Along Came Alfred, The Sequel (France, England, America) - Pt 3
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 1, Part 2
Al grinned at France, hands under his pants now, pulling him forward by the hips, “--you'd what?”
“Why,” said France, smile turning predatory. “I think this is what I'd do.” And he pushed him over by the shoulders, landing on top of him (careful where he put his weight, no matter that the boy was several times stronger than he by now) and kissing him hard.
“Does this mean--” said Al, breaking away, “--that I'm not as dear to you as a--”
“Be quiet,” said France, steering him into another kiss.
Al's “Don't tell me what to do!” came out as something closer to “Dnntemewadado!” France ignored him.
After a long moment, France looked over at England. “Asleep,” he said to Al. “Of course. Arthur! Arthur, wake up, you will miss all the excitement.”
“I am not asleep,” said England without opening his eyes, tone as put-upon as that time Al had asked him if he could come visit Ireland at their house (he still didn't get that).
“Then open your eyes,” said France, with a leer. England didn't. Then he added something soft in a language Al didn't recognize-- what was that?-- that made England open his eyes to glare.
“Very well,” he said, stiffly. “I shall watch you fuck him, if that's what you want.”
Al opened his mouth to say something-- he wasn't quite sure what-- but France beat him to it. “No, no,” said France, with one of his smiles. “That's not what I want at all.” He slid his hips over Al's, graceful as a dancer, and Al gasped.
England gave him a dubious look. “I thought that you didn't--”
“--ah, but I do,” said France. “Just not for you.” Al didn't have a fucking clue what they were talking about, but before he could begin to care, France was kissing him again, and the pressure against his cock was perfect, and he found that he didn't give a fuck whatever fucking secretive bullshit they were spouting.
Al barely noticed when France pulled away to strip off his shirt. Eventually he registered the lack of pressure and warmth, and he looked up-- and gulped. He'd seen France naked before-- who hadn't?-- but... it was different, when he was looking down at you like that, with that expression, and you could, uh, you could see his hard-on through his pants. For the first time, Al realized that he might be kinda gay. Well, half gay.
France slid his hands down his own chest, smiling and canting his hips forward, rubbing a hand over his crotch. England snorted in derision, but Al swallowed hard. “Do I look nice, Alfred?” he asked. Al nodded, not quite ready to try and verbalize.
The other man crawled back up his body, kissing his mouth, his collarbone, his stomach. Al ran his hands down the other man's back, feeling the bumps and ridges of old, old scars-- many more than he had, or even England. Then they were kissing again, more urgently, and it was different skin-to-skin. Al tangled his fingers in France's hair, and tried to memorize exactly how it felt.
France slipped his hands into Al's boxers-- he'd never really done up his pants after that bit at the beginning (when had France? He realized he didn't know.) Al arched his back, trying to squirm into France's touch, but France just laughed. “Not yet, little one.”
Al didn't even bother getting irritated at the nickname. He couldn't quite bring himself to whine, but it was a close battle. When France slid his pants and boxers over his hips, he looked over at England-, and noticed that the other man was staring at him with an intensity that was almost embarrassing. “Yes,” said France, “he can't take his eyes off you.”
Al grinned, and thrust up against the air, the urgency not all faked now. “Arthur--” he said, with a little bit of a whine in his voice. “Touch me, Arthur?” England turned bright red and looked away, but Al noticed with delight that he was half-hard again. Guess he wasn't so old after all.
Then France was kissing him again, and his hands were sliding up the outside of his thighs, over his hips, down again. Fucking tease. When France finally touched him, pressure just right, Al jerked his eyes open with a gasp, whole body tensing, hips rocking-- wow. Yeah, it really was different skin-to-skin.
And then he realized-- he'd just come. Uh.
France laughed. “Don't worry, dearest, it's perfectly normal.” Al blushed, and looked furtively over at England-- the man was staring again, mouth open, but looked away when he noticed Al watching. “Besides, it's good to save something new for next time, don't you think?”
“Uh--” was all Al could get out, and then France was wiping him off (didn't he have to wear that shirt home?) and lying behind him, holding him like he had back when he was a little kid.
Ok. Maybe not quite like that.
“Come and lie with us, Arthur. There's no reason to stay over there by yourself.”
Looking like he wanted to protest-- protest what? Al wondered-- England slid over, and lay on Al's other side, tentatively putting his arms around him. Al sighed, and relaxed. It was-- it was nice.
Predictably, it was the boy who came back to himself first. Moments, it seemed, after they had lied down, he was stretching, smiling, saying, “So, guys! What now?” Arthur groaned, and turned his face into his pillow.
“What's wrong with him?” he heard Alfred ask.
“Oh, nothing,” came the amused reply. “He is simply recovering.”
“Wow... it must suck to be old.”
He couldn't let that slide. He sat up, rolling on top of the boy, and pinning his wrists to the bed. “I'll show you 'old,'” he said-- weakly.
Alfred did not seem impressed. He giggled-- giggled?-- and kissed him on the nose. Arthur wasn't quite sure how to process that. Francis solved it for him by interrupting. “You are not very threatening when you have just come hard enough to power a small bomb, and are as limp as a noodle.” Laughter from the third. “--an overcooked noodle.” Arthur half-heartedly threw a pillow at them, and turned over.
“Ah. We have irritated him. Now he will pretend that he is not interested. See how he ignores us? But if you slide behind him-- yes, like that--” he ignored the intrusion, “--and kiss him just under the ear, yes, there--” Arthur twitched, “--and hold him-- Yes. He likes that.” And indeed, infuriatingly, Arthur felt himself relaxing. The man behind him settled more comfortably, one hand loose on his hip, the other folded under both their heads. “And now, now you can whisper something sweet in his ear--”
Arthur turned his head to glare at the other man, and in doing so, ran into Alfred's nose. Dear Lord. He'd been about to do it. Of course he had. It was lucky for all three of them that he'd never find out whatever monstrosity he had been brewing. “--or, adapting to the circumstances, you can roll him onto his back, thus--” and then he was being manhandled. His reflexive elbow-to-the-face was blocked. Of course. “--and grind against him, thus--” Arthur had not forgotten that his old friend had not yet allowed himself to finish. One had to be careful with him, or he would run you ragged.
He squirmed in a way that he would never have allowed himself to do one orgasm ago. “--and-- yes, you can see, he is much more responsive.” And then Francis' mouth was on his, and it was a change from the sloppy, enthusiastic kissing of the boy-- it was hot, and hard, and everything that he hated them both for when they were at war. He pulled away enough to glance over at the third man; he was watching them, mouth hanging unselfconsciously open. He felt a rush of heat to his cock at the fascination in that look, and he had to look away. Being watched like this-- he had never liked that he liked it, but today, he found that he didn't mind.
Al-- uh. He watched the two men kiss, and he couldn't-- it was too soon for him to really start getting hard again, but he stored it away to think about later. He all of a sudden wondered why he hadn't been whacking off to this all along.
Well. Maybe once or twice.
Then France looked up at him with enough heat that he thought he would have creamed his pants if he hadn't, uh, just done that. “Now,” said the man, “it is my turn. Yes?” Al just nodded. England looked up at him with some trepidation. The smile was slow. Al almost shivered.
“So, uh-- what do you want us to do?”
France and England exchanged a look he didn't understand, France's calculating, England's-- pleading. “Mouths, I think,” said France, finally. Al wasn't sure, but he thought England looked relieved.
“Ok, sure! Yeah, we can do that.” Then he registered what he'd just said. “Uh. We? You want-- you want us both to blow you?”
France lay back against the pillows, undoing his button lazily. “Yes, I do. I have been very patient, after all.”
He couldn't argue with that. But... “How do we do that?”
“It is not complicated-- you can improvise. Arthur will show you.”
Al looked at England, waiting for the contradiction, but it didn't come. The older man just sighed. “Alright, then, boy. Let's get this done.”
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 1, Part 2
Al grinned at France, hands under his pants now, pulling him forward by the hips, “--you'd what?”
“Why,” said France, smile turning predatory. “I think this is what I'd do.” And he pushed him over by the shoulders, landing on top of him (careful where he put his weight, no matter that the boy was several times stronger than he by now) and kissing him hard.
“Does this mean--” said Al, breaking away, “--that I'm not as dear to you as a--”
“Be quiet,” said France, steering him into another kiss.
Al's “Don't tell me what to do!” came out as something closer to “Dnntemewadado!” France ignored him.
After a long moment, France looked over at England. “Asleep,” he said to Al. “Of course. Arthur! Arthur, wake up, you will miss all the excitement.”
“I am not asleep,” said England without opening his eyes, tone as put-upon as that time Al had asked him if he could come visit Ireland at their house (he still didn't get that).
“Then open your eyes,” said France, with a leer. England didn't. Then he added something soft in a language Al didn't recognize-- what was that?-- that made England open his eyes to glare.
“Very well,” he said, stiffly. “I shall watch you fuck him, if that's what you want.”
Al opened his mouth to say something-- he wasn't quite sure what-- but France beat him to it. “No, no,” said France, with one of his smiles. “That's not what I want at all.” He slid his hips over Al's, graceful as a dancer, and Al gasped.
England gave him a dubious look. “I thought that you didn't--”
“--ah, but I do,” said France. “Just not for you.” Al didn't have a fucking clue what they were talking about, but before he could begin to care, France was kissing him again, and the pressure against his cock was perfect, and he found that he didn't give a fuck whatever fucking secretive bullshit they were spouting.
Al barely noticed when France pulled away to strip off his shirt. Eventually he registered the lack of pressure and warmth, and he looked up-- and gulped. He'd seen France naked before-- who hadn't?-- but... it was different, when he was looking down at you like that, with that expression, and you could, uh, you could see his hard-on through his pants. For the first time, Al realized that he might be kinda gay. Well, half gay.
France slid his hands down his own chest, smiling and canting his hips forward, rubbing a hand over his crotch. England snorted in derision, but Al swallowed hard. “Do I look nice, Alfred?” he asked. Al nodded, not quite ready to try and verbalize.
The other man crawled back up his body, kissing his mouth, his collarbone, his stomach. Al ran his hands down the other man's back, feeling the bumps and ridges of old, old scars-- many more than he had, or even England. Then they were kissing again, more urgently, and it was different skin-to-skin. Al tangled his fingers in France's hair, and tried to memorize exactly how it felt.
France slipped his hands into Al's boxers-- he'd never really done up his pants after that bit at the beginning (when had France? He realized he didn't know.) Al arched his back, trying to squirm into France's touch, but France just laughed. “Not yet, little one.”
Al didn't even bother getting irritated at the nickname. He couldn't quite bring himself to whine, but it was a close battle. When France slid his pants and boxers over his hips, he looked over at England-, and noticed that the other man was staring at him with an intensity that was almost embarrassing. “Yes,” said France, “he can't take his eyes off you.”
Al grinned, and thrust up against the air, the urgency not all faked now. “Arthur--” he said, with a little bit of a whine in his voice. “Touch me, Arthur?” England turned bright red and looked away, but Al noticed with delight that he was half-hard again. Guess he wasn't so old after all.
Then France was kissing him again, and his hands were sliding up the outside of his thighs, over his hips, down again. Fucking tease. When France finally touched him, pressure just right, Al jerked his eyes open with a gasp, whole body tensing, hips rocking-- wow. Yeah, it really was different skin-to-skin.
And then he realized-- he'd just come. Uh.
France laughed. “Don't worry, dearest, it's perfectly normal.” Al blushed, and looked furtively over at England-- the man was staring again, mouth open, but looked away when he noticed Al watching. “Besides, it's good to save something new for next time, don't you think?”
“Uh--” was all Al could get out, and then France was wiping him off (didn't he have to wear that shirt home?) and lying behind him, holding him like he had back when he was a little kid.
Ok. Maybe not quite like that.
“Come and lie with us, Arthur. There's no reason to stay over there by yourself.”
Looking like he wanted to protest-- protest what? Al wondered-- England slid over, and lay on Al's other side, tentatively putting his arms around him. Al sighed, and relaxed. It was-- it was nice.
Predictably, it was the boy who came back to himself first. Moments, it seemed, after they had lied down, he was stretching, smiling, saying, “So, guys! What now?” Arthur groaned, and turned his face into his pillow.
“What's wrong with him?” he heard Alfred ask.
“Oh, nothing,” came the amused reply. “He is simply recovering.”
“Wow... it must suck to be old.”
He couldn't let that slide. He sat up, rolling on top of the boy, and pinning his wrists to the bed. “I'll show you 'old,'” he said-- weakly.
Alfred did not seem impressed. He giggled-- giggled?-- and kissed him on the nose. Arthur wasn't quite sure how to process that. Francis solved it for him by interrupting. “You are not very threatening when you have just come hard enough to power a small bomb, and are as limp as a noodle.” Laughter from the third. “--an overcooked noodle.” Arthur half-heartedly threw a pillow at them, and turned over.
“Ah. We have irritated him. Now he will pretend that he is not interested. See how he ignores us? But if you slide behind him-- yes, like that--” he ignored the intrusion, “--and kiss him just under the ear, yes, there--” Arthur twitched, “--and hold him-- Yes. He likes that.” And indeed, infuriatingly, Arthur felt himself relaxing. The man behind him settled more comfortably, one hand loose on his hip, the other folded under both their heads. “And now, now you can whisper something sweet in his ear--”
Arthur turned his head to glare at the other man, and in doing so, ran into Alfred's nose. Dear Lord. He'd been about to do it. Of course he had. It was lucky for all three of them that he'd never find out whatever monstrosity he had been brewing. “--or, adapting to the circumstances, you can roll him onto his back, thus--” and then he was being manhandled. His reflexive elbow-to-the-face was blocked. Of course. “--and grind against him, thus--” Arthur had not forgotten that his old friend had not yet allowed himself to finish. One had to be careful with him, or he would run you ragged.
He squirmed in a way that he would never have allowed himself to do one orgasm ago. “--and-- yes, you can see, he is much more responsive.” And then Francis' mouth was on his, and it was a change from the sloppy, enthusiastic kissing of the boy-- it was hot, and hard, and everything that he hated them both for when they were at war. He pulled away enough to glance over at the third man; he was watching them, mouth hanging unselfconsciously open. He felt a rush of heat to his cock at the fascination in that look, and he had to look away. Being watched like this-- he had never liked that he liked it, but today, he found that he didn't mind.
Al-- uh. He watched the two men kiss, and he couldn't-- it was too soon for him to really start getting hard again, but he stored it away to think about later. He all of a sudden wondered why he hadn't been whacking off to this all along.
Well. Maybe once or twice.
Then France looked up at him with enough heat that he thought he would have creamed his pants if he hadn't, uh, just done that. “Now,” said the man, “it is my turn. Yes?” Al just nodded. England looked up at him with some trepidation. The smile was slow. Al almost shivered.
“So, uh-- what do you want us to do?”
France and England exchanged a look he didn't understand, France's calculating, England's-- pleading. “Mouths, I think,” said France, finally. Al wasn't sure, but he thought England looked relieved.
“Ok, sure! Yeah, we can do that.” Then he registered what he'd just said. “Uh. We? You want-- you want us both to blow you?”
France lay back against the pillows, undoing his button lazily. “Yes, I do. I have been very patient, after all.”
He couldn't argue with that. But... “How do we do that?”
“It is not complicated-- you can improvise. Arthur will show you.”
Al looked at England, waiting for the contradiction, but it didn't come. The older man just sighed. “Alright, then, boy. Let's get this done.”