room. He always loved coming home and walking on the plush carpet with his sore feet, it made him feel like all the problems were being left outside the door. "Mmm? You think? I still have tons of Jews coming over, so I guess it's not that great. But hey, you know what people say, they are good with their money so hopefully they apply that with their new home."

The carpet was a beautiful stainless beige that looked very soft to the touch, while the wall on the adjacent side to them looked rough and harsh in contrast. The fireplace was neatly kept with the television off to the side, a newer model – of course, Arthur could tell. He was not shy in demonstrating how well he could manage himself. Above the fireplace was a multicolored sunburst clock which read eight fifty, far too late for anything good to be on air.

Alfred made his way over to the small bar on the left side of the room and got them two glasses. "Something to settle dinner?" He offered as he started to pour some rum into the glasses, then reached down to the small fridge and opened a bottle of Cola. "Though maybe we'll start to see them in a different light someday, like we did with your brother and Romano's lot that kept flooding in here."

"Oh don't remind me," Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. He had only just left the area two years ago when the Israeli state was formed. Relations in that area were tense. Eventually he just had to declare that it wasn't his problem. "So many identities, fighting other the same bloody patch of land. I'm surprised that you let them all in. I'm glad to see the back of that sodding part of the world,"

As Alfred moved them on, Arthur came to join him at his bar. He lingered as Alfred poured cola into his glass, and took a hefty sip. "Ah," he exhaled, smacking his chilled lips. "Well, you'll get used to them. Not like you're new to sudden influxes of people. Nor am I, really."

"Mmm...I guess so." Alfred poured his with cola and then sipped the drink thoughtfully, moving to push his glasses up with his middle finger. "So, what do you want to do? I have some board games." Blue eyes flashed quickly in warning, telling the older Nation not to dare make a 'child' comment about him owning board games. "There's also some magazines you might like. Got the ladies one for you cause they show you new patterns for sewing and they have some cooking stuff as well."

"Is that a jibe against my masculinity, or a jibe against my cooking?" Arthur said, giving Alfred an annoyed look. He huffed and took another strong sip of his drink. "The magazine will do lovely, I thank you. I'm not doing it for you, I would just like to see if there are any additional crocheting techniques for me to pick up," he said matter-of-factly and looked up, daring Alfred to make another leer.

Alfred smirked slightly as he sipped his drink slowly, eye never leaving Arthur's bright green ones. He put his glass down and moved over to the Briton smoothly, his feet barely making a sound against the carpet. Alfred sat on one of the small stools set up by the home bar and reached out, looping his arms around Arthur's waist and pulling the Briton in-between his legs.

He smiled as he watched the sandy blonde and leaned up to peck those thin pale lips, hand moving to rest on Arthur's rear. "So... Did you miss me, Baby?"

Arthur gave a small grunt as Alfred pulled him right in. As Alfred squeezed his arse, he rolled his eyes a little to disguise how he really felt. At first, he had been uncertain of being treated in this way by the man, as a man – but the feeling slowly became subdued. He began to appreciate that wide hand clasping his buttock through his clothes and without them. Not that he was willing to admit it. No, he would not cave in so easily. Still, as Alfred pecked him on the lips, Arthur could not help but kiss back.

"I told you not to call me that..." Arthur trailed off, as he rested his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "It's only been a few months since we last got together, Jones... Of course, I've missed you."

Alfred smiled widely when he heard that the other had missed him – hopefully just as badly – the smile showing exactly how young the man actually was. "Well, that makes me very happy." The American purred softly and moved to kiss at Arthur's neck, soft pecks at first but they slowly grew in pressure until Arthur felt something wet slide across a patch of skin on his neck. "How much did you miss me?" Alfred cooed into his ear, both hands gripping Arthur's butt as he pulled him closer.

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath as he was dragged ever closer to Alfred. He shut his eyes tightly, concentrating on the feel of those wide hands resting on his plump flesh. Yes, Alfred had let those hands get very acquainted to that area, and it was like Arthur was powerless to resist. There was something about Alfred. Something that he appreciated, and wanted to treasure. A sparkling hope in questionable times. Arthur, however, was conscious of dignity. Much as he liked the hands on him, he smacked one away. "The night is still more youthful than I am, and you already are thinking of darker things," he commented, and his hands grabbed handfuls of Alfred's jacket. "I missed you, Jones. I missed you."

Alfred pouted when his hand was smacked away, but he smiled against when Arthur grabbed his jacket and he leaned in closer. "Mmmm... why won't you let me touch you? I know you like it..." He kissed Arthur's neck again, letting one of his hands slide up and down Arthur's side. "So... what have you been up to while we have been apart?" Alfred's hand was starting to work on Arthur's belt buckle. "Anything big," He smirked as his hand brushed against Arthur's crotch through his slacks. "Going on in England?"

So they were getting randier - getting more in the mood. Arthur gave Alfred an uncertain look, and he shivered as those hands roamed his body over his clothing - a taste of what would come next. "Careful," he muttered as Alfred fidgeted with his belt buckle, only dawdling to play with him, surely. "Nothing special. Politics, the build up to elections, sorting out the rest of Europe, a few dinners with Francis..."

Larger hands stilled for only a second when he heard the French man's name but Alfred swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in his throat and kept moving to undo the English nation's pants. "Oh? That sounds... nice." He could help the stab of jealousy that grew heavier as he thought about the two of them. "What all did you two do?" He bit down a little bit on Arthur's neck.

Arthur winced as Alfred bit his neck, though did not force him away. As he liberated him by undoing his flies, Arthur had to respond by tightening his legs shut to stop them falling down. He had lost weight since he first bought them, but the 'make do and mend' philosophy was still heavily with him since the war era. Even now he was still suffering from lack of rations and commodities. But he was not one to complain, especially when faced with Alfred, who seemed to be doing so well.

Back onto the subject of Francis, Arthur was uncertain of what to say. "I don't see... ngh. I don't see why it is your business," Arthur muttered. "He's not you, so why don't we forget about him for now?"

Motion stopped all together as the American went very still.

"None of my business?" He whispered softly and suddenly his hand was in Arthur's hair, gripping it tightly and forcing the blonde head back roughly. Alfred stood quickly and pressed the Briton back against the bar, a soft growl rising in his throat as he glared down at the man. "None of my business, my ass." He yanked on Arthur's hair a bit, forcing the Nation's head back further in an almost painful way. "Did you forget who's helping you fucking stand, Arthur? Did you forget that without me right now you would have barely anything? So, I think it's in my right to say that what you do with that sick pervert is my god damned business."

As Alfred shoved him to the bar and started uttering these sharp, hate-filled words, Arthur could barely believe what he was hearing. He stared at Alfred, completely astounded. How dare he—? "What the Hell, Alfred!" He pushed him forwards, managing to get the American to let go of his hair. Arthur flattened it with his hands. "Why do you care what I do with Francis? It's just occasional sex! Besides—I don't ask what you do when you're off with your many... I don't know... floosies! Why did you rub it in my face earlier that you were clearly sleeping with that woman at the office, hm? And don't bring politics into this! Why can you flounce about with whoever you want, and then feel justified in doing this to me? I'm just one of many to you."

Alfred threw his hands up into the air and turned around, moving more towards the middle of the living room so he could get away from Arthur, but still not his words. "Are you serious? You're bring this up again?" The larger nation turned back to glare at Arthur heatedly. "Why does this always come up as an issue? Last time we talked you were perfectly fine with the open relationship! I remember your words exactly!" Alfred raised his nose in the air and huffed, his body posture moving more stiffly as he rolled his eyes upward.

'Alllfred, I would very much like it if we could keep this between us. I do not want anyone to think that the nation of England has to whore himself out in order to keep afloat.' God, and you said that right after we fucked! Like it meant nothing!"

"Oh, don't—! The fact is that you showed off in front of me earlier that you were hooking up with that Betty person!" Arthur pointed out strongly. "Now, as soon as I mention that I have had a dinner or two with Francis, you go bananas at me for letting someone else have a piece of me! Whose view is bigoted here, Alfred? I told you that it was none of your business because I don't want to bring whatever I do with Francis into this. Are you comfortable with me seeing other people or not? Because I'm sorry - I don't want to be just another one of your bed partners, here to be your woman and to cater to your needs while you won't let me see other people too!"

"No!" Alfred roared loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard him because he was pissed. "Don't you think it's pretty fucking obvious I don't like seeing you with other people!" He raked a hand through his oiled hair, making the strands hang more into his face than before. "But I'm not the one who right after we had a pretty amazing night together gets up and says that you don't want anyone to know about 'us'! I'm sorry, but usually when you're not seeing someone you see other people!"

The 'no' had made Arthur take a step backwards in weakness, shying away from the noise and the ferocity in his voice, before Arthur became quickly frustrated with himself and his partner. He gathered his strength back, and stepped up to Alfred. "You know what? I said that, Alfred, because I was worried that others will think that I'm with you for the money - and I'm not. I value what we have – no, had – higher than that, you tosser!" Arthur snapped, trying to justify his point. His shoulders quaked with upset and rage, face going slightly red.

"The only reason I ever even thought of letting Francis fuck me is because you wanted to see others!" He pushed Alfred stubbornly in his chest, exerting some of his anger. "Do you get it yet—?"

Something snapped inside the large Nation when he felt those small hands forcefully push against him. Quickly every single thing he had learned about control and being decent slipped away, leaving only the animal instincts he had as a small child and he saw red. Without any warning to the Briton, Alfred stepped closer and then roughly shoved the smaller nation back using every bit of strength he had. Arthur flew backwards and the small of his back met the bar counter painfully with a sickeningly loud thud.

The whoosh of the air had momentarily confused Arthur, and then there was a loud thud. It took only milliseconds for his body to realise that it had been him that had made it when he collided with the front of the bar. Arthur cried out in pain and found himself buckling - he grabbed the bar stool to try keep himself off of the ground, and pulled a terribly pained face as he recoiled in pain. Had Alfred done that even months earlier, Arthur might have reopened a wound that had not recovered well post-war. Green eyes, which Arthur had to fight against to stop from watering, looked over at Alfred in shock. He was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to speak, as he dragged himself back up to standing and winced from the horrible ache, but no sound came out.

Alfred blinked for a moment and when he saw Arthur's face contort in pain guilt quickly washed through him as he started to calm down. He stood still for the longest time, not knowing what to do. He, one of the strongest nations in the world, had just pushed Arthur, a nation who was only starting to heal from everything that had happened during the war. He curled his hands into fists as he looked down at his feet, not quite sure what to do. He should apologize and do whatever Arthur asked of him, but his pride kept him where he stood.

"I..." He scowled when his voice cracked softly and he cleared his throat loudly. "I think we should go to bed. You know where the guest room is." He didn't want to be around Arthur right now, not like this. So, with that he went into the kitchen and out the back door, quickly pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up with the lighter he kept out there.

Arthur stared at him as he ran out. If he were an animal, Arthur suspected he might have had his tail between his legs and his ears scooped low. Slowly, Arthur gathered himself onto the stool. He covered his mouth, and reached behind to rub the sore spot where his back had hit the bar. Alfred was horrifically strong. Horrifically. He took a few long, deep breaths to calm himself down. Then, he looked over at where the American had been, reminiscing those moments. It scared him to remember how annoyed Alfred had looked.

"Dammit, Arthur," he murmured to himself, and pressed his hand to the bar. "You don't want to be scared of someone that you love."


(...Follow this to view the second part)


[Fanfic] Why isn't it my name on your lips?
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva

Title: Why isn't it my name on your lips?

Authors: DestinyShiva and StarSpangledSilence.

Edited and Betaed by: DestinyShiva, aka moi. (If there are grammar mistakes, I purely blame the fact that I am freaking shattered).

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: Mature.

Pairing(s): USUK and CanUK. (Bottoming!UK as always from me).

Warnings: Rather pwp-ish sex, sadly. Involves a lot of jealousy and disapproval. (England might seem out-of-character, although it is deliberate to try show his devastated/heart-broken state).

Summary: After his independence, America left the once proud and youthful England in a state of disarray and personal heart-break. Now, only Matthew remains to pick up the pieces. Post-rev war pwp, CanUK and implied USUK.


Late July.

Canada.

...That year.

(When did it all go wrong?)

"Arthur? Arthur, don't feel so bad."

The same thing had been repeated, time and time again. It was always taken for granted.

It had been a month since Yorktown, and yet Arthur had only been over here in Canada for a week. The gunshots and sounds of rain were heard regardless of whether there was sun or rain outside and the Brit lived as if dying. Matthew, of course, had been automatically falling into role of caretaker.

"Here, have some more tea. It's really not worth all this. He's not worth all this."

"He's not worth it..." Arthur repeated, murmuring back almost soullessly now. At first he had been horrified when he lost him - him, the most charitable colony he had very had. His best friend. His everything. His happiness. Him.

Now, Arthur would barely move these days knowing that there was nothing worth waking up to. With his heart broken, he followed what Matthew said closely, taking his words as if they were absolute orders.

Such a vulnerable state. If anyone else had seen him like this, he might have fallen to them instantly. He needed to heal.

"...Right." He muttered.

"Here." Matthew tilted the warm liquid into his mentor's mouth, a little more than frustrated at how he was acting. All that power, all that control. Well, why was Alfred worth so much, and why was Matthew here a cushion to fall on? And yet, it wasn't like he could snap at Arthur here. Another snap would send the fragile man into little bits.

"Feeling better, right? No more moping. No more of it!" It was the loudest he'd spoken in that week.

Arthur looked up at him, eyes wide and awake, before their glance fell back down to the floor - where it had been for the last week or so. He swallowed the contents of his mouth, and gave a sigh. He had felt so empty since Alfred had gone. Nothing to fill the void.

"I'm going to go lie down," Arthur murmured, and pulled away. That was practically all that had happened since they had gotten out of America. He'd be awake for a bit, remember he had nothing to look forward to, and then crawl back to sleep.

A small huff, but Matthew simply gathered up their things for tea - all untouched, of course, as they had been for the past week, no matter how hard Matt tried - with a small clanging noise. "Go ahead, Arthur. I'll be with you as soon as I'm done with these dishes."

Same old cycle, and he still ignored poor Matthew, unless he absolutely needed something. God! He didn't break away, did he? He wanted to rant at Arthur, to make him realize. But instead, he gave another angry sigh and dried another dish.

Unlike the last week, now something suddenly occurred to Arthur - something that made today break out of the usual routine. He glanced back, eyes befalling on Matthew as he started to clean up. He looked so much like his brother. It hurt to look in his face. But there was a huge underlining question that Arthur never tried to ask. Now his lips managed to part, several days too late.

"Matthew, why are you even here?" He asked, voice cracking from misuse.

"Oh, you remember my name!" The tone was still very light, and the long fingers dried another plate with skill before moving onto the silverware. Yes, he was much better about cleaning up than that brother of his. Much better at a lot of things, in fact. Just not quite as selfish and therefore not as clever! Yes.

"I'm here because you need me here, of course. I'm here because you would finally acknowledge me - and only if dearest Alfred decided to run away."

"Don't say his name," Arthur hissed, as if the mere sound of it burnt in his mind. He did not want to face it; reality. It was something for other people. Certainly not for him. Arthur stepped towards Matthew, taking in his anger in his voice and just not understanding. He used to be so easily empathetic. Or at least his arrogance would maintain his ignorance. That was all over now though. So, why would he be here? Why would he be upset? Why would he care?

"Maybe I wouldn't say his name if you said my name more often, Arthur. For someone that gave it to me, you use it a great deal less than everyone else," Matthew gave that smile he had learnt from someone. Bitter but forced. Arthur hated it, but he was unaware that it was an expression that he had taught the male himself. Now, while Matthew had been the save of a large muffin when first discovered, he could now successfully tower over Arthur just as Alfred had.

Indeed, they were very similar looking. Youthful, blonde, fresh, and of course, that sort of radiance that told of riches. "I'm Matthew. So, you know, every night when I have to comfort you when you have the nightmare - the least you could do is murmur my name when you're clinging to me for reassurance."

Arthur looked down at his feet again, letting the strong words spur through him, making his frame shake in thought. His lips were tugged into an uncomfortable frown, but one that looked so familiar on Arthur's face now. That disappointed, broken-hearted, empty look. Blink, and he was looking up again.

"Thank you." His breath murmured quietly, almost inaudible.

"Thank me? Or are you just trying not to think about that idiot I'm supposed to call a brother again?" The other gave him a long stare before sighing and shaking his head, backing off and away. Arthur was no longer so big. He was just small and vulnerable and, now, well… depressed.

Alfred, what have you done to him?

"You shouldn't even waste time on him. I'm right here, you know." He said.

"Thank you." Arthur simply repeated, solidifying that he meant it and that it was towards Matthew instead of... him. He still refused to mention or think his name. The one that he had left behind.

With a heavy heart, he moved over to the other man. His weak body trembling at the weight of his own thoughts. So many memories, so many depressing things, so many things that turned out not to be true, or not anymore. Like how they would be together forever. "For being here with me. A-And not..." going. He bit his lip.

How pathetic was he, right now? He didn't feel like himself. He had never been so disheartened, and so chaotically restricted. The whole world seemed to press down on him – only Matthew seemed to not blame him for what had happened.

"Huh. Thanks for being here? Isn't that new! You usually don't notice me there half the time Alfred's there," added Matthew, a little venomously, but his anger cooled and he sighed. Coming forward and actually placing his arms around that thin figure.

For the first time in about five months, when he first realised that he was fighting a battle that he will always have to inevitably lose, those eyes lit up with something as arms were placed around him, drawing him in unexpectedly. "...What are...?" You doing, he wanted to ask, but he lost his words again. Unable to speak.

Just like he's lost, and doesn't know how to recover, Matthew noted.

"Comforting you. Getting your mind off of that selfish jerk for once." The answers came deliberately, and the hug became longer and longer than the expected time. In fact, Matthew just didn't let go. He kept holding him, unable to explain it. Unable to tell what he wanted from a person like Arthur, who was as blind as everyone else. "Weren't you going to lie down, Arthur?"

"Give me a second," Arthur responded slowly. He sunk limply into Matthew's arms, and pressed their foreheads together for the longest of times. Their noses brushed, they breathed each other's air, and Arthur completely missed that they were in such an intimate position. Millimetres away from kissing. When he became wise to the closeness, after about a minute of torture, he blinked out the burning from his sore eyes and grabbed Matthew's shirt at his chest, grappling at it, clinging on.

Matthew kept holding onto him in that one position that was much, much too intimate for them two, for those two brothers that weren't even close. Comforting. Matthew's lips pressed against Arthur's cheek, as the opposite used to happen when he was a child with some unsightly woe. Then again, lower, until somehow - they were kissing. Kissing almost as lovers were.

Comfort.

Arthur had been shocked, at himself more than Matthew, but he did not pull away. In his emotion, and his desperation, he returned the kiss. All he wanted was to be loved, and the person he wanted most was gone. He poured himself out to Matthew on the rebound. Their lips slid easily against each other's, like they were experiencing this naturally. Like all thought and mind had gone away, and their instincts were forcing them to meld together. They kissed fiercely, and soon Arthur found himself opening his mouth for Matthew's tongue, clinging weakly to the embrace.

It was startling and it was entirely new and for Matthew, it was incredibly nice. Almost something exciting, since he'd never gotten something like this before. Not that he hadn't known the theory, what with a moron brother like his and the experiments they'd done as children - but all the same he swept his tongue inside Arthur's mouth with surprising confidence, making the kiss that much more… the comfort had ended, hadn't it?

It was like Arthur was on auto-pilot. Lights on, nobody home. He wrapped his arms around Matthew's neck, curling them in longish blond hair, and moving his lips with Matthew's perfectly. He sucked on the tongue in his mouth, and engorged himself on the dominance Matthew sent to him. He then pulled back, and went to whisper in Matthew's ear. Everything seemed to be happening fast, but in reality it was so slow. Tender and fearful.

"Bed me," He managed to request, body trembling with need for comfort.

All this experience here Arthur had and yet, none of his colonies had ever known exactly how much Arthur had to offer, did they? Or had Alfred known after all? Too much to wonder. Too many sensations, and what Matthew lacked in skill he make up for in tenderness and an aptitude for learning. Sooner than later he learned to give that strong dominance that Arthur seemed to crave, and he learned to push for more in the kiss, learned to give more.

"Yes," he answered, a little breathless, and marched his mentor, still mourning, into the other room with their lips meshed together.

A few minutes later, and Arthur was pushing his bed sheets away; opening his bed up and climbing down onto it. Darkened green eyes looked up, and he pushed his body up to capture Matthew's mouth again as he pulled him down and on top of him. Never mind him being relatively inexperienced. Never mind him being young. He needed someone, and Matthew was the only familiar face that stuck by him now. He had no one else.

Oh, didn't that face look ever so much like his? It was like the same features drawn by two different artists with the same skill, yet two varying styles. That was it. Arthur's need for a love affair seemed to be too great. Matthew would naturally fall into the role as whatever was needed. He knew what to do, yes. Being raised by France had several perks to it. "Are you sure?" he murmured once, before sinking down to kiss again.

"Yes," Arthur responded automatically. Normally his lack of thought towards the consequences would have been highly worrying for the both of them; but now, something like this felt like it was the very best thing. He no longer had anything else to lose. Nor anything worth mourning over. All that was important had already cruelly been plucked from him. He kissed back fervently, pulling Matthew onto him with ease, not willing to just let the Canadian break away before he got what he needed.

In a sense, it was what they needed.

Matthew could tell, in a way, just how very needy Arthur was. For once that made him a necessity, someone who had to be there. Gratifying, of course. He pressed his kisses, gentle but lacking finesse, down to the jaw that was all too delicate, down to the neck that had become exposed now. It was more than strange, what was happening, knowing this was Arthur - he'd never thought he'd actually be able to touch their mentor in such a way.

Before, Arthur never would have remotely desired this. When Matthew, or him, were boys, Arthur never had any desires for them. He was not that sort of man. Nor did he have urges in their early teenage years. It was only now, when they were older, when they proved that they were men rather than just the people he had helped grow and grown up by himself with, that he saw them in a different light.

Because they were handsome. So handsome, and Arthur never even realised. They had a hint of Iberia in their facial structures, Anglo in their skin, and French in their hair; oceans of blue and violet in their eyes just like the vast masses of water that stretches out for miles upon miles between them. Their bodies most firm and bold for boys, and Arthur's weary eyes could pick out the muscles under Matthew's tunic shirt. He was handsome almost beyond compare, and oh, did it make him feel hot.

They were capable of independent thought. It was not like they were the same little boys he had raised. Or, rather, grown up with. Perhaps that was a more accurate description. It felt like they were friends that have grown together, rather than him being their elder.

He had only been eighteen or so in physical age when he had adopted that American, no-longer-of-his. Now, in his early twenties - probably not quite twenty-one yet - he was barely much physically older than the Canadian hovering above him, suckling on his neck and making him moan practically soullessly. He must have been, say, about seventeen now? They grow up so quickly. Disproportionately. Plenty old enough. Plenty to make Arthur's blood boil. Plenty for Arthur to... not feel guilty.

Because he wanted them.

Arthur pushed Matthew away for a second, and brought his shirt off over his head to reveal tender whitish skin and newly formed scars. One, noticeably, right over the top of his heart. As if the loss had torn one into his flesh. He blinked away a little wetness in his eyes, emotions snagging him, and captured Matthew in another kiss - before they were parted again as he stripped the Canadian's shirt away too.

Matthew let him, pulling the shirt off and away as he shook his blonde curls out of his eyes, gazing down at Arthur just as the other had to him. Such pale skin, like newly fallen snow - even paler than his own, and there were times and places, depending on the season, that he wouldn't even see sun.

The scar shone out all the more vividly and Matthew felt his heart soften towards the slim Englishman, his kisses began to insinuate more love. His fingers scattered down the other's torso, before reaching back up and caressing that cheek - not too much older than his own, by years and power. He slipped his tongue into Arthur's mouth again, other hand trailing downwards to feel, slide along Arthur's still clothed thigh.

Now, their movements were met with silence. They did nothing but move and listen to the sounds that their movements made; rustles of clothing, of the sheets, creaks of the bed, the patting of the rain furiously pounding the ground and ceiling outside, and the clicks of their lips and tongues.

Arthur's body gently pushed towards Matthew's fingers, seeking them desperately, whether they were upon his cheek or his torso or his not-yet exposed thighs. He reached down with both hands, and lifted his hips, helping the trousers he had been wearing along with the underwear beneath push past his plump, rounded and full bottom, and slide down his slender legs, off of pointed feet. With him now naked beneath the other, he utterly surrendered himself, with no will to fight against what was happening. Pure need to be desired and touched expertly filling them both.

Matthew blinked a few times, as if unsure whether Arthur was just an illusion or not. Had he really never noticed in all these years? Not noticed that Arthur was so... well, there was no way he could pretend to devalue this feeling. How had he not noticed that Arthur so hot? Sexual appeal. He leaked sexual appeal and if this was what Alfred was missing, well, he could go waddle around with his independence.

So this is what real arousal felt like, Matthew assumed, and leaned in to press a kiss to the exposed knee, drawing the leg up to survey. Lovely skin, a few old scars, a few curves, all perfect eye candy. "...We will be using lubricant, won't we? Apparently it's been awhile." The blue violet orbs lingered at Arthur's near invisible entrance. He knew what to look for.

Unlike Matthew, the thought of having lubricant did not even occur to Arthur; and nor did it look like it mattered much to him right now either. He did not care for the sting it would place on his body. If anything, he welcomed it. It was a reminder that he was here. That he was alive. That he would not be feeling numb, for that was the sensation that filled every particle of his being, forever.

Wordlessly, Arthur took Matthew's fingers and pushed them into his mouth. He did not try pushing himself, to get them to the hilt, and so instead made sure that the tips alone were wet enough. His tongue tickled the undersides, and a minute later he let them withdraw. His eyes spoke louder than his lips would, right now. 'Please' was communicated through heartless pupils.

"Right," murmured Matthew, who finally understood. Hell, Arthur wouldn't pull away if he'd tied him to a pole and just selfishly did the deed, would he? Did Alfred honestly mean that much? So much that this emotionally broken mess would just bent to anyone's will as long as it meant that he was embraced, and attended to?

Naturally, Matthew pulled back, scooted Arthur over and flipped him onto his stomach to get better access to that round backside. One finger pressed against the slight pucker, and tried to push in. It wouldn't budge. Helpless to the power of physics, Matthew opened his mouth and let some more saliva trickle onto his fingers, trying to ease them inside.

Once upon a time, Arthur had been willing to experience new things. Far too sexual as a teenager - he was the sort to crave experimentation. To say that he went around a bit was not a lie. But that golden era of indulgence and whimsical enjoyment was over by now. His teenage years gone, as a person more than a nation, and he was forced to grow up mentally. A little too quickly, at that.

So much responsibility came with being the one to care for another human being. While Alfred had been his, Arthur had been brought into celibacy. Too busy to care for other individuals in that way. Too much to think about when at another man's bedside. Alfred brought about a dry spell, but he was glad that he did not have to spread himself around like too little butter on bread anymore.

Now, he had not been penetrated for over one hundred years, nor had he had any other form of sexual involvement. Never mind his past. He was a new man, new thoughts, new worries, and new heartbreak. But without Alfred, he had no one to be responsible for anymore. No one but Matthew and a few other small colonies, mostly in Africa, which he cared about far, far less in comparison to the beautiful golden boy that both changed and ruined his life, as well as changed and ruined him. Of course, he was not as easily pliable.

As Matthew did manage to push a finger inside, after having to rub his entrance sweetly and coax it apart, Arthur gave a low whimper - something unexpected from an older man. Their smaller physical age gap now seemed even smaller. Succeeding to sink in him, Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated on the digit within him, trying to lose all his thoughts and regrets, and heart break, and just pay attention to that one feeling. That one, simple sting.

The sting expanded after Matthew got that fingertip in. More pushing, more twisting, and more force. That was how he managed to ease in the entire finger, after a goodly struggle. But oh, yes, didn't it feel something marvellous? Arthur was tight. As he should have been, as new parents didn't have much time for sex and he had more colonies than should be. But even more wonderful was that even as his muscles would try to, he would not resist. Another finger started to push inside.

With muscles forced to part, the Briton on the receiving end of the digits that were invading him stayed still in attempts to help stop it aching. It was a dull pain - not the sort to alert one and force one away from whatever was hurting, but the sort to remind constantly that it was there. A niggling, constant feeling, but a good distraction all the same.

Arthur's hips jutted backwards and made Matthew's fingers press against him so his fingernails would nick him, just the smallest bit. The sensation made him wince, and Arthur slowly rolled his hips again - just wanting something to rid his mind from what plagued him. Small noises erupted from his mouth, but still no words.

"Why do you want this... this is ridiculous. You're hurting," Matthew's voice floated out behind him and there, the digits were forced in further. Expanding him and stretching him for what would be more distracting pain, wonderful pain. All this wasn't out of love, was it? Pity and need and lust, sympathy even, but not much love in it. Matthew moved, lovingly, and added the third finger, twisting them about and drilling him open.

"It's good," Arthur said, cutting through his own practical vow of silence. He glanced at the other blond over his shoulder, eyes connecting with those deep blue-violet orbs. Only one of them had any life and shine behind those bedazzling irises. He pushed back, helping Matthew's hand quicken its pace and impale him more often and sometimes more ruthlessly. Not that that was what Matthew wanted to cause.

"This is good? It's clearly hurting you. Arthur, honestly..." He worked at it, stretching more and more until the fingers didn't even have to struggle before they could push in and out, easily. More vigorously. Then Matthew withdrew his fingers, just wondering if this would be the right thing.

"Stop thinking about him," he ordered, his first order, and then there was a clinking behind the Briton. His belt slid off, his trousers, underpants, and yes he was hard. Situations only accounted for so much in these matters. "Think about me," said Matthew, again, almost desperately, and he just pushed in.

As Matthew glided into Arthur's body, he struggled as he did so. Those blasted muscles just would not part wide enough and his mentor had clenched involuntarily at the thought of the boy that had left him behind.

Beneath him, Arthur flexed. The force of the Canadian's thrust pushed him downwards towards the bed more than Matthew managed to push into him. Having his hips in the air like this, when he was so recently inexperienced and tight, was disadvantageous. So the position was changed. Soon, Arthur was face to face with the other... man now, he supposed. Matthew had grown so much. Yes, now Arthur carefully wrapped his legs around Matthew's hips, drawing him back in - easier now in the new position, and after at least one thrust had been finished. The pain made his lip quiver, and him gasp.

Arthur did not call his name. He breathed out something inaudible, but sounded suspiciously like a call for someone that Matthew would rather that the older Brit would avoid. The root of all this.

"No, no, no!" Matthew's voice was startlingly loud, and he forced Arthur's hands up, gripping onto them and sliding them above his head. "No." The next thrust came more quickly than the first, and it lacked the tenderness the first one had. This was more insistent, more forceful, and it made the friction explode. "No, no. Don't say his name! Not when I'm the one who's doing this."

Arthur looked distressed for a split second, but he soon bowed his head and quickened the responsive rocking of his hips to match Matthew's pace. As his hands were made to linger above his head, Arthur used his thighs instead to pull Matthew's stomach and consequentially his hips down and unto him. "...n-nn..." His low grunts, going with every thrust that powerfully forced into him, making his internals burn and heat pool in the bottom of his stomach below all the bitter, depressed, emptiness, quietly filled the air.

It was almost as if Arthur had forgotten - as if he could not voice and moan out Matthew's name in his hurt, impossible need, simply because Arthur had lost the knowledge. Parts of him shutting down with the weight of what happened. It was questionable how long he would be so numbed for, but Matthew alone had faith and hope that the Briton would bounce back, back, back onto his feet. For there was still a world out there to find.

As they rocked, bodies attached and rutting, it was more instinctive than comforting or loving - and that was clear. Arthur was only in his position because he needed a distraction, attention, tenderness as well as - to a lesser extent - bitterness. Perhaps he was masochist enough to crave punishment for his failures. For losing something so utterly important. The impact of the loss being too big for him to mentally recover from yet. It was a slim possibility, but human nature when one is depressed is more self-inflicting than one might think. No repenting for the damned and the wicked, and the guilty.

Arthur was nothing like a woman, but his man card was starting to get revoked here. Such vulnerability as the world had most likely never seen before, or at least not since he was much younger. Could his green eyes even see? They were beautiful, enchantingly so, but they seemed to not see Matthew even as the poor Canadian exerted himself and thrust inside that pliable body with force. Distracting force that it was. "Say my name, Arthur! You know my name, don't you? Say it... here I am, servicing you, and...!"

It was hard for Arthur to think with Matthew ploughing into him with such force, but he tried. Only one name appeared in his mind, and it made him shiver underneath the name's owner's own twin.

"M-m...gh..." Arthur couldn't do this. He couldn't bring himself to think back. To remember. To see anything else than that disappointed face, so similar to the man that was now driving in and out of him in slick and barely lubricated, rough thrusts.

"Ngh-M-Matthh..." He couldn't finish it. He didn't know why either. Arthur gave a choked out sob, and lost eye contact with the brother that stayed behind.

(Do you see what you've done, Alfred?)

Matthew scowled in annoyance. Could he really not even manage to say his name? After all this he was doing for him while his pathetic little twin ran away? A wave of unexplainable rage came over the Canadian, who would thrust forward with almost harshness. "Say my name. Not Alfred! I'm not Alfred. I'll do this harder and harder until you remember my accurst name!" Vicious cycle that it was.

"I can'tit hurts!" Arthur cried out, and it was clear from the frantic tone of his voice that he was not referring to the thrusts, but in actuality something much deeper. He gave another strangled noise, and pressed his head into the crevice of Matthew's neck and shoulder. Never before had he seemed so vulnerable. So willing to just hand himself over.

(He's like this because of you!)

"Hurts. Well, yes, you should know something about that! All this coming from the man who forgets my name half the time around and calls me Alfred the other half!" Matthew used the name as if a bullet, and pushed himself inside deep, moaning slightly. "I'm not Alfred! I'll never be Alfred! My name is Matthew, and I'm the one who's making you feel all this right now! Not him!"

Arthur gave a shout, almost like a high pitched and shocked scream one might sing if a shot really did go through him and pierce into his chest cavity, at the mention of that name. He should hate it, he should hate Alfred for making him loss something so precious to him, not just the profitable nation but the boy behind it. But he just didn't. Perhaps that was what Matthew could not understand the most.

(Because you betrayed him).

"M-M... Matthew...!" He murmured under his breath, closing his previously wide and distressed eyes while he simultaneously huffed to regain breath between Matthew's strong but relatively slow and torturous thrusts.

(Because you broke him).

"There! That's more like it. Not Alfred. Matthew... I'm not Alfred." Thrust. Thrust. Matthew let go of Arthur's wrists to better steady them against the bed, thrusting more smoothly, his anger fading a little. Yes, Arthur was still thinking of Alfred - when wasn't he thinking of that fool of a brother of his? But now, at least he could remember his name. Another few hard jabs forward and he became more loving again, almost resignation. Remembering the sensations instead.

Not Alfred. Perhaps, with anyone else, those would be words of encouragement. Words that would fill the emptied Briton with hope and expectation of better things. Instead, it did the opposite. He trusted Matthew even less for not being him - though he was still hung up on the thought that Alfred would never betray him. Look what happened. Look who stayed behind. It was illogical not to trust Matthew now, but he didn't. Since when had a humanoid mind ever been something so stupid as logical?

(And I'm the only one that cares enough to help).

Arthur inclined his head up and caught their lips again, appreciating that their sex was beginning to become more controlled and loving rather than, vulgar as it was, just fierce fucking to forget. They kissed for a good few seconds, before need for breath broke them apart brutally. The smaller, the Englishman - and not the Canadian, like it used to be, those few years ago - hooked his legs about Matthew very tightly, muscles squeezing and flexing Matthew's invading cock in the movement. The end seemed nearer than the start, or the middle, for that matter.

(Yet you…)

"Mnh, you can't just be... there should be no way why you wouldn't hate Alfred now. Me. It's me that's inside you right now." His words were silken whispers and his movements had progressed to a fluidity that made the whole affair more pleasant, and the way they rocked against each other, back and forth, still powerful movements, were smooth. "It's me that's making you feel like this. Can't you feel me Arthur? Can't you feel me? It's not Alfred doing this. He wouldn't, Arthur. But I would."

(…are the only one he wants).

"Matthew," Arthur breathed again. Seemed in his whirlpool of a mind, he had managed to have that all important name stuck in there somewhere. The well endowed male's thrusts sent him into the bed quite harshly, but enjoyably now. After he had adjusted his position, the angle had changed and enabled Matthew to touch his prostate so much easier. Hot pulses flourished up his spine, through his invertebrates and through his nerves, straight into his brain, processed, and then a moan ensued from mind-controlled lips. Such energy tossed between them, and even the lost English nation was awakening to it. "Yes," he whispered. "I feel you."

Still on autopilot, Arthur's body bucked up at that - less of a masochist than his mind was, it seemed. He gave a moan in pleasure, and his brows furrowed and tightened like his lower muscles too. Suppressing the urge to cry out Alfred's name instead was hard. He looked above him, seeing not Matthew for a split second, but the man that had left him. The one with the cerulean eyes, and the handsomely smooth cheeks, and that sodding flick!

Gosh, he should hate him. But he could never, ever. Because he was once his, and that would linger in his heart forever. Arthur gasped and nodded, and suddenly the Brit had never seemed so... so small. No longer that invincible figure that Matthew and Alfred had grown up to respect, adore and fear all in one. Just a man. Just someone that needed love just like the rest of them. Suddenly such a strong nation had never seemed so human.

Because this was not the heartache of England. Nor the United Kingdom. But of Arthur's heart alone.

"Arthur..." Matthew saw him too. The emotions behind those eyes that had in reality been empty holes for days; void of anything any human could declare as living. Those Heavens had blacked out every star, and now they were glimmering again, maybe just for a while, fuelled by the pleasure and the pain and the feelings.

Even if he could make Arthur remember his name, if he could make Arthur like him, if he could make Arthur do all this… he still did not even have the ability to make Arthur love him when his heart was so clearly on another's. Even now, as he was nearly driven senseless - he would still think of one damned person.

"A-Arthur," repeated Matthew with a sigh that was euphoric and sad all at once.

"K-Keep going," Arthur responded with his next moan, and cupped the back of Matthew's neck and head - fingertips in that blond mass, a mass that was steadily covering in sweat from the effort. Their sexual intercourse lasted much longer than intended. He drew him in for another kiss in the sad, finishing moments.

As stars filled Arthur's eyes, prostate struck, all he could imagine was that smiling face. That smiling face that would likely haunt him, almost forever. He kissed harder, desperate for that image to go. Either that or he was kissing harder because it was exactly that image he desired to have responded. For him and Alfred to lock lips, cling to one another, have sex just like this.

Was there ever a more pathetic being in the world than him?

Desiring the one think that could not and would not be his.

As soon as his eyes opened, he could tell it wasn't Alfred. The subtle differences between them that made all the difference in the world. Because that American wouldn't do this with him, wasn't that right? Wasn't that why he declared independence? Matthew was here. And no matter how much he was like Alfred, he just wouldn't be. There was the answer. This practically meant nothing.

"Arthur-!" he murmured, breathlessly, just as pleasured himself.

The Englishman Matthew called for pulled him down so that their sweat-gathering chests rubbed together. Muscles against ribs, for Arthur had not consumed anything properly for quite a while now. He was too stricken with grief at the end of the war between him and his ex-colony. He licked Matthew's neck almost sweetly and lovingly.

Finally, his noises started escalating and they actually slowed as they drew to their climaxes. Arthur's body bowed for long periods of time while Matthew tried to, and eventually did, manage to finish him. He came upwards onto his colony's chest, giving a loud, guttural moan. A whisper of a name on his lips.

Matthew narrowed his eyes through that last bit - but he was much, much too near his own climax to do anything other than keep thrusting inside, still very much hard, still longing, but then - it all snapped, and the name he gave out was very much Arthur's own. As he climaxed into Arthur, white hot feelings burst through them, and then all it began fading and the greys of what had really happened came back. A heavy weight on his shoulders.

It was another few minutes till Arthur, and Matthew for that matter, regained his breath. Still lightly panting through his mouth, slender legs around Matthew's hips, those unsheltered green eyes locked with the man's above. Guilt, loneliness, and a hint of regret lingered there. They fell for just a second, before Arthur lowered his legs slowly, allowing Matthew to slip out of him, and the eyes returned. He reached up, cupping Matthew's cheek. "...You can't... you can't tell anyone about this."

"I figured." Matthew didn't sound disappointed, really. It wasn't sadness, but rather another sense of resignation. He knew it was hopeless, between them. He pressed his own hands, his cold fingertips to Arthur's hand, and gently eased the hand off. There was a trace of bitterness in his soft voice and more so when he smiled. "I won't tell anyone. I won't tell him. You still have your chances."

Even though his were gone.

"I'll go make you some tea," he commented, now, lightly, pulling on his clothing, and getting up to go.

Though he had been silent for a few minutes while Matthew had dressed, Arthur reacted now. A hand reached out suddenly, and captured the Canadian's fingers. Below, when Matthew turned around, he was greeted with a solemn but naturally sincere expression on the broken hearted Briton's face.

"...Thank you." He breathed just loud enough to hear, repeating what he wanted to tell Matthew constantly, but just couldn't.

Matthew looked down at the familiar face, gave another soft, pacifistic smile, then shook his head. He walked out of the room.


Monday, 5th June, 1944.

English shores.

It was only seven at night, but by this time most of the men had already retreated to their tents to do whatever - dream or hope or pray or cry. The stars gleamed on this night as they would have any other night; not knowing would take place at dawn the very next morning. Invasions, rescues, heroic efforts and heroic deaths.

Normandy was the name on everyone's minds and everyone's thoughts, but no one's lips. The British and American forces would lead an invasion to that shore - and of course, the British included the Canadian battalion. So here was Matthew, and his people, under Arthur's control. Again.

Fighting, just like back then.

This threat being more terrible and autocratic than the last.

Strolling around the campsites found him nothing, but Matthew did need to go talk to Arthur in case things didn't work out like Eisenhower was so confident about. In case things turned for the worse. But one round around camp, two, three - they found him nothing but foot prints into the woods. From Arthur's tent? Matthew followed, gun over his shoulder in case, the guns he so hated to carry but his brother so loved and so craved and even collected, the moron.

Through grass, through mud, and it brought him to a glade. And there in the moonlight was Arthur. Just that he had Alfred all over him, touching his cheek, his arm, their foreheads pressed together. Their breath shone as white mist in the cold.

As the American cupped a pale cheek, and tilted that perfect porcelain face towards him, Matthew knew that the centuries old love story had finally broke out into the next chapter. Another page was turned.

His heart was heavy as he turned away, just catching the movement from the corner of his eye as two figures came together, lips touching so sweetly. He hated the sick feeling that filled him as he left, heading back to his camp. He hated jealousy, and he hated the word hate. It just wasn't his thing.

He put on a brave face, like he always did, and faked a smile for everyone that no one really saw through – because the attention was never on him. But at least he had something. Something important, that would stop him from feeling so terribly disheartened in these dark days. Something that differentiated him from the golden boy that was now in the spotlight once again.

Something for Alfred to be jealous over.

"…Enough now. Time to move on," murmured his own lips, and he smiled.

At least he had him first.


Thanks for reading.


Love is the Song that Never Ends [2]
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva

As soon as he spoke, the cheerful music prickled in his ears. England looked behind him at the screen, and his expression dropped from lovingly melancholic, to strangely horrified. "I don't believe it!" He cried at the film. "What about his mother?! The sadness?! Oh! Yes! Son, your mother is dead—Oh! Yes, woodland creatures! Let's suddenly start flirting and copulating! What!"

America smiled at the kiss he received, wasn't every day the Briton was willing to show affection, then laughed when England grew enraged at the new happy environment. "Oh, come on, old man. It's been like a year since his mom died, which I think in animal years that's like seven?" At least that's what he had heard. He held on tight to the raging Brit and smiled, forcing England's back against his chest and rearranging his man so he was able to sit on his lap while watching the film.

He rested his chin on England's shoulder and watched happily as the owl tried to get all the love birds to stop being so happy and in love. Of course it didn't work and he chuckled and nuzzled England's neck. "Will you be my love bird?"

"If you say a line as cheesy as that again, America, I might have to severe your voice box and put a stop to it," England said. Though it was clear he secretly loved America's terribly outward loving gestures. Every sign that America cared about him stuck to England like glue. Their relationship was so fresh, but he had a feeling that it would last.

"My sentiments are the same as that owl's. Shoo, stupid tweedy birds. Stop being so happy," England murmured, and went back to contently watching the screen - trying to put the earlier upset behind him. His cheeks were probably still red, but he was alright. Soon, a buck was sharpening his antlers on the tree the owl was standing on, and England cracked a smile. As soon as he spoke, England gave an unexpected noise. "...O-oh my goodness. He sounds..."

America blinked he heard that noise come from the Briton and he raised an eyebrow as he cocked his head to look up at the Briton slightly, glasses slipping down his nose a bit. "He sounds... what?" He would be lying if he said he didn't like the noise England made, and his hands slid ever so slowly along the side of England's thigh. He had only heard that noise from the Briton once when they had to share a tent together and America had decided to sleep in his briefs. America smirked as he started to rub the man's thigh through his slacks and kissed England's cheek. "You like Bambi's voice?"

"I just... thought... i-it sounded. Erm. A bit like you, come to think of it." England confessed and smacked America's offending hand, aiming to make him a little less touchy-feely. Not that America stroking the sensitive leg was in any way unwelcome. Just not here - and especially considering they had never been that physically involved. He shook his head. 

As the gang reconvened, England found his heart swelling again as he saw their adult forms. The concept of 'twitterpating' was introduced, and England counted the seconds, expecting an inappropriate comment from the man he was sitting on.

3, 2, 1...

The American did not disappoint. "I'm twitterpated." He whispered into England's ear and smiled as he kissed the shell of that white ear. "What about you? Can we be twitterpated together? Maybe, back at my place?" He kissed that long pale neck and hummed softly, loving England's smell and taste. He couldn't help it! He was in a nineteen year old body for God’s sake.

England glanced over his shoulder, glaring at the American that was clearly beginning to pay less attention to the movie than England wanted him to. He grasped his chin, tapping it on the side. "We'll see," he responded, before his eyes returned to the screen. If America wanted he might later receive, but for now, he should do well to stop with the distractions. Else he might actually give in and let him.

As the characters refused to accept that they may become twitterpated, England was sceptical. He could tell what would immediately happen to all three of them - a minus there for predictability. Though as Flower found a female, he recalled an earlier occurrence in the film. "F-Flower is male?! But Bambi practically flirted with him earlier!!"

He pouted as he was again turned down for any action and he sighed as he turned back to the screen, watching as the three slowly started to fall in love with their respective female counterparts. At England's outburst the American had to blink then look at the Briton like he was an idiot. "Of course he's a guy. What else would he be?" America shook his head, yet again denying that Flower and Bambi had been flirting.

"You are crazy. They weren't flirting at all! I mean come on! When I was little I told Canada that he had pretty hair, and he told me I had pretty eyes. Didn't mean we were flirting, we were just being adorable kids."

Besides flirting with Canada? Yuck.

"His name is Flower. He should have been female. Flowers aren't remotely masculine. Oh and while I'm at it, so Bambi accidentally calls the skunk a flower, and suddenly that's his name? My! What brilliant naming sense. Did he not have one before? Did the young Prince override that name? Oh, dear-me," he was over-analysing this. He huffed and rested against America's shoulder instead, watching the animals flirt and one-by-one separate. Though at the appearance of sweet Faline, he smiled. Such a beautiful animal if he ever did see one.



"Oh, hush up." America groaned when England kept harping about the little skunk being male and having what apparently was a female name. "Flowers can be masculine. I mean, for god's sake, in our Victorian days we had to know the meaning of almost every flower because they had their own freaking language." Bluebell: Humility, constancy, grief. Calla Lily: Magnificent beauty. Red Chrysanthemum: I love.

He remembered a lot of the meanings. It was funny how anyone he used to court went completely gaga when he would give them a Gardenia, telling them they we pretty. But the American smiled when he heard England go quiet when the female deer showed up, and Bambi went completely nuts trying to get away until his antlers became tangled in a tree branch.

He was then licked by the beautiful fawn and it was all over. He was twitterpated. Soon, Bambi and Faline were frolicking about in a cloud like dream that America could only assume they had imagined because they were so in love. Yeah, love did crazy things to people, he knew. He tightened his hold on the Briton's waist as they continued to watch.

"Funnily enough, I don't remember suddenly seeing a plethora of colourful clouds and prancing about when you first let me know you reciprocated my feelings. Also, did they have to try make the female animals be sexy? It's somewhat disconcerting," England commented, rolling his eyes had this twitterpating business. Couldn't they just have called it falling in love? He knew that. Much more painful for Humans than the animals got, he supposed. Maybe that was why it was different. Separated.

The happy illusion burst, and England gave a small cry in surprise. Another buck appeared, much darker and intimidating than Bambi himself. Nothing like the friendly faces the forest had shown before on screen. England's brows tugged negatively in concern, and he grasped America's shirt, twisting his body slightly to fit against him. "What a horrid looking thing. Get your own woman," England immediately responded as the music leapt, and the buck forced his way between Faline and her intended loved one.

America couldn't help but smile and hold on to England as he moved himself around in the American's lap, then shouted at the other male deer, he believed Mr. D had called him Ronno, as if the animated animal could hear him. He nuzzled the Briton's soft shaggy hair affectionately and bit his own lip as the two male started to fight violently with their large antlers.

"I'll do this next time Francis tries to make a move on you." He rubbed his head against England's, showing the Briton his head-butting skills but in a far more gentle and loving manner. "That Frenchie will wish he had never gone up against a buck like me." He puffed out his chest and pulled England closer to him, watching as the fight continued in bright red, orange colors while the sleek bodies of the two males remained dark and masked so it was a bit hard to tell who was who until you got a look at their antlers.

England was fascinated as the scene went on, smashing cymbals again accompanied with darkness and blue and yellow light. Strange combination. It also irked England, considering that there were no real sources of light apart from the sun - stylised drama suited the stage more than a film like this, but it fulfilled the correct effect. He was just too good a critic to let it go.

After the large, frightening battle, England sighed with relief when he saw that Bambi was the victor and not the mean stag. Pressing against America, he was pleased to see that the American was being so defensive over him. Showed that America cared about him. Which, in these days of war, even if the most of it was past, it was valuable to have allies in the right places.

Large arms hugged the Briton's tiny waist as he shifted England so the man would sit side ways on his lap, feet going off the sides and resting on the arm rest. America carefully reached for a piece of popcorn and one of their sodas, the one he had bought for England, and offered it to the English nation. Popping the piece of buttery corn into his mouth he chewed softly before craning his neck to take a sip from the straw. "Don't mind if we share, yeah?"

On the screen Bambi and Faline were frolicking like mad, running and jumping everywhere like they were on hopped on cocaine. America smiled and kissed the Briton's ear as his hands started to play with the loose bit of England's shirt. The man really was far too thin, he needed to fatten his man up starting with some burgers, hot dogs, and good ol' southern BBQ.

"No, of course I don't mind - and hand's off the vest, love. I got this made especially for tonight. I'd like it to be intact by tomorrow morning," England said, taking a sip of the drink as well - tasting America on the straw. He then indulged in the popcorn, before stopping a few mouthfuls in, pulling a face. Too much sugar for him, all at once. Time for careful moderation.

Alarmed Bambi filled the screen, England watched as he got up and started to move away from his partner after what he assumed to have been copulating. "What is that boy doing this time? Bloody Hell Bambi, you're going to get everyone killed. Get some ink on those hooves, man. Write a note," as if deer could do that, England joked, rolling his eyes.

America chuckled at England's joke and took another slurp of his drink, loving the addicting taste it had. "Oh, yes. Cause I'm sure Faline can read as well." The American nation held England closer when Bambi came running back to find that Faline missing for she had gone off to look for him. "God. I would hate that... finding you missing when I woke up or come home and you weren't there. I mean on visits of course."

He knew that England wouldn't be at his home a lot of the time due to they lived lives that meant for them to stay in their perspective countries for the majority of the time. But he hoped, that maybe someday they would be able to spend more time with each other in America or England... maybe even move in together? He blushed brightly and shook his head. Pay attention to the movie, America.

England flinched once more when the gunshots went off, reintroducing the off-screen villain. He cupped his mouth, remembering last time, how Bambi's mother had died. "Oh Lord, no, no, no, noBambi, get out of there!" He cried, before he recalled Faline being missing too. “No, you can't kill Faline! She's beautiful!" He forgot to turn down his vocal volume, too engaged in what was going on - somewhat unlike America, whose mind was running into other areas.

America kept hold of England and watched as the animals started to run everywhere, then it came to the scene where the three birds sat in their nests and one continued to become very worried. America gulped softly, closing his eyes tightly as the worried bird decided she couldn't take it anymore and flew out of her hiding spot.

Bang!

America held tighter onto his Briton as he opened his eyes, just as the bird fell from the sky and landed dead on the forest floor. "Shit..." He whispered softly, forgetting how sick this movie could make him feel sometimes. The animals then started to run quickly away, the presence of man was known in the forest. Panic. "Oh, Geez... please find each other..." He knew what would happen but he still was gripped with fear about the couple not seeing each other again.

England was horrified. Seeing a bird die, it made his heart ache once again for those that had lost their families or loved ones in the wars that had just departed - more emotionally than any other war than he remembered. In his long life. It was horrible. Hearing the pheasant, for that is what he assumed the bird was, speak before dying too... it hurt to think of what it could metaphorically represent.

Faline screaming for Bambi reminded England of it even more. Not of his people, but of the two nations there in the Cinema. He had screamed for America's sake before, and vice versa, during the heat of battle - shots fired, explosions, tanks, those bloody trenches. England sighed shakily, and closed his eyes, listening to the barks of the feral man-trained dogs as they appeared on screen, and captured the young Prince of the forest's girl.

America pulled England's head down against his shoulder so he could wrap his long arms more securely around the Briton, seeing Faline being cornered by those dogs made him remember how he had found England when he had finally decided to join the war. When he saw Bambi finally hear Faline's calls for help he couldn't help but let out a loud, "Go get ‘em!" at the male deer as he rushed to save his woman.

With a crash Bambi head butted the growling and snapping dogs, sending them flying. He then started to ram them with his antlers and kicked them in the throats, meanwhile yelling at Faline to get out. America sighed softly when he saw the female deer leap to safety as Bambi continued to fight the dogs, not holding back in the slightest.

"Oh my God, what if she gets shot? Bambi, run, run, run..." England urged, wrapping his arms absently around America's neck as they embraced on the same seat, eyes watching the action chaotically unfold on-screen for the inevitable climax of the film. As he, at first got away, England was glad. Then, a mighty bang made England shriek in surprise. Bambi was wounded. Fire begun to spread a swirling mass of orange into the forest. No doubt, about to torch the entire place. Bambi, and Faline hidden somewhere inside.

Oh, this film was just awful.

Blue eyes watched as the fire was quickly consuming the woods, so quickly that in a matter of seconds the entire forest was set ablaze. God damn it! This is why his people invented Smokey! To prevent forest fires like this! America sighed as the beautiful green lush forest was easily destroyed and left with nothing but ash. He watched as Bambi laid helplessly wounded, ready to give up until his father showed up.

He told the young deer to get up, and wouldn't relent until Bambi stood and actually walked with a wounded leg. Man, Bambi was quite the man. It reminded him of his men that had fought on and on no matter what.

"That's it, good lad... for the home front..." England commented under his breath as he watched. With all of the animals evacuating, he couldn't help but realise that so many were killed. It really seemed like a prediction for the end of the war, even if Bambi had been released originally in 1942 (before the war ended). So many would die, but some would survive and prosper. He just hoped all of the characters they had met thus far would survive.

As the fire raged on, Bambi and his unnamed Father fought the flames and rushed to find the best way out of there - a hopeless situation. Fire spread fast, but no one knew that quite so much as America did. England did not really have many forest fires at all. He was a small nation too; it wasn't as devastating to him, economically, for one section to go up in flames. Unlike America.

Finally, the music calmed, and like the end of a storm England knew that the erratic behaviour and constant running was over. He cracked a smile once he saw Faline and Bambi re-united. A happy ending, at last.

When green showed up, America let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Small beautiful flowers and green grass had grown over the mess the fire had created, thus telling that time had passed since the disaster. America hummed happily and laid his head against the Briton's was more green started to show and it showed the same old grumpy owl sleeping in a tree hole, ‘whoo’ing loudly.

Then Thumper appeared with his four thumping sons! Oh, yes. Thumper had surely been busy! America laughed as they all yelled like their father for the old owl to wake up from his nap. If he could ever even produce, America would have wanted kids like that. Little American's that would run around and climb trees and basically drive everyone bonkers.

England briefly wondered what America was thinking about, guessing correctly as they both watched child after child appear on screen - showing their father's own tendencies. Flower naming his child after Bambi got his heart strings tugging. Such respect. As Faline appeared, to the excitement of the woodland creatures just like the beginning of the movie, England knew it was the end. Sweet darling baby deer twins showed, and England immediately found both of them immensely adorable. Getting the best out of a bad situation, him. He sighed gently, and kissed America's cheek. "This might be inappropriate, however... I love you." He murmured.

America smiled at the small kiss on the cheek and then turned England away from the screen completely as Bambi and his father were shown standing high above on the cliff watching their children and grandchildren. When the music came on America smiled and ran his fingers through England's soft wheat colored hair and sang along softly.

 "Love is a song that never ends... Life may be swift and fleeting... Hope may die yet love's beautiful music... Comes each day like the dawn." He then pressed his lips against England's, kissing the Briton until the dark green 'THE END' screen showed up.

Soon, the reel of film ran out and they were left in the dark. America pulled away with a soft smile and brushed his lips over the Briton's small nose and bushy eyebrows. "And I love you... forever and ever."

"I to you, too," England commented. His thanks for America putting in all the effort and allowing him this special viewing for the two of them alone was left unsaid, but they both knew it was there. England was very appreciative when he wanted to be.

"Also, that was a bit awful." He remarked. A plethora of merriment, death, pretty much no plot other than an animal's regular life - while human's had theirs teeming with more hardship - as well as probably just a pompous display of animal animation, colour, and orchestra. Still, it was perfect for them to see. The bad points of the film did not matter. After all, tonight was all about them. "Let's get back to yours, golden boy."

Author notes:
• Edited by me, co-written between myself and Tenkuno. She's America, I'm England.
• Credit to Disney, of course.
• Originally, this was written in a human names format. I didn't remember that our dear recipient wanted country names until partly through. Oops. If you do see any 'Al' or 'Alfred' etc slip-ups, then do tell me, won't you? Similarly, the request asked for the both of them watching a disney movie together for the first time. I went with it being just England's first time, and them watching it together for the same time. I hope that's alright.
• On Arthur's character: - he might seem a little bit sensitive in this. It's mainly because he's seen a lot of devastation recently that could crack anyone. Besides, I do believe he really cares for his people. Reminders hit him hard.
• Their language is sort of atypical for the time period - sorry, but I don't really know how to speak like a 23-physically year old English man during the 1940s, considering I was born just under 50 years after this fic is set and I also appear to have lady parts. Sorry loves. Tried to keep it relatively in date, though.

Thanks very much for reading if you actually got this far. My my xD.


[Fanfic] Love is the Song that Never Ends
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Love is the Song that Never Ends.
Author: destinyshiva And Tenkuno.
Pairings/Characters: America/England.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: If you haven't seen Disney's Bambi, this might be a little confusing. However, the full movie is available on youtube.
Summary: The Second World War has come to an end. After two hectic years of re-construction and politics in the affairs of Europe, newly requited couple America and England finally manage to kick-start their love life with their first date. Includes the Disney movie, Bambi.


 
It was a warm clear night, the stars twinkling brightly in the sky above the lit up city. It was easily around twelve thirty in the morning as two figures hurried along the streets of the Windy City, one more so dragging the other. The American could barely contain his excitement as he pulled the Englishman along with him, his grin stuck on his face as he laughed loudly, the sound echoing around the almost deserted streets. He was so glad to finally be out of that awful tan uniform and back into something that looked good. America made sure not to scoff his black leather shoes and not to hurt the dark blue wool of his new suit, the wide shoulders making him look even more amazingly heroic in his opinion.
 
He turned quickly to the Briton, grabbing on to England's other hand and tugged the man towards him till the English nation fell against his broad chest. "Aw, man! This night has been amazing!"
 
It was their first date since the war had ended, after everything they had been through and had done. America smiled down at the small Briton who really did look so small in his arms, England had fought like a true man even though his home had been obliterated by the blitz. America smiled down at the small island nation and tipped his fedora at the man. "Didn't know you could dance so well. I thought you would have only known the waltz and fox trot."
 
It had been tough, these last few years. As they said goodbye to the war and welcomed a new era, one without the constant sting of Nazi Germany in their sides, he had a whole new worry to think about. With the re-construction of Europe, his home as well as the nations abroad and an air of decolonisation clinging to the world, England had been even more busy post-war than within it. He simply had no time - even less, when it came to relationships. Which was why, two years after the war ended, he and America finally managed to struggle their way onto their first date. Why America insisted on Chicago, he had no idea. Perhaps to make him suffer through the cold to punish and remind him of how much America was forking out just to keep him standing. The relief aid was something England owed his life to. Almost literally. America, he told himself again, was a life-saver.
 
Chin up was England's policy. He ignored how sore his body was still feeling, from the hateful times of only a few years ago. The atmosphere of fear and dread still clinging, but they made do. America and he were practical idealists. Instead of sitting still and feeling sorry for themselves, they went at it. America, in particular - a spark of jealousy struck him here at the thought - was thriving in the post-war economy. Not to mention those dance steps. "Oh please," England responded. "I practically live for ballroom dancing. Though perhaps you will not try to dip me, next time..."
 
America laughed loudly again and when another couple that was walking past gave them an odd look the American just waved at them and wrapped his arm around England's shoulder. "Come on! There's still more I want to show you, that is if it's not past your bed time, old man." He teased softly. England did three things as of lately. Work, Stress and Sleep. Sometimes he did both at one time and America would end up getting an overseas phone call at five in the morning with a Brit who had yet again lost all hope in everything, only to pull it back together in about five minutes. But sleeping was one thing that England did almost as much as he worked. He would take deep naps during breaks in meetings and he would sleep so soundly at night that one time America had been scared the man was in a coma.
 
But, America guessed he could understand. After all, England was going through something awful and hard. It's no wonder the man was a ball of nerves one minute and then unconsciousness the next. "I bet you'll like it." He said happily as he tugged the Briton closer to a large building.
 
It was embarrassing for England to be so outwardly touched by the American in these places, for homosexuality was certainly not something that usual people brushed off as normal - but the streets were thankfully quiet and unassuming. He groaned somewhat dramatically, picking up the tweed trilby he wore on his head and plucked it away with the ruffle of slicked back hairs. He could never keep up with the styles when his hair was so naturally roughened and shaggy. "Wherever you are taking me to, America, I shall very much hope it's worth our time. We don't have forever you know," with the potential threat of another war breaking out in Europe, this might be their only chance to see each other for months.
 
"Yeah, yeah." America drawled as he pulled the grumpy man along with him, smiling as they grew closer to the large building. The lights of the beautiful structure had been shut off already at ten due to closing time, but you could still see the large white letters above that read 'C H I C A G O'. The American smiled widely as he slid a hand into his pocket and fingered the cold metal item before his arm left the Briton's a pointed to the slightly visible marquee below the large signs.
 
'Late Showing for you-know-who. Nobody loves you like I do. A'
 
"...What on..." England found himself speechless as he saw what America had felt for him to see. How long had that been there for? They had been out for hours - and here he thought America was a bad fore thinker.
 
America giggled like a school girl, excited to show the Briton what he had arranged for them this evening...or was it morning. Oh well. His hand slipped back into his pocket and pulled out a gleaming silver key on a ring as he twirled it around his slim long fingers. "How 'bout a movie with me, babe?"
 
 
As America produced a beautiful key from nowhere, and England took in the scene - a dark but spectacularly painted theatre (or theater, he should perhaps say, here on American soil) - he stammered out a hastily reply. "Bleeding heck, yes, of course... but..." It had been so unexpected. The shock appeared on his face with a reddish pink glow. He hated that, instantly, England found America even more attractive. Each little romantic thing got to him. "How did you get permission to...?"
 
America couldn't stop the wide grin from growing on his face when England showed his surprise, and for the first time he wasn't spitting nails at a romantic gesture America showed him. England was embarrassed far too easily.
 
"Come on! I'm The United states of America!" He pulled the English nation close and gave England's hair a kiss before pulling away and walking towards the theatre with a confident strut, and key in hand. "As long as it's after hours and not during a huge new movie, The Balaban and Katz Chicago Theatre is mine."
 
God, that was a mouthful to say. He hoped they would change the name or shorten it sometime soon. He waved England over as he stuck the key in the lock and twisted, the heavy dead bolt unlocking loudly and the wide glass doors with golden painted pushers creaked as he pushed himself in, holding the door open for England of course. "See? I can be a gentleman too."
 
 
"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" England complained, refusing to believe that his America had any sort of code of conduct about him. He readjusted his tie for possibly the hundredth time that evening, and took a proud stance as he came into the building that America had gotten permission to - just for him. First his steps were strides, but they soon slowed to a miniscule movement and an eventual stop. England found himself cupping his mouth, having never expected the place to be this grand.
 
The architecture captured him. While outside it was similar to l'Arc de Triomphe in Francis's gay Paris, the interior similarly screamed French influence. Normally it might bother him to see so much of another's cultural touch within America's lands - multi-cultural as the boy somewhat annoyingly was, a mongrel of a nation just like he had always been - the theatre was so stunning that he shall have to forgive France. From the plush red carpet he walked on, to the gallery promenades and pillars that cascaded from above in off-white colouring, everything was a masterpiece of grandeaux. It must have been about five stories high, and it hurt England's eyes to try focus on the detail right at the top. It was simply breath-taking.
 
"Blighty," England murmured, feasting his eyes on what America had had reserved especially for them, this evening. He held onto his hat to stop it falling off of his head as he indulged in the grand display. It was not every day you see such beauty. Truthfully, England had to cross at least an ocean to find it. It was almost as handsome as the man himself, who possessed this within his borders. "America," he said as he looked back at him. "This place is just... splendid."
 
The American clapped his hands loudly in excitement when England actually told him that the building and interior were 'splendid'. A compliment from the fussy man meant that the building was pretty amazing.
 
"Spiffy!" He said happily as he walked over to the Briton who stood in the large lobby that could easily have handled seventy to ninety more. He took the Briton's hat from him carefully, then took his own off as he walked over to the coat check and slid over the marble counter. He placed their hats on an empty rack and then held his arm up against his stomach like a butler. "May I take your coat, sir?"
 
He then started taking off his own blue blazer and placed it on one of the many open hangers. "So, what do you like? I got popcorn, Red Hots, Snaps, Slo Pokes and Taffy.  And of course I got regular coke, vanilla cola, cherry cola, and lemon cola." He then blinked and snapped his fingers easily. "Oh. I also brought liquor in case none of that suited your fancy."
 
He then wagged a finger at the Briton with a false look of distrust. "But, I ain't giving you too much before the movie. Don't want you all out of it before we even get started."
 
"N-Nonsense! Course I won't be out of it, you buffoon! Perhaps just a cherry cola, if you could?" England responded as he unbuttoned his coat and handed it to America, allowing him to place it on the hanger with the other bits and bobs, like his hat. Finally England's suit of brown stripes and sweater vest showed through, somewhat a contrast to America's handsome dark blue. He shook his hair into its usual rugged self, and returned to the port of call. "Not to mention, frankly, I have not a clue what red hots, snaps, and slo pokes are. Popcorn would be a delight?"
 
That perfect Hollywood smile lit up again and newly cleaned specs slipped down the straight bridge of his nose as he gazed at England, now showing off his sweat vest completely. Somehow the Briton was able to make ugly little sweaters look amazing, not to mention brown plaid as well. "Swanky, UK." He said softly, then let out a low wolf whistle at the other nation as he hopped back over the counter and loosened his black tie so he could breath better.
 
"You look like a regular ol' Vincent Price in that suit. Heh, just with bigger brows." He waltzed over to England and offered his arm, grinning cheekily down at the other man. "You can pick where ever you want to sit. Balcony, floor, back, front, or in the special reserve chairs if ya' want."
 
"Vincent Price? Well. I'll have you know that he certainly looks better than I do with a moustache," England conceded, before firmly taking America's arm once it was offered to him. Assuming the woman's position was not an insult to him, rather coming naturally and with pride as England held his head high and ushered them forwards. "Perhaps somewhere in the middle? Best view? ...Just what exactly are we even here to see, America?"
 
With the Briton's arm in his, America led them through the lobby and past the doors into a long dimly lit hallway. The walls were the same as in the lobby and America took great pride in the beautiful paintings on the ceiling as well as the gold trimmed walls. Yes, they had taken ideas from France for this place. He wasn't going to deny it. But, it looked so ritzy that he couldn't help but approve of the man's tastes and designs. He pulled back one of the velvet curtains in the hallway and led England into the large room with the large famous silver screen sat.
 
 
This place always made him feel so classy. With its Neo-Baroque style, the paintings of beautiful women and clouds on the ceiling and all the fancy gold trim all around it."Well, babe. I have brought us here tonight..." He turned so England would face him and placed his hands on the Briton's shoulders. "So, you may see your very first Disney movie."
 
There was that brilliantly white smile again.
 
England's eyes lit up, and he gave a sideward glance to the gigantic screen before them. He opened his mouth, gaped for a second, before closing it. Yes, he was aware of the creator’s brilliant popularity. Cartoon perfection in movie form. He looked back at America with an air of scepticism and wonder about him. "...You didn't." England breathed, astounded. He had spoken to America about this during the war. It had gotten relatively bad reviews, but England cared none. It was something dear to him, animals and the like. He never thought he would actually have a chance to see it - no less, with the man of his life. "...You put it back in theatres?"
 
America grinned as he took England's hands in his and gave the Briton's forehead the softest kiss, smiling against the smooth pale skin. "Happy first date, sugar doll." He then pulled away and beamed down at the English nation, wanting to see England's reaction but mostly wanting praise to feed his ever growing ego. "So, what do you say? You find us a seat in this mass of four hundred and forty seats and I'll grab the goods and start the film?"
 
"Wait," England stopped him before he could go, grasping onto his arm to prevent him from leaving. He tugged him back the few inches of space they had lost, and turned him to they were looking at each other face to face. Despite the beautiful colours and architecture, he knew what he would rather see. Stalling, England thought about what he was going to do for a moment, before he finally decided that it was appropriate. After all, it was so much less expected to be outwardly loving these days. He leant forwards and kissed America gently on the lips. Just a sweet, charming peck. "...Thank you."
 
America took in a sharp breath, almost to the point of snorting when the Briton kissed him on the lips. A display of affection. Even though they were an actual couple, it was something that hadn't been shared physically in the least. The most they had ever really done is hold hands or kiss each other goodnight, and it wasn't the kind of kissing that they showed in his movies. Just sweet pecks. But unfortunately, sweet pecks were all it took to get the teen excited. "S-Sure... ain't no thing." His hands itched to grab England by the shoulders and lay big ol' wet one on the Briton, but he just laughed softly and darted off towards the projection booth.
 
He was stupidly in love.
 
A couple of minutes later, the movie started to burst into life on the screen. America must have put the reel in already. He looked up at the entrance from his position within the approximate middle of the entire theatre hall, waiting out for the American to return to his side so they could watch together. Excitement brewed secretively inside of him. They both had missed it when it first came out into theatres, mainly because of the war effort. He had been so interested ever since America had told him about its existence. What better circumstance to share a date within, now that the thick of it was somewhat over?
 
It took a few minutes for the sound to come on, but when it did the large theater was filled with the sounds of what was going on today in America. The news reel. Soon the entire screen turned a soft deep blue as the famous castle back ground lit up in a powdery blue. 'WALT DISNEY PICTURES' it read in the man's famous scrawl and then a small thin line travelled over the castle as trumpets started to play happily. The lights dimmed until England was left in darkness, nothing but the large screen being his light.
 
 
The technology still astounded him. Years ago there was no chance of seeing scenes portrayed upon two dimensional screens instead of watching it live, acted out in front of you. He couldn't quite figure which was more special - cinema or classic theatre. Well - it was hard to compare them with a film like this. Animated. The classical music filled his ears, and England's attention was simply encapsulated. Trapped in awe.
 
After a few minutes, the credits showing in actual color and music, the American came back through the curtain holding two paper cups and two boxes of steaming hot buttered popcorn. America smiled at the Boy-O boy on the popcorn box and then glanced around to see where England had decided to sit.
 
Ahh, right in the middle.
 
Perfect.
 
"I got the goods!" He yelled as he headed down the aisle, balancing everything in his arms.
 
 
Love is the song that never ends.
 
England gave America a smile - concealing just how excited he was behind his usual facade. The names and screens of leaf graphics got him more and more tense for the beginning, fingers grabbing into the arms of the chair. When the cartoon forest came into life, England was transfixed at the beautiful detail. Layers and layers of paintings, and then there was a tranquil music - and birds singing! How America's lot had done the sounds so accurately without filming in real life, he'd swear he'd never know. Such colour.
 
An owl captured his attention, and he immediately loaned his heart to the captivating characteristics of it; almost human-like. It yawned, and he felt himself not blinking - watching as the screen darted about, back and forth between adorable little creatures in the morning.
 
 
"...O-Oh my Gosh, America, look at the bunny rabbit!" He squeaked in delight, voice turning high pitched in excitement, before cupping his mouth to calm himself down a bit - almost ashamed at his own conduct.
 
America smiled at England's delight and he put his popcorn in the empty seat next to him as he watched Mr. D's movie play out. It really was amazing. It was hard to believe Mr. D had started out as a poor farm boy in this town and rose up to the ranks of movie making. The guy was actually really good at it. No wonder people shelled out the bucks to go see his movies every time he put something out. America also had heard a rumor of Mr. D doing something pretty big over in California, which made him excited since the man told him that it was to be the 'Happiest Place on Earth'.
 
That made America smile.
 
Of course. The happiest place on earth would be in his home.
 
 
The American grinned widely when he saw all the animals rush through the forest because of one birds whistling and then what he saw actually made him 'Aw' out loud. The prince of the forest was sleeping by his mother, and when he opened his large brown eyes America couldn't help but remember the days when his true mother used to take him through the forest and show him the animals.
 
As the little fawn begun to gather itself onto its legs, England could only find himself enchanted by the sweet thing's movements and those terribly long stilt-like legs. He eyed America's own legs, briefly comparing him and that fawn - and himself to that mother, tenderly caring for her newborn charge. Reminded him of years ago. "I can't help but feel bad for the thing when they laugh at him," England said, as the owl started to urge the animals away.
 
The American couldn't help but grin as the small rabbit asked what the new prince was to be named, they had given him a good ol' twangy accent. He chuckled softly and bumped England's shoe with his own when the little rabbit used such awful grammar. He wondered if it got under England's skin as much as when he spoke like that.
 
Then it showed the Prince of the forest watching from up above and America felt a small sense of pride at how well his animators had been able to capture the likeness of a real buck. Amazing. He had to snort in laughter when the scene cut to Bambi and his mother walking through the forest and the little fawn was showing his new walk off.
 
 
The little deer then started to mess up and America again was amazed at how much he moved like a real baby deer.
 
"Meri, there's one very important thing I'd like to ask you," England said, gazing up at the screen with awe. At first, his question was going to be about 'what on earth are those weird things handing from that tree on their tails?' - before something else pressed on his buttons. Something that America had already realised would get on his goat, as the saying goes. "Why, in the name of God, do innocent and adorable forest creatures sound like common yanks?"
 
America blinked for a moment and glanced over at the British nation before he frowned slightly and adjusted his glasses as if he were about to give a lecture. Meanwhile, the young fawn was receiving greetings from all the other animals in the forest.
 
"Excuse me? Common?" He raised an eyebrow and frowned deeply. "There is nothing wrong with the way my Southerners talk. In fact, a lot of people think that it's charmin' the way they say stuff." He then grinned and leaned down so he could whisper into England's ear softly, his lips brushing against the shell of the Briton's ear.
 
"I know you like it when I talk like that, don't ya?" The American purred in the deepest southern drawl.
 
England gasped as his ear and the skin around it, particularly his neck where America's hot breath spewed air onto his sensitive and mostly untouched skin, was graced with the American's presence. He swallowed,  trying to re-organise himself, and shoved the other's shoulder. "Get off me and eyes on the screen, yankee."
 
The American laughed loudly, the noise almost being drowned out by the noise from the movie. "That's not what you were saying last night, Limey."
 
"I know that is a joke, but please keep your mind to yourself and out of my clothing, which I suspect it is currently engulfed in. I shan't accept you trying to disprove this either," England responded. Last night, he had been flying from the UK to the US after all. Not to mention, they had not had a chance to be more, well, physically involved yet. That could wait. He did not particularly feel unwell tonight, after all. You would never know.
 
 
America chuckled as he moved his hands back to his lap and looked up at the screen to see Bambi being led off into the woods by the huge gaggle of baby bunnies and their one brother. He couldn't help but grin widely when the rabbit announced that he was 'thumping' and said his name. Thumper and Bambi were his favorite, mostly because Bambi was cute as hell and Thumper because  he had always had a thing with rabbits. England even told him that when he was little he would always run around with them.
 
It would be more manly if it were wolves, but oh well.
 
B-Burd.
 
"Don't try teach him to pronounce, silly rabbit. You can barely pronounce it yourself," England muttered underneath his breath, before he held his hand over his mouth again to disguise his laughter at the young deer calling a butterfly a bird. ...Purdy. Purdy! What on earth! The accents were going to bug him so much, but—It reminded him of the man sitting beside him right now.
 
 
As the skunk produced itself from the flowers, and Bambi tried to call it a flower - to the rabbit's obvious amusement - he frowned. "By gosh, 'merica. Why is a deer flirting with a skunk?"

America huffed softly and pushed at England's shoulder. "Dey ain't flirting you fool. He's just paying ‘em a compliment!" The American squared his shoulders as he turned his attention back to the screen.

A wide smirk. "You're puuuurrrrrrdy."

England merely gave a groan, having predicted that America would be stupid enough to pull a line like that on him. "Oi, stop flirting with me and watch the adorable bunnies, you idiot!"

The bottom lip of the American started to wobble in a very noticeable pout, one he had perfected long back when England had found him and started to lavish him with attention. Was he a brat? No. Was he spoiled? Yes. America sighed as he looked back at the screen, watching as Bambi and Thumper continued to frolic through the forest until a loud burst of thunder made them stop cold. Thumper excused himself and then the poor fawn ran quickly back home when the next clap came.

America smiled a bit as he remembered rain showers and how he would cuddle up next to England, when the Briton was there, or have to hold onto one of the many toys the Briton had given him when he visited. Something about England always calmed him, even during torrential downpour. As he watched Bambi huddle against his mother for safety, America smiled slightly at a memory of England holding his tiny little body close and singing softly.

Then the rain song came on. "Oh god..."

He hated this song.

As England was alerted to the thunder beginning to show through in the film, he shifted so he was a little bit closer to America. He had grown older with rain being an everyday occurrence, and to an extent America did as well - but he knew that America was insecure about thunder storms. It did not help that more recently for them, thunder storms were accompanied with the wailing of sirens and the loud cracks of bullets. It was like an extended metaphor for the wars that had just threatened them.

He silently slipped his arm around America's, holding onto his lean muscles underneath the fabric of his partner's clothing. Their hands connected. It was not just America he was trying to attribute comfort to. The flashes on the screen, a horror movie about the rain washing through, was enough to get England's heart racing as well. It tightened as the music reached it's frightening crescendo.

America tightened his larger hand around England's and relaxed when the morning light showed on the large screen, the last drips of rain rolling of the leaves and into a puddle. America then smiled widely as he watched Bambi follow his mother through the woods, asking her questions and basically talking her ear off like children were known to do. He loved Bambi's voice actor, it made him think of all the children down in Mississippi.

It had to be said. Bambi's voice was fun to America, but it was beginning to get on England's nerves. Such a strange slur to his sentences. It didn't suit the poor little thing in his opinion. The only person a Southern drawl suited was America, and that was because he was good at giving that flirtatious twang to it. It snagged England like a fish on a line. "He is cuter than he sounds," England begrudgingly said.

When the fawn and his mother had finally made it to meadow, America felt a bit sad when Bambi's mother had to check for danger. ‘Man’. He hated that his people made a sport of hunting animals, though he knew that if he told them to stop he would be the biggest hypocrite. Something about the excitement made it all worthwhile. Ugh...He hated being conflicted.

With the deer frolicking about, England found himself mutely smirking at the animals enjoying it out there in the open. Freedom was the most beautiful thing. Though upon hearing the references to 'man', the Englishman was less enthusiastic. There was something frightening about it, from the animal's perspective. He empathised. More recently, England had been staying away from the habit of hunting upon his United Kingdom. Foxes, yes, but deer... they were too few.

Thumper was there again. In the meadow with his mother and sisters, eating clover and being adorable as always. When thumper tried to only eat the blossoms, America only grinned when his mother told him to remember what his father had told him about eating his greens as well. Reminded him of the time England refused to let him eat anything until he ate his vegetables.

Bambi ran around some more before he came to a stream, which caught his attention do to his reflection. It warmed America's heart to watch the small fawn try to smell it's reflection thinking it was another deer, but then something happened.

There was another fawn, not just Bambi's reflection.

England squeaked in surprise, having not expected the other deer to suddenly appear. He squeezed America's arm slightly harder, like in the rainfall scene, and looked at the imposter in shock. The first thing he noticed was the much lighter shade the animal had than Bambi himself - a sort of femininity and tenderness about it, which automatically made him assume it was female. Then the laugh echoed through the cinema. It made England bark one out too, because it was just, so... What on Earth. He glanced at America. "Bloody hell, her laugh is as atrocious as yours—Good God, she's not shutting up!"

The American let out a loud laugh when England gripped his hand tighter and he let out another when he heard the Briton let out his own sharp laugh. "H-Hey!" He said in-between chuckles at the insult as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to England's cheek softly. "Mine ain't that bad." America intertwined their fingers tighter and turned back to the screen.

America couldn't help but chuckle when Bambi became scared of the other little deer and ran from her quickly, her following quickly and laughing all the way. It made him think of if him and England had met as children, instead of England becoming his care-taker. Knowing him, the Briton would have most likely not wanted anything to do with America's child self while the American on the other hand would keep trying to become friends.

"You are so Bambi right here..." He smirked as the young prince dove moved behind his mother to escape the overly friendly girl.

"To be fair to you, you were a lot less outspoken and generally in-your-face than she is," England commented, recalling that sweet little thing in white dress and red ribbon. The same sort of thing as they all used to wear when they were tiny. Privately, England started to feel a little warmer towards the baby doe following America linking himself to her, and him to the young Prince. That said, none of them were particularly unlike England. There was the presence of him in all of their actions.

Bambi was then forced to say hello to the little girl fawn, her name Faline, and then she started to get excited and dance around the young prince. She then pushed him back until he fell into a puddle where Faline then decided to play a game of poke her head through the reed and laugh, then disappear before Bambi could look in her direction.

America laughed loudly as Bambi grew irritated with her game and then jumped out of the reeds at her, scaring her and then started to chase her around the meadow. Now he wanted a baby deer as a pet, adding it to the eight other animals he already had swarming his house.

"Alright, now I feel like Bambi. This is like when you decided to dick about with us all in one of the meetings..." England sighed, flopping his head onto America's shoulder as he watched the animals flounce about on screen. America was rather prone to being hyperactive, of sorts - since he was younger and healthier than everyone else, he had been practically bouncing off of the walls at some moments of their strategic planning meetings. A sharp smack to the head was all he needed. Some discipline.

Now they were together, he supposed that America would rein his need for activity in. Or at least, he hoped, do much like tonight - concentrate it on love, or the prosperity of Europe and the world as a whole. America was immense at bringing people together.

While the blissful animals frolicked and played, England was content in his position, enjoying the orchestral music and the animated scenes. It truly was inspiring, the detail. As a clear trumpeting noise erupted, England's interests were intrigued; many deer appearing on screen and charging towards the woods freely. Mating fights, arrays of colour - even the usually criticising England was impressed. He was such a closet animal lover. Prancing deer, smashing of cymbals - he started to hum underneath his breath with the music.

Once it got more violent-sounding, he stopped. He did not often lend his heart nor concern to characters on-screen, but he couldn't help but give both to Bambi as the poor thing tried to charge away from the other deer heading in his direction. Seeing him hide was a relief. Silence took him, as well as alert, as a very large male came out into the meadow. "Is that Bambi's... father?" England asked intuitively, and quietly, eyes lit up much like the deer's.

America felt a swell of pride when he saw the amazing buck standing in the clearing of the forest. They really were wonderful creatures to look at and watch, and eat. He hated thinking the last part, but venison was very yummy. "Yeah. That's him. Isn't he swell?" America grinned as the music fit the true Prince of the forest as he walked slowly out into the meadow as his subjects gazed on in respect.

"Is that was it was like when Lizzy ruled? Everyone was just in awe?" He whispered to the Briton, wondering how exactly she was seen amongst her people, the Queen of the Golden Era. America wasn't stupid, he could read specially when it came to his little English nation. America frowned a bit when Bambi's father stopped in front of the young fawn and watched him for a moment, then just continued on as if he hadn't seen the boy.

"Pft. I forgot how hincty his dad was...”

England looked at America in a stupor, missing some of the important dialogue. Since when had America been so aware of his brief love affair with the greatest Queen he had ever had to this date? He looked back at the screen, seeing Bambi's mother explain that everyone respected the Great Prince of the forest. "Y-Yes, I do suppose it was like that. My Elizabeth was such a special woman. Body of a woman, heart of a man, you know," he said, and cracked a half-smile in her memory. How did America manage to remind him of something silly like that?

He marvelled at the bold creature, before he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. The orchestra was so brilliant at distilling fear through him. He cupped his mouth, watching as the entire field of deer panicked. As Bambi cried out for his mother, repeatedly, he could hear his own breathing increase. He was rescued, thankfully, but as soon as he heard the gunshots, he knew the culprit. ‘Man’.

How strange, that he was fearing his own kind for the young animal's sakes.

America clutched tightly at England's hand when the loud shot rang out and Bambi's family vanished behind a rock and back into the forest. His heart was racing and he felt a small pang at remembering how terrified and desperate Bambi had screamed for his mother. "Geez... I forgot about that part." He whispered to the Briton, still keeping a tight hold on the man's hand.

When Bambi's mother finally coaxed him out of their hiding spot and had to explain to the young deer why everyone ran, America felt himself go slightly cold. "Man..." He whispered softly. His people, England’s people. Every nations people were feared by these animals and it made him slightly sad to think that the animals he had once played around with as a child now feared him and his people greatly.

Soon, the music changed to a happy tune as the seasons started to change before their eyes. Colorful red, orange and yellow leaved blew in the wind almost as if they were dancing and before long there was beautiful snow on the ground, covering the land in a pristine white. A small smile tugged at America's lips when Bambi was discovering the white cold powder. "So, cute."

"You know..." England said softly, watching as she calmly educated her youngling. Her charming voice and enthusiasm in caring for her lovely and troublesome, if not naive, son was simply darling. "I adore his mother. Beautiful thing." His favourite already.

As Thumper joined the fun and they came across the stiff frozen lake, England smiled freely and watched the deer struggle to control his slippery hooves over the water's surface. Silly rabbit for being so insistent - but they did eventually manage to have him standing. Er, partially. Before he fell again. It reminded him of his ability to interact with snow and ice - he was simply hopeless with the black ice frost. Never dealt well with the cold.

America smiled as the fawn’s long limbs continued to slip and slide on the ice, causing him come crashing back down to the ground. "Thumper's a pretty good skater, no?" He teased the smaller one, remembering how when he had taken England ice skating during the war for some down-time and showed off his moves to the stumbling and wobbly Brit.

"That was the first time you hugged me in public..." He whispered under his breath. Granted, England had been trying just to stay vertical but he had buried his face into America's neck as he clung to his larger life line.

America laughed loudly as Thumper and Bambi went sliding over the ice and into the snow, Bambi's behind sticking out just slightly and his little tail wagging. Thumper bust out of the snow and start to whack the snow out of his ear before he heard something and glanced over at a small nest.

"It's Flower!" The American announced happily as the small skunk yawned loudly. "What an adorable bed head for a skunk..."

"I can't help but think that it is similar to our own, love," England said, remembering the times they had spent in bed together for comfort and closeness back many years ago - before that retched revolution. Not that England held too much of a grudge nowadays. The simple fact remained that America had done very well for himself, and he would not have had he still restricted him. Not to mention, in the end... he had come back to him. With the warmness of more than just his nation, but his heart.

"Their accents are still annoying..." England groaned, and glared at the screen for a second. Oh, he could not be annoyed at the young dears - or deers, perhaps? Puns aside, he smirked at the sleepy creature's antics - remembering America always trying for extra hours of sleep whenever it suited him.

Though as the winter got harsher and harsher on-screen through a miniature montage, he started to feel an ache in his stomach. Winters had been horrendous for him, in the past – though he knew he did not have it the worst. As Bambi declared that he was hungry, England bit his lip and glanced away from the screen. He had suffered famines. But, it had been so terrible. He was certainly feeling empathetic right now. He felt like he had not been fed properly for years. Bloody rationing.

Winter.

America frowned as he remembered some of his harshest winters up north and in this state, it was hard to believe all of the nations had survived without central heating. It was just fires in houses or for his and his mother's natives, fires in mud huts or tents. When he turned to ask England how the Briton's people had been able to survive the cold back when he was a new nation he noticed that England's head was bowed.

A red flag rose in America's mind.

"You okay?" He asked softly, then reached over to grab a piece of buttered popped corn and used one finger to tilt England's head up to look him in the eyes. "Come on, sweetheart. Be happy, for me?" He then popped the little piece into England's mouth, then leaned over to kiss the man's lips softly. "Let's keep watching, yeah?"

England had forgotten about the popcorn. He had been too preoccupied in both the film and his thoughts. He had only eaten a few bites worth of his share. Eating a lot was alien to him now. His stomach must have shrank. But as soon as the sweet taste had slipped into his mouth, he accepted it and kept it in his mouth as America kissed him - reminding him that good things were in this world. "Y-Yes, of course," he responded, and his eyes fell back to the screen, hoping that the winter scenes would turn into something else blissfully happy.

Instead it was met with devastation. England had started paying attention again just as Bambi's mother was calling at her child to run. Gunshots in the distance. It was not a cold day but England could have sworn it was, when his body suddenly went cold at a particular shot, and he saw the little deer without the mother that had raised him. The doe he had identified with. He stared at the screen, before looking at America. "Y-You... you killed her!" As if the American was responsible for the decision of his citizen.

America had also cringed when he heard the awful gun shots and he swore softly under his breath, he had also glossed over the fact that Bambi's mother was killed in the movie when he was explaining it to the Briton back when they were in the war. "M-Me?!" He gasped as he looked down at Briton, trying to ignore Bambi's loud childish voice calling for his mother. "I didn't write the book or make the movie!"

The American frowned slightly and tugged on their joined hands. "I also didn't shoot her!"

"I thought you saw this before! You c-could have told me to expect it to get like this!" England cried at him, before looking at the screen. That loving doe that Bambi had spent his whole life dependent on, suddenly gone. It reminded him of too many things to count. He had always had a bit of a soft spot for poor orphans. America was more or less one of them. After all, he had been all alone once. Just like England had felt for the whole of his life prior to meeting him - lonely.

"...O-oh Christ." England muttered, watching the screen. He turned his head away from America, and dabbed his eyes. He wasn't going to let America realise that he was almost reduced to tears.

America pouted softly when England shouted at him and turned away to hide that he was obviously starting to cry. Jesus. He would have never picked this movie if he knew it was going to make his date cry, sighing softly he got out of his seat and lifted England out of his. He then sat down where the Briton had and pulled England into his lap with him, cradling the smaller man like England had done to him many years ago when he would have bad dreams.

"Shhh... It's okay. It's just a movie." He held England's head against his shoulder and refused to give up on his tight hold of the Briton. No one was here so England couldn't argue that it was indecent or improper. They ignored the screen as Bambi's father showed up and told him that his mother could not be with him anymore, and thus took the small boy under his own care. America frowned and pressed a soft kiss to England's hair as he continued to hold the man.

"You have no idea how embarrassing this is. Bloody Hell, when did I get so soft?" England said, blinking out the tiny tears developing in his emblazed peridot-coloured eyes. He rested against America, not giving a damn that he was in his lap now. They were in privacy. It might not be proper, but it was them. He sniffed and shook his head, as he continued to try watch the screen. "...I-It's like after the bloody Blitz. All those families left without their children, or their mothers and fathers. I-I cannot help myself thinking about them. S-So many lost people, back home. It's just like it, isn't it?"

"England..." America whispered softly and pulled England's face up so that he was able to stare into those beautiful green eyes that he had fallen in love with, shadows moving across them from the images on the screen. "Please, don't let that hurt this moment." He kissed England's lips softly and gave the Briton a soft Eskimo kiss by rubbing his nose slightly against the other's.

"I know it was awful... I hated watching you fall further and further cause of that bastard Ludwig. But you're here, and you are alive." He cupped England's cheek, and made the Briton look at him, ignoring the cheerful music that started to play. "You will get better. I promise you."

"Well," England was touched by America's charming encouragement. He really was a great motivational speaker, and just listening to him made England believe it really could get better in the future. Sighing, he nodded and stroked America's structured cheek-bone. One last kiss, this time with England being the initiator, graced them. Lips clicked on depart. "Of course I shall. Because you are helping me to get whole again, aren't you, my lovely?"

(Click for the rest.)

(no subject)
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Lots o'Alfred.
Author/Artist: destinyshiva 
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, with off-screen England.
Rating: PG
Warnings: They're fifteen minute sketches, so don't expect them to be good XD.
Summary: I got bored earlier, and I randomly begun doodling America... THUS IS THE RESULT...;;



I can only apologise...;;Collapse )

[Fic] Meeting by the Cliffs [2/2]
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Meeting By The Cliffs [Part 2 / 2]
Author: destinyshiva And Hannaadi88.
Pairings/Characters: France, England. Scotland, Wales, and Ireland are mentioned - as well as the countries that unified to become the Kingdom of England in the 10th century.
Rating: T.
Warnings: Suicide, murder, character deaths, British Isles OCs. Works on the mechanics of 'If a nation dies, they are able to revive themselves'.
Summary: Conflict in the British Isles was finally over and Wessex – renamed England – prevailed. As Francis Bonnefoy sails towards white cliffs, he makes a startling discovery. Who is this emerald eyed boy, decorated by angel wings? RP with Hannaadi88.
[Fanfiction.net Link]
Part One

Meeting at the Cliffs: Part Two.



Under the CutCollapse )

[Fic] Meeting by the Cliffs [1/2]
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Meeting By The Cliffs [Part 1 / 2]
Author: Desiny
Pairings/Characters: France, England. Scotland, Wales, and Ireland are mentioned - as well as the countries that unified to become the Kingdom of England in the 10th century.
Rating: T.
Warnings: Suicide, murder, character deaths, British Isles OCs. Works on the mechanics of 'If a nation dies, they are able to revive themselves'.
Summary: Conflict in the British Isles was finally over and Wessex – renamed England – prevailed. As Francis Bonnefoy sails towards white cliffs, he makes a startling discovery. Who is this emerald eyed boy, decorated by angel wings? RP with Hannaadi88.
[Fanfiction.net Link]


Meeting by the Cliffs: Part One.

Under the CutCollapse )

Explain, Mr Kirkland, From the Beginning?
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Explain, Mr Kirkland, From the Beginning?
Author/Artist: Moi, aka DestinyShiva.
Characters: France and England. (Mentions of Others).
Pairing(s): FrUK
Rating: M
Warnings: Sex, and complete stupidity on the character's part.
Summary: 'Now, anyone would advise you to refrain yourself from asking how this happened, though Arthur in particularly would be very adamant in denying you the right to question it. Needless to say, it did, and they had a very good time of it indeed.' 



Under the CutCollapse )

Wolver Menace
Prussia, Gilbird
destinyshiva
Title: Wolver Menace
Author/Artist: Moi, aka DestinyShiva.
Characters: England.
Pairing(s): Slightly hinted USUK.
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence. Mentions of murder.
Summary: Five years ago, a monster began to terrorise the streets of London - and England soon found out the hard way that hospitality was not always a good and prosperous thing...



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Tags: ,

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