Along Came Alfred, The Sequel (France, England, America) - Pt 1
Title: Along Came Alfred, The Sequel
Warnings: Lots of sex
Summary: After his encounter with England and France at the most recent conference, Al decides to take France up on his invitation.
Characters: America, England, France
Year: Modern
Related fics: Along Came Alfred
Other parts: Part 2, Part 3
Link to next part will be posted when it's, you know, written.
In the end, Al did go to Francis' house that night. How could he not? All day, he had been thinking about-- well. It was distracting, alright? The day passed agonizingly slowly, and as soon as Al felt that it could be safely called “night,” he was out of his house, and shuffling nervously through Europe. He arrived at Francis', and knocked on the door, heart in his throat. The door opened, and the owner beamed at him. “Ah, Alfred, so good of you to come.”
In the lobby, trying to look as if he hadn't come to the door, was Arthur. Their eyes met briefly, and then they both looked away, Al blushing to the roots of his hair, Arthur coughing uncomfortably. Francis watched this with amusement. “Now, my friends, there is no need for such awkwardness.” After all, they had only been waiting for this for about three centuries, the silly men. “Alfred, come in, come in, let us have a drink.”
“No drinks,” cut in Arthur, with a slightly panicked look. Al looked between the two of them curiously, but decided-- wisely-- not to ask.
“No drinks, then,” said Francis, agreeably. Al looked at him, suspicious: When was Francis ever agreeable with Arthur?
They stood in silence for a moment, until they were saved by Francis' social graces, as per usual. “So then, shall we make love?”
Arthur spluttered. “You bastard, I thought we brought him here to explain...!” Al's heart sank. Explain? So, it had been a mistake. The scenario had crossed his mind, of course, during the past few hours he had spent stewing and wondering and trying not to get a hard-on in front of his boss. But it had seemed so far fetched-- how did you blow someone by accident?
France saw Al's expression change, and said softly to his lover, “Arthur, look, you have upset him.”
Arthur swallowed hard, and forced himself to meet Al's eyes. When he saw the cautiousness there, his expression softened. “Alfred, my child--” the other man's posture stiffened, defensively-- ah yes, this was not the right moment for such language, even if as semi-abstract national embodiments any real concept of blood relations was ludicrous-- “--my friend. I...”
“I understand,” said the other man, dully. “You thought I was him, didn't you?”
England coughed emphatically. “I, that is to say--” he said, and stopped again, trying to make himself speak.
“It's ok, old man,” he said, trying to put a brave face on it. “I mean, it could have happened to anyone.” He thought for a second. “Wait, no it couldn't. Seriously, what the fuck?”
Arthur's ears turned slightly red. “Well, frankly, the two of you do have a certain resemblance between the...” he trailed off in embarrassment. “And with the dark, and the alcohol--”
“--the alcohol?” asked Al, incredulously.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, with one thing and another-- it's true, I was-- I was, confused."
"I'll say," Al muttered.
"But," the other man continued, speaking over him. "I-- well--" France nudged him. He took a deep breath. "If you were to want to, ah, engage in--"
Al's heart lept into his throat. His-- his-- if he was going to use it, he had to be able to say it, right? His cock jumped too, and he was almost startled. He really did want this. Well, when there was something Al wanted, he went for it. He crossed the room to Arthur. “Ok, then let's fuck.”
Francis' startled laugh echoed in the lobby-- these New Worlders, so frank-- and Arthur felt his face get warm. He met Al's eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Let's.”
Al-- as sometimes happened-- had jumped straight to the most pragmatic plan, but was a little unsure what to do next. But that had never stopped him from going for what he wanted! So he strode over to his old mentor, trying to project an air of confidence, and kissed him full on the mouth. They held this pose for a moment, Al not knowing what you were supposed to do next and Arthur not a clue what Al was expecting. “Ah, Alfred?” he said, finally. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
“No?” said Al. “Should I have?”
England buried his face in his hands. France patted him reassuringly on the shoulder-- wait, why they reassuring him?-- and said, “Do not worry, Arthur. His education may be a little, ah, out of order, but we will make sure he is happy in the end, won't we?”
Arthur's “I suppose” was muffled by his hands.
“Am I doing it wrong?” asked Al, perplexed, not knowing that you could kiss wrong.
“No, no, little one,” said Francis, smiling slowly. Al stiffened. He was nearly three hundred! “You simply seem to need a demonstration.” So he leaned in and caught Arthur's mouth in a kiss-- slow, deliberate, open-mouthed. Al stared, not seeming able to take his eyes off their lips, and Arthur tried his best to pretend he didn't have an audience. “I hear that your children call this French kissing,” said Francis, with a smug smile.
“Oh,” said Al. “Right.” He remembered to exhale.
“I will show you,” Francis declared, and tugged Al in so that he was leaning back against Arthur. He jumped at the strange sensation when their tongues touched-- it sent little shivers down his spine. He could feel Arthur breathing against the back of his neck, and he almost-- he almost moaned.
Francis pulled away. “Now that we have, ah, caught you up to speed, so to speak, perhaps Arthur finish what he ought to have done this morning.” Ignoring Arthur's spluttering, Francis sat down on a splendidly wrought fainting couch, the apparently casual sprawl engineered to leave plenty of room between his legs.
“Francis,” Arthur hissed. “Oughtn't we take this more, well, more slowly? The boy--” Al shot the other man a nasty look, which he missed “--has never done this before. It takes more than a little bit of kissing to--”
“You,” said Francis, “ought to be down on your knees with my cock down your throat. I am sure that little Alfred will find this educational, won't you, Alfred?”
Al coughed. “Edu-- educational. Yeah.”
Arthur shot a look at Al, taking in the blush and the lack of protests. “French bastard,” he sighed, getting down on his knees.
Francis watched his pants opened by his long-time enemy, rival, lover. They had done this a million times, but never with an audience-- never with anyone to see the way the other man's impressive eyebrows furrowed with concentration, the way he opened his throat slowly, slowly, swallowing more and more... Arthur would never have allowed it, not for anyone else. But Francis personally knew how long he had been lusting after his former colony. And, well, he could have waited for them to get together in their own time; it might have happened. It would have been gentle, perhaps, sweet-- but which of them deserved that?
So he watched the boy's face as Arthur began his slow, steady sucking; he watched the blush there grow, and its owner start to fidget. Arthur wasn't displaying the half of his impressive repertoire-- but he had to be drunk for most of that anyway.
Al-- Al swallowed, hard. England's face... it looked just like he'd imagined it would. Serious, like he was working on a new piece of legislation, but red, like it got when he drank. He watched the man take in another few centimeters, and found he was breathing hard, like he'd been running. He glanced up briefly at France; the other man was looking at him, with that expression-- the one he'd never seen from him before this evening. The one with the smile that said I know exactly what you're imagining, and I'm going to give it to you.
“Come here, little Alfred,” he said. “Come, let me touch you like you touched me.” England looked up quickly at this, but France guided his face back down. “Here, stand here, beside me. You will, ah... you will have a better view.”
Al stumbled on his way over to France's couch, tripping on air as he watched England's lips. He knew, with sudden certainty, that he would be jerking off to this for all time. France's expression said he knew it too. “Sit here, little one. Yes, there. Open your legs for me.” Then France's hand-- the one that wasn't on England's cheek-- was rubbing him, and Al had to fight not to close his eyes. He barely registered the look England sent France, or the smug, smug smile he got in return.
Opening the boy's pants one-handed with the ease of long practice-- blue jeans, a cinch after those silly hose Arthur used to wear-- Francis mused aloud, “Alfred, what do you think? Shall I come in him now, and let you two play, or shall I save myself for later?” When the third man looked like he was about to try and speak, Francis slid his head down gently with a hand to the back of the neck. “Arthur, when I want your opinion, I will take my cock out of your mouth.” The look he caught back was venomous, but he just smiled. “Well, little one?”
Al swallowed hard, and had the sinking feeling he was gaping like a fish. France laughed. “It is true, perhaps I should not expect such advanced thought of you just now. I suppose I will just have to--”
“Wait, if you come in him now, won't he taste bad later?”
England coughed. France stared at him in disbelief. “Alfred, what did you just say?”
Al blinked. “I said--”
France cut him off. “No, no, I heard what you said. We, I think, will have to work on your pillow talk. Nonetheless,” he said, glancing down at England. “You heard the boy, Arthur. It seems there is something else he has in mind for you.” England came up, spluttering in indignation, but France slid the tip of his cock back into his mouth to keep him quiet. “He talks so much,” he said, conversationally, to Al. Al gulped. “Now, what is it that you were planning?”
“Well, uh,” said Al, not quite sure where to look. “England--”
“--call him Arthur,” said France. Arthur looked like he was about to protest, and Al looked dubious, but France rolled his eyes. “We are in bed-- or will be, very shortly. Surely we are all on a first name basis?”
Al wasn't sure. It had never occurred to him to use England's first name, although the man had always used his. It was-- well, he called Matt by his human name, and Kiku, and little Feli, but-- it was different. But France turned an impatient eye on him, and he said, “--Arthur.” The man widened his eyes, and Al had a sudden flash of insight. “You like it when I call you that.” To France-- Francis?-- “He likes it when I call him that!” France shrugged modestly.
“Eng-- Arthur. I, uh--” he tried his very best to meet his eyes, and not stare at his mouth. “Um. I wanted to ask, uh--” he lost the fight, and looked down, where England's mouth was-- and trailed off. France nudged him. “Right. I wanted-- can we kiss?”
Arthur pulled away from Francis, the insufferable bastard, and pulled himself back together. This-- well. It was, ah, this situation, it-- but it was no reason to continue letting himself be pushed around. “Of course we can kiss, boy. You'll have to get down here, though, I can't feel my knees.”
Alfred looked concerned, but he was shooed along by Francis, who was looking insufferably smug. He had half a mind to throw him out, but-- well, he was honest enough with himself to know that with just the two of them, they'd-- if they were lucky, they'd only sit around awkwardly. If not-- he winced. They hadn't really fought since 1812, but petty squabbles? Every time.
Alfred, clumsy and enthusiastic as always, knelt in front of him, and-- Ah yes. There was, that matter. "Alfred? I, well, that is to say..." The boy clearly had no idea what he was getting at. He gestured, helplessly. "I..."
Francis smirked. "He is afraid, Alfred, that you will taste me in his mouth."
Alfred blinked. "But you didn't..."
France nodded. "Yes, that is true." Arthur mumbled something. "However, as Arthur is not succeeding in saying, there will be-- a taste."
Alfred blinked again. "Well, it shouldn't be too bad, right?"
Francis' grin showed teeth. "No, it should not." Arthur reminded himself to be infuriated, as soon as he wasn't so dreadfully aroused.
The boy had made up his mind, and then they were kissing, differently this time. More the way Francis kissed. Well. That wouldn't do at all.
Two men at his feet, mouths not two feet from his cock, Francis smiled lazily. He was so good, yes, he wouldn't even touch himself while they kissed; he knew how easy it was to spook Arthur, and little Alfred was still more-or-less an unknown. So he watched while Arthur kissed the boy, shaking his head in disapproval; he was teaching the boy bad habits, when Francis had so recently instructed him correctly. But Arthur kissing with so much sucking and thrusting (none of the finesse he displayed when he was really using his mouth), Alfred letting him take the lead at first, but soon giving as good as he got... he was a lucky man indeed.
Part 2
Warnings: Lots of sex
Summary: After his encounter with England and France at the most recent conference, Al decides to take France up on his invitation.
Characters: America, England, France
Year: Modern
Related fics: Along Came Alfred
Other parts: Part 2, Part 3
Link to next part will be posted when it's, you know, written.
In the end, Al did go to Francis' house that night. How could he not? All day, he had been thinking about-- well. It was distracting, alright? The day passed agonizingly slowly, and as soon as Al felt that it could be safely called “night,” he was out of his house, and shuffling nervously through Europe. He arrived at Francis', and knocked on the door, heart in his throat. The door opened, and the owner beamed at him. “Ah, Alfred, so good of you to come.”
In the lobby, trying to look as if he hadn't come to the door, was Arthur. Their eyes met briefly, and then they both looked away, Al blushing to the roots of his hair, Arthur coughing uncomfortably. Francis watched this with amusement. “Now, my friends, there is no need for such awkwardness.” After all, they had only been waiting for this for about three centuries, the silly men. “Alfred, come in, come in, let us have a drink.”
“No drinks,” cut in Arthur, with a slightly panicked look. Al looked between the two of them curiously, but decided-- wisely-- not to ask.
“No drinks, then,” said Francis, agreeably. Al looked at him, suspicious: When was Francis ever agreeable with Arthur?
They stood in silence for a moment, until they were saved by Francis' social graces, as per usual. “So then, shall we make love?”
Arthur spluttered. “You bastard, I thought we brought him here to explain...!” Al's heart sank. Explain? So, it had been a mistake. The scenario had crossed his mind, of course, during the past few hours he had spent stewing and wondering and trying not to get a hard-on in front of his boss. But it had seemed so far fetched-- how did you blow someone by accident?
France saw Al's expression change, and said softly to his lover, “Arthur, look, you have upset him.”
Arthur swallowed hard, and forced himself to meet Al's eyes. When he saw the cautiousness there, his expression softened. “Alfred, my child--” the other man's posture stiffened, defensively-- ah yes, this was not the right moment for such language, even if as semi-abstract national embodiments any real concept of blood relations was ludicrous-- “--my friend. I...”
“I understand,” said the other man, dully. “You thought I was him, didn't you?”
England coughed emphatically. “I, that is to say--” he said, and stopped again, trying to make himself speak.
“It's ok, old man,” he said, trying to put a brave face on it. “I mean, it could have happened to anyone.” He thought for a second. “Wait, no it couldn't. Seriously, what the fuck?”
Arthur's ears turned slightly red. “Well, frankly, the two of you do have a certain resemblance between the...” he trailed off in embarrassment. “And with the dark, and the alcohol--”
“--the alcohol?” asked Al, incredulously.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, with one thing and another-- it's true, I was-- I was, confused."
"I'll say," Al muttered.
"But," the other man continued, speaking over him. "I-- well--" France nudged him. He took a deep breath. "If you were to want to, ah, engage in--"
Al's heart lept into his throat. His-- his-- if he was going to use it, he had to be able to say it, right? His cock jumped too, and he was almost startled. He really did want this. Well, when there was something Al wanted, he went for it. He crossed the room to Arthur. “Ok, then let's fuck.”
Francis' startled laugh echoed in the lobby-- these New Worlders, so frank-- and Arthur felt his face get warm. He met Al's eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Let's.”
Al-- as sometimes happened-- had jumped straight to the most pragmatic plan, but was a little unsure what to do next. But that had never stopped him from going for what he wanted! So he strode over to his old mentor, trying to project an air of confidence, and kissed him full on the mouth. They held this pose for a moment, Al not knowing what you were supposed to do next and Arthur not a clue what Al was expecting. “Ah, Alfred?” he said, finally. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
“No?” said Al. “Should I have?”
England buried his face in his hands. France patted him reassuringly on the shoulder-- wait, why they reassuring him?-- and said, “Do not worry, Arthur. His education may be a little, ah, out of order, but we will make sure he is happy in the end, won't we?”
Arthur's “I suppose” was muffled by his hands.
“Am I doing it wrong?” asked Al, perplexed, not knowing that you could kiss wrong.
“No, no, little one,” said Francis, smiling slowly. Al stiffened. He was nearly three hundred! “You simply seem to need a demonstration.” So he leaned in and caught Arthur's mouth in a kiss-- slow, deliberate, open-mouthed. Al stared, not seeming able to take his eyes off their lips, and Arthur tried his best to pretend he didn't have an audience. “I hear that your children call this French kissing,” said Francis, with a smug smile.
“Oh,” said Al. “Right.” He remembered to exhale.
“I will show you,” Francis declared, and tugged Al in so that he was leaning back against Arthur. He jumped at the strange sensation when their tongues touched-- it sent little shivers down his spine. He could feel Arthur breathing against the back of his neck, and he almost-- he almost moaned.
Francis pulled away. “Now that we have, ah, caught you up to speed, so to speak, perhaps Arthur finish what he ought to have done this morning.” Ignoring Arthur's spluttering, Francis sat down on a splendidly wrought fainting couch, the apparently casual sprawl engineered to leave plenty of room between his legs.
“Francis,” Arthur hissed. “Oughtn't we take this more, well, more slowly? The boy--” Al shot the other man a nasty look, which he missed “--has never done this before. It takes more than a little bit of kissing to--”
“You,” said Francis, “ought to be down on your knees with my cock down your throat. I am sure that little Alfred will find this educational, won't you, Alfred?”
Al coughed. “Edu-- educational. Yeah.”
Arthur shot a look at Al, taking in the blush and the lack of protests. “French bastard,” he sighed, getting down on his knees.
Francis watched his pants opened by his long-time enemy, rival, lover. They had done this a million times, but never with an audience-- never with anyone to see the way the other man's impressive eyebrows furrowed with concentration, the way he opened his throat slowly, slowly, swallowing more and more... Arthur would never have allowed it, not for anyone else. But Francis personally knew how long he had been lusting after his former colony. And, well, he could have waited for them to get together in their own time; it might have happened. It would have been gentle, perhaps, sweet-- but which of them deserved that?
So he watched the boy's face as Arthur began his slow, steady sucking; he watched the blush there grow, and its owner start to fidget. Arthur wasn't displaying the half of his impressive repertoire-- but he had to be drunk for most of that anyway.
Al-- Al swallowed, hard. England's face... it looked just like he'd imagined it would. Serious, like he was working on a new piece of legislation, but red, like it got when he drank. He watched the man take in another few centimeters, and found he was breathing hard, like he'd been running. He glanced up briefly at France; the other man was looking at him, with that expression-- the one he'd never seen from him before this evening. The one with the smile that said I know exactly what you're imagining, and I'm going to give it to you.
“Come here, little Alfred,” he said. “Come, let me touch you like you touched me.” England looked up quickly at this, but France guided his face back down. “Here, stand here, beside me. You will, ah... you will have a better view.”
Al stumbled on his way over to France's couch, tripping on air as he watched England's lips. He knew, with sudden certainty, that he would be jerking off to this for all time. France's expression said he knew it too. “Sit here, little one. Yes, there. Open your legs for me.” Then France's hand-- the one that wasn't on England's cheek-- was rubbing him, and Al had to fight not to close his eyes. He barely registered the look England sent France, or the smug, smug smile he got in return.
Opening the boy's pants one-handed with the ease of long practice-- blue jeans, a cinch after those silly hose Arthur used to wear-- Francis mused aloud, “Alfred, what do you think? Shall I come in him now, and let you two play, or shall I save myself for later?” When the third man looked like he was about to try and speak, Francis slid his head down gently with a hand to the back of the neck. “Arthur, when I want your opinion, I will take my cock out of your mouth.” The look he caught back was venomous, but he just smiled. “Well, little one?”
Al swallowed hard, and had the sinking feeling he was gaping like a fish. France laughed. “It is true, perhaps I should not expect such advanced thought of you just now. I suppose I will just have to--”
“Wait, if you come in him now, won't he taste bad later?”
England coughed. France stared at him in disbelief. “Alfred, what did you just say?”
Al blinked. “I said--”
France cut him off. “No, no, I heard what you said. We, I think, will have to work on your pillow talk. Nonetheless,” he said, glancing down at England. “You heard the boy, Arthur. It seems there is something else he has in mind for you.” England came up, spluttering in indignation, but France slid the tip of his cock back into his mouth to keep him quiet. “He talks so much,” he said, conversationally, to Al. Al gulped. “Now, what is it that you were planning?”
“Well, uh,” said Al, not quite sure where to look. “England--”
“--call him Arthur,” said France. Arthur looked like he was about to protest, and Al looked dubious, but France rolled his eyes. “We are in bed-- or will be, very shortly. Surely we are all on a first name basis?”
Al wasn't sure. It had never occurred to him to use England's first name, although the man had always used his. It was-- well, he called Matt by his human name, and Kiku, and little Feli, but-- it was different. But France turned an impatient eye on him, and he said, “--Arthur.” The man widened his eyes, and Al had a sudden flash of insight. “You like it when I call you that.” To France-- Francis?-- “He likes it when I call him that!” France shrugged modestly.
“Eng-- Arthur. I, uh--” he tried his very best to meet his eyes, and not stare at his mouth. “Um. I wanted to ask, uh--” he lost the fight, and looked down, where England's mouth was-- and trailed off. France nudged him. “Right. I wanted-- can we kiss?”
Arthur pulled away from Francis, the insufferable bastard, and pulled himself back together. This-- well. It was, ah, this situation, it-- but it was no reason to continue letting himself be pushed around. “Of course we can kiss, boy. You'll have to get down here, though, I can't feel my knees.”
Alfred looked concerned, but he was shooed along by Francis, who was looking insufferably smug. He had half a mind to throw him out, but-- well, he was honest enough with himself to know that with just the two of them, they'd-- if they were lucky, they'd only sit around awkwardly. If not-- he winced. They hadn't really fought since 1812, but petty squabbles? Every time.
Alfred, clumsy and enthusiastic as always, knelt in front of him, and-- Ah yes. There was, that matter. "Alfred? I, well, that is to say..." The boy clearly had no idea what he was getting at. He gestured, helplessly. "I..."
Francis smirked. "He is afraid, Alfred, that you will taste me in his mouth."
Alfred blinked. "But you didn't..."
France nodded. "Yes, that is true." Arthur mumbled something. "However, as Arthur is not succeeding in saying, there will be-- a taste."
Alfred blinked again. "Well, it shouldn't be too bad, right?"
Francis' grin showed teeth. "No, it should not." Arthur reminded himself to be infuriated, as soon as he wasn't so dreadfully aroused.
The boy had made up his mind, and then they were kissing, differently this time. More the way Francis kissed. Well. That wouldn't do at all.
Two men at his feet, mouths not two feet from his cock, Francis smiled lazily. He was so good, yes, he wouldn't even touch himself while they kissed; he knew how easy it was to spook Arthur, and little Alfred was still more-or-less an unknown. So he watched while Arthur kissed the boy, shaking his head in disapproval; he was teaching the boy bad habits, when Francis had so recently instructed him correctly. But Arthur kissing with so much sucking and thrusting (none of the finesse he displayed when he was really using his mouth), Alfred letting him take the lead at first, but soon giving as good as he got... he was a lucky man indeed.
Part 2