Hetalia Fanfic: In Vino Veritas 1
NSFW, NSF those who have an issue with yaoi, NSF people who don't like Axis Powers Hetalia.
Now that that warning is out of the way: Warning for language, drunkenness, dubcon, and general smut of the boy-boy nature.
The air shimmered with the combination of light and alcohol fumes.
Trust France to make certain to utilize his capitol's unofficial title as a theme for this gathering. A splendid display fit to bedazzle any simple-minded nation. Not that England thought that it was any less lovely- however darkness, and the faint light of the stars were more to his liking.
'The city of light' was indeed sparkling tonight.
Arthur tossed back the last of his champagne, and stepped further onto the balcony to light a cigarette as he took in the actual cityscape, rather than the artificial splendor and noisy party within. Simple flick of the fingers, and a long drag on the smoke, before letting it all out to make a haze over the bright city.
A lonely view out here, and almost as lonely inside.
All the Nations who were able to come were there- some dancing to the soft music, most chattering about inconsequential things. Funny how the words 'Open Bar' brought some of the most reclusive personalities out to socialize freely.
Booze truly was a social lubricant.
For the past twenty minutes or so, it had grown old. Uncomfortable. Suddenly Arthur no longer wanted to get so roaring pissed that he wouldn't remember tonight. Interactions with old enemies, old friends- he just wanted to step away from it all. Perhaps he could simply retire, and hope that the others didn't notice- not that he cared a whit what Francis thought- but it wasn't precisely polite to leave a party without saying goodbye to the host.
Fuck Francis.
Not literally, of course.
England stubbed the remains of his cigarette out on the balcony rail, and tucked it into a potted plant. He was turning to re-enter the gathering and make his excuses, when he spotted a figure sitting on one of the benches, head tilted back as though he were looking at the sky, rather than the city.
Quiet, almost introspective.
The figure's head tilted unsteadily downwards, as he brought a glass to his mouth, drinking deeply.
For a moment, Arthur thought it was Matthew, until he caught a glimpse of Canada standing with France near the bar, arms around his ever-present animal friend, even as Francis' arm was slipped around his shoulder.
That meant the boy staggering off of his bench and towards the rail was- Alfred.
How queer. England hadn't noticed the lack of obnoxious laughter from indoors until this moment. When had the self-proclaimed hero and complete idiot left the party for the outdoors?
More importantly, why was he currently attempting to climb onto the stone balcony's rail-
All thoughts about making his excuses and departing fled, as England hurried to pull the former colony away from the rail, and the long drop on the other side.
"Idiot-" England hissed, grabbing onto the closest arm and pulling- hard. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
At least that's what he would have asked, had America not lost his balance as he was yanked backwards, and stumbled into England, almost knocking him over.
The distinct aura of alcohol almost finished the job.
Fuck, the boy was pissed.
"Sorry," The words were somewhat coherent as the too-bright blue eyes fluttered behind glasses turned towards him. The light flush of his cheeks turned slightly darker. "Din' see you there-"
"Why were you climbing the railing? You weren't going to jump, were you?"
"Naw." It looked as though the words took a bit of effort to pronounce, "Rail was blockin' my view- wanted to see more."
"With your current sense of balance, it would have been a short view, followed by a long drop and a dull hospital stay." England frowned, trying to ignore the way Alfred's fingers were clumsily kneading his arm.
"Didn' think of that."
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"
"Um..." America seemed to think about it. A long pause. "Dunno. Mattie cut me off though. Somethin' about being out of what I was drinkin'."
"And what were you drinking?" England scowled. Matthew cutting his brother off was a bad sign on its own- but out of whatever it was- If the boy could still pronounce whatever it was, maybe Arthur could figure out exactly how close to alcohol poisoning Alfred was. He was still leaning on the smaller nation's shoulder, swaying a bit with effort to remain upright.
"Don' remember. Was sweet though." The small smile that had graced his face returned, "Orangy, an' made me feel all warm inside. Jus' like when you smile at me."
He said something else, but Arthur missed it in his mental calculations. Cointreau? If Francis was now out of that... for the first time in all the parties that England had ever attended...
"Fuck me." Arthur exclaimed softly. Alfred was completely and utterly soused if he'd drunk Francis out of one of his favorite liqueurs.
"'Druther the other way around," Hot breath whispered against his neck, as the boy leaned in, barely able to stand on his own. Arthur shivered, trying to ignore the sudden curl of long suppressed desire that was suddenly crawling along the places where he was holding Alfred steady. The images that that idea brought- America under him, flushed and moaning-
Eyes widening in shock, England pulled away to stare at America, who had that same simple smile- that honest smile... and a slight glaze to his eyes that spoke more of intoxication than arousal. Still, the blush of alcohol had deepened to something a bit more... and Arthur wanted...
"You're pissed." Arthur told him harshly, reminding himself of the fact. He'd long since accepted the fact that Alfred had grown up, that they had broken whatever bonds of brotherhood had existed two centuries ago. That little pang of the wrongness of his little fantasy had faded to nearly nothing sometime around the second world war. Still. "Utterly and completely shattered. You have no idea what you're saying, or to whom. You probably won't remember a thing tomorrow."
One finger up from the drunk man. Arthur just watched it waver, and wondered what Alfred would do if he leaned forward just enough to take that finger into his mouth and- God. He needed to stop thinking like that.
"One... I'm not mad... jus' a li'l tipsy." A slight frown, and the addition of a finger. "An' two, you're Enla- En- Iggy. Arthur. I know you kinda hate me a li'l, but ..."
Words trailed off, and face was pressed against his neck with what could only be a sniffle.
"I don't hate you." Arthur found himself saying, as his free hand patted the soft blond hair that was now tickling his chin. "I never really did. I was angry, yes, but-"
"Me too." The sniffling stopped, but the face remained planted firmly against his neck, lips now tickling the sensitive skin- oh fuck. "I don' like fighting you. Let's not fight anymore."
"That would take a miracle, love." Arthur sighed, glancing inside. No one was staring at the moment. "We should get you back to your hotel room, so you can have some water and a lie down. The hangover from this should be- in your terms- 'epic'."
"Mattie gave me water already, but laying down sounds good. You're going with me?"
"Unless you can teleport, I can't see you making it past the front steps."
America nodded slightly, and England adjusted the arm that had been flung over his shoulder at some point during their conversation so that the younger man could lean on him. The only obstacle now was the gauntlet of the party.
Which was far easier to maneuver through than Arthur had expected. It wasn't to say that they weren't stopped- however America merely smiled faintly, and explained for the both of them; "Wasted. Arty's gonna dump me at th'hotel."
The only ones who took more than a moment, and that slurred explanation were Matthew and Francis.
"Thank you." Matthew told him, "I didn't want to leave so early, but -"
"Not a problem," Arthur told him, "Was about to make excuses myself, this just gives me a reason-"
Alfred's head clunked into his at that moment, as he momentarily lost a little coordination. Arthur could almost swear that the taller man's lips had brushed his temple, leaving a tingle that had nothing to do with the glass of champagne he'd drunk earlier. He was so startled by the action, that he didn't bother swatting Francis' hand away as he did something- probably trying to grope- around Arthur's pocket.
"Go take care of our drunkard." Francis smiled, as he ducked out of the limited striking range, pausing only to murmur something into said drunkard's ear that produced yet another deep pink flush.
Arthur scowled, but Alfred's sway towards the door merely pulled him onwards.
The lack of babble was something of a relief, as they walked (staggered) towards Alfred's room, though the tiny nuzzles of the drunken man's face against his neck, the way America was pressing against England- had to be just because he was drunk- were very -
He would most certainly have to spend some time in the loo tonight to take care of the growing problem in his trousers.
"I don't suppose you could manage from here?" England asked, as he managed to pilfer the cardkey from a back pocket, trying pointedly not to notice the shiver from the other as his hand brushed against the curve of his buttocks. Always with the pants that were far too tight, and clinging- Arthur forced himself not to linger, although it was difficult with the way Alfred seemed to lean into the touch.
And that only brought a stray thought about what it would be like to run his hands over Alfred's naked arse, as he-
England had to get out of here, and back to his room.
"Nn." said America, half pulling England in after him, letting the door close quietly behind them. He could have easily broken away, but that would've left the tipsy nation vulnerable to falling. And he was starting to find it difficult to let go. "Don' go."
America started to stagger again, and England was forced to push him against the closed door to prevent him from falling over. For a long minute, he just held Alfred up, trying not to revel in the warmth, the nearness, the near intoxicating aura of alcohol mixed with the former colony's natural scents.
Alfred stared back, with that half lidded drunken gaze, that faint and beautiful smile on lips that begged for- the tip of the boy's tongue slid out to moisten the lips with a noisy smack, and resisting seemed like a very horrible and torturous thing.
Just one kiss wouldn't hurt.
His head tilted up so that his lips could brush Alfred's parted lips gently.
They held a hint of orange mingled with alcohol, and suddenly England knew that one taste wasn't going to be enough. The boy's eyes were closed as he leaned forward into the second meeting- soft contented sighs exhaling into Arthur's mouth, as England deepened the kiss, tongue starting to explore the warm mouth that was willingly- willingly- being opened to him.
So sweet, and warm.
He ran his tongue along the upper lip, before withdrawing it to gently bite at the lower.
England's breath caught for a moment as the reality of what he was doing hit him.
Arthur was kissing Alfred. And it felt so...right.
Unwillingly, Arthur broke away from the kiss, to find Alfred panting softly, his clumsy arms trying to wrap around his waist, pull him closer. His head fell to nuzzle against England's neck again, bringing back those little darts of electricity.
"Don' stop..." America breathed against his neck, "Wan' you-"
With a shuddering sigh, England considered his options. Run away and take the longest, coldest shower that he could manage, or-
America nipped against his neck, sending a sudden jolt straight down to his cock.
Oh god.
And then his mouth was on America's, on Alfred's, devouring that soft, sweet mouth, biting at the lips, as he half-guided, half-carried the taller nation towards the bed. A pang of guilt at the idea of taking advantage of a drunk man was easily swept away by the taste of salt-and booze flavored skin, and by the bulge pushed up against his hip. Despite the sheer amount of alcohol that was inhibiting the large nation's balance and movement, despite the history that lay between them like a huge brick wall-
Alfred wanted this. Wanted him.
The very idea built up against his diaphragm, then burst through his throat as a husky chuckle.
"Wha's funny?" The smile was dimmed a bit, the vague sense of vulnerability and maybe- just maybe a touch of fear, "Arthur?"
"Nothing, love. Just surprised." England shook his head, and pushed America back against the pillows. Somewhere between the doorway and the bed, Alfred had lost his shirt, and Arthur his tie. Both had lost their shoes. That left a broad chest completely bare for him to trace lazy circles that seemed to burn both of them, from the soft sounds coming from the larger man. "That you want me, of all people- tell me again what you want?"
"Want you... to fuck me." The words came out in a shuddering breathy whisper, as the flushed face turned just a shade pinker, "Please, Egl..Arthur."
England closed his eyes for a moment, and relished those words, broken and slightly slurred as they were, it was something that he had only thought would happen in one of those idle nighttime fantasies.
Then he leaned forward to press his lips against a flushed cheek.
"You can't even say my name, my dear." England sighed, knowing- just knowing that if he went through with this the arguments wouldn't stop, they'd only get worse. All that they'd gained personally over the past few decades would be lost because Arthur couldn't keep it in his trousers when this boy beckoned in an altered state of mind. And Matthew- Canada would most likely murder him in his sleep. He wanted to oh so badly- "I can't do this. Not to you. Not to whatever we have managed to salvage of our friendship. God, love."
"Why not? You don't want to-" There was a desperately needy tone that brought Arthur's attention back to blue eyes that were slightly teary. Alfred wasn't smiling now. In fact, he looked hurt in a way that England hadn't seen since before the Revolution., when he'd had to return for business, and leave America behind. "Did I - did I do something wrong again?"
"Love, you're drunk." England made certain to use the term that America would understand. He lay on his side next to Alfred, who turned his head to watch with a hazy curiousity. One hand lazily brushed the fringe away from the younger's face, knowing full well it would flop back down almost immediately. "If you were sober, I know very well you wouldn't act the same way with me that you did tonight."
"Prolly not." Alfred admitted, "I woulda been too scared of gettin' seriously throttled to try an' kiss your eyebrow in front of Francis. An' you would have done it, too."
England felt his face flush.
No wonder the Frog had looked so gleeful-
"Scared? I thought heroes didn't get scared."
"They do." Blue eyes closed. England almost thought Alfred had dropped off to sleep, when he continued. "They just have to pretend not to be afraid most of the time, so they can do what they think is right to help other people, and other people won't be as afraid."
"That's very brave." Arthur watched the eyes flitter open again, and cupped Alfred's cheek with one hand, "But it can work against you, if you don't tell someone what you want, how can you know that they might not want the same thing, and everything will finish up happily?"
"Cos if you didn't want me, you might not touch me again, an' even if it's just being cuffed for sayin' something stupid, or choked for laughing... don't think I could take that." Awkwardly, Alfred's warm hand slipped into the one not touching his face. "It's too lonely."
"I do want... you." England squeezed the hand, face heating up again from the admission, "But you probably won't even remember tonight in the morning."
"I always remember." America turned on his side to face England, those lips almost beckoning to be kissed once more. "Always."
"Then why don't we wait until you're sober- if you will remember everything."
"Because I'll have a hangover in the morning, then we have a meeting, and then- we won't see each other for a couple of months." Amazingly, the details were rolling off of Alfred's lips. He was, Arthur realized, correct. When England was that far gone, he usually couldn't be arsed to remember anything beyond where the paracetamol was kept. Lips brushed against his nose while he was still thinking. "And by that time, I'll be so scared- and I want you so bad right now."
Arthur tilted his head so that he could capture those lips that had missed his mouth before. God. Sweet reason was deserting him, especially while those lips continued to taste his own. His hands roamed along the muscular back, fingers grasping hot skin, and then lower to the curve of Alfred's arse. A soft moan against his mouth made the want more obvious. England just wanted to let go, and gain that release from his growing arousal pressed against Alfred's body-
"We can't..." He finally told Alfred, pulling away with a soft gasp, and tried to catch his breath (and willpower) once more. "I can't. I don't want to hurt you, Alfred. I didn't bring anything with me."
"Pocket," Alfred breathed, obviously flustered, face a bright rosy shade, "Your pocket-"
Arthur blinked, trying to think through the heat, and electric energy that was nearly overwhelming. Alfred's face nuzzled against his neck, clumsily brushing lips against the exposed skin. His pocket?
Arthur awkwardly pulled one arm away from the rough embrace to reach into the aforementioned pocket, then froze as he found an object that he didn't immediately recognize, and knew very well that he hadn't put in that pocket.
Oh god.
Fucking Francis.
Arthur could feel his face flame red, as he wondered how many of the people in that room thought that he was taking Alfred back to his hotel room to do exactly this-
But France had slipped it in his pocket without a word, or suggestive comment.
At least not to him.
"Did the frog tell you-" Arthur almost whimpered himself, as teeth found a sensitive spot. "Alfred..."
"Saw him." Hot breath, so close, "He's not as subtle as he thinks he is, or maybe he just wanted me to see.."
"Then what was he whispering in your ear?"
Arthur could almost feel the blush, as the face was buried against his shoulder.
"He said, 'Perhaps tonight you won't have to just lie back and dream of England-'"
Shit. The perverted bastard...but he'd never known Francis to use the promise of sex to hurt an ally like this- not in recent times, not after the war. In fact, he couldn't remember the Frog to do more than grope him when he'd been too pissed to put up a fight. (That marriage proposal fiasco had been when both of them had been dead sober, not that Arthur cared to remember it, or the half-assed apology that had come much too late.)
England pushed Alfred away, and carefully removed his glasses, and set them on the nightstand.
"Love," Arthur asked the flushing face, his own equally flushed, despite the blood that had been steadily rushing southwards. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure about anything." America said, hands a shade steadier than they had been, as he reached to touch Arthur's face, "England, please. Even if it's for just one night, it's better than another century of just wanting from a distance."
England closed his eyes for a moment; he'd done worse in his time. Much worse- but the guilt that was trying to prod him with that cold shower he'd thought about earlier was because he actually cared.
Lips touched his own tentatively, the sweet taste and smell of Alfred filling his senses.
Oh lord, was it too much to hope that neither of them would regret this in the morning?
England gave in to the burning desire, hungrily tasting what was offered to him, knowing that one night would never be enough, no matter what the ever optimistic Alfred believed.
Clumsy fingers worked at England's buttons, but with the swift and strong touch of those same fingers sliding under his shirt, he couldn't find it in himself to care if said buttons were accidentally popped off. An uncertain caress, tracing old scars, and warm skin, just as his own were doing to the half-naked man beside him.
Too long. Too long.
He broke the kiss to slip out of the fabric, feeling the gaze of blue eyes in an almost painfully young face. Instead of returning to that blissful contact, Arthur ran fingers along the smooth planes of Alfred's chest, pausing to circle dusky nipples, delighting in the little catches of breath that accompanied his touch.
Arthur smiled, and watched the sky coloured eyes darken with a warmth that he realized might just be lust.
"Beautiful," He murmured, bending to taste the skin again, lips brushing the hard little nubs. Citrus and heat. Arthur flicked his tongue against one, then the other to the musical sounds of soft sighs and almost whimpers coming from Alfred's throat.
Large hands, were kneading his shoulders, tracing patterns that were oh so similar to the ones he'd been tracing on Alfred's chest earlier. Arthur kissed his way up to that throat.
It was growing beyond a mere want, he realized. Fuck, he needed this boy, this man.
Arthur wanted- needed- to see the flush that was spreading over tawny skin that had been loved by the sun. He was jealous of that sun right now. It had warmed a willing America for so long-
Those warm sun-kissed hands slid beneath his belt, down the back of his trousers (He wasn't certain when he'd lost his belt, but it was gone, and nothing was hindering Alfred from-) cupping his arse.
Arthur couldn't help but let out a little sound of pleasure as his hips were pulled close to rub against Alfred's body. Sweet friction inhibited by the too-constraining fabric, and worsened by the way that the man was attacking his neck with a peppering of wet kisses, alternating with soft nips.
Even drunk, Alfred had learned swiftly which were the spots that produced the right noises.
(Arthur let that thought slip away as swiftly as it arrived.)
Clothing was far too warm, too restricting- Arthur pulled away to Alfred's soft protests, and removed the trousers, and the boxers beneath, not caring, for once, that they were being tossed in a heap on the floor, and would probably wrinkle. When he returned his attention to the object of his desire, Alfred was watching him, drinking in the new nakedness, the obvious arousal- with something that resembled his usual endearing fascination.
He was also removing the last of his own clothing, fumbling, and tangling himself in the legs, until Arthur bent to help.
Bared to view, Arthur couldn't help but caress a thigh, as he surveyed what he was about to plunder. The body was as near to perfection as he'd imagined, not overly brawny like one of Greece's statues, but still muscled, and tanned. Alfred was also a little more than half hard- because of him. The thrill of eliciting that sort of response still had a newness about it.
This wasn't the first time they'd seen each other naked, was it? The random thought came to him. They'd both been to a few of Francis' parties where the dress code was undressed-
A hand reached up to touch his face, perhaps pull him back into another one of those searing kisses- but Arthur resisted, instead capturing it, and taking one of those long fingers into his mouth. Calloused and almost rough, but not so unrefined as to lose all sensation- as the little whimper that came from Alfred proved, when he bit it gently, using his tongue to trace the pads.
Pulling the digit out slowly, Arthur turned his attention to more sensitive flesh.
England could feel blue eyes on him, as he pushed Alfred back on the bed, beginning a trail of kisses down a taut abdomen, and to the stirring of needy flesh that beckoned.
Arthur's nose brushed against Alfred's cock, as he continued to brush his lips downward, tasted the heated shaft.
Orange, and alcohol, and Alfred.
The boy's legs spread easily, at Arthur's touch, and he knelt between them, watching the amber-gold head tilt back, wet pink lips parting with each gasp and moan. The eyes never left him, however, deepening blue like a stormy Carribean bay. England took the hardening cock into his mouth, slowly teasing, drawing out the caresses that were drawing more and more noises from Alfred.
The sounds the boy was making were intoxicating. Arousing.
A symphony of pleasure.
America's hands were roughly carding through his hair as he swallowed as much of the boy's length as he could, holding back hips that threatened to buck and fuck Arthur wanted to bury himself in this moment, where there were no words, only sounds, and he wanted this youth and energy and spirit all for himself, all to please and be pleased by.
But he knew the selfishness of want would kill all three, although the desire to please Alfred, to give him even these moments of ecstasy- there was more, but Arthur couldn't focus on it, only on the half shuttered gaze, and whimpering moans that his mouth was eliciting.
"Please..." the word was soft, panted. "Please, Arthur..."
England pulled his mouth off the hardened member, in almost the same way that he'd drawn the finger out of his mouth only a short time ago, and leaned upwards to recapture Alfred's mouth almost devouring his lips, his taste- leaving both of them gasping for breath.
"I want you so much, love." Arthur whispered in one ear, as he nipped at it. Moved on to make a mark on the shoulder, "I want to fuck you, and make you come-"
"I want you."
The thrill of those three words, even if they were only spoken because of the things that Arthur was avoiding thinking about made him tremble. One handed, he grasped for the packet that Francis had slipped him, opening it and warming the lube.
Fingers slick and warm, Arthur kissed Alfred as he spread flesh, and traced around the puckered texture of Alfred's hole.
Alfred whimpered against his mouth as a single finger was inserted into the tight ring of muscle. Arthur pulled back to watch for when the discomfort faded. The tenseness lasted no more than a minute, before blue eyes reopened to give him a sloppy almost reassuring smile.
"You all right, love?" England murmured, twisting and stretching that tight opening with a gentleness that Arthur had forgotten that he possessed. The silent nod with the soft panting breaths invited a second finger, which was accepted more swiftly than the first-
Alfred's hands still carded through his hair, caressed his shoulders, pressing into them, as the third finger was added. Arthur crooked his fingers to find that one spot that made the inarticulate whimpers fall from the boy's lips, smiling at the sheer desire reflecting in sea-sky pools of blue.
"Arthur..." Voice so soft, so needy, "England..."
England watched the anticipatory expression on America's face, as he withdrew his fingers, stroking his own length with the greasy fingers to prepare. So relaxed, calm, and trusting-
He pressed Alfred's legs wider, rubbing the head of his cock against the boy's entrance, now bereft of his fingers. The soft sounds that America made were, to his sex-befuddled mind, as much of an invitation as the wanting-needing desire which had been spoken earlier.
England pushed in slowly, slowly, until he was completely sheathed in the tight hot warmth, body pressed just as tightly against his as possible. The soft pants slowed as Arthur bit and suckled at the exposed skin of the neck, leaving rosy marks. He wouldn't move until Alfred was ready- the mere fact that he was so deep- oh lord, it was so good, and it was real, and he was not dreaming or imagining...
Hot breath rushed against his forehead, lips brushing skin, and a soft breathed, "Please...Yes."
Arthur rocked his hips experimentally, and was rewarded with a gasp, and the twitching of the hard cock that was pinned between their bellies.
"Ahh," An almost word escaping the mouth that begged to be kissed- and who was England to deny that? Lips against lips, hungrily devouring each other as Arthur found his pace. His hands found Alfred's, holding them down as he thrust.
Those intoxicating sounds.
And he found that he was making them as well. Moans escaped him without censure, gasps of pleasure let loose without thought. Arthur thought he might die of overdosing on Alfred.
God, he needed this boy, wanted this boy, loved-
The thought gave him pause, made his eyes widen in surprise.
"Don't stop, Arthur..." The boy plead, hands tightly twined with his, lips brushing the top of England's head, his cheek and eyebrow. "Love you... always wanted... please..."
"Fuck..." Arthur couldn't stop the build of pressure, however, the need for release. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop- his hips were pushing as deeply into America as he could, faster. Harder.
There were no more words from Alfred, only whimpers and moans, and occasional cries as particular thrusts struck that spot inside, that made him clench around Arthur's member all the harder.
Arthur released a hand to pull Alfred's face close capturing his lips once more, tongue entering finding- The sweet taste of liqueur, and saliva, and everything Alfred- England was being overwhelmed by the sensations, the tastes- and oh god it was brilliant and wonderful, and-
His release came before he was ready, his cock buried deep, feeling the hot seed filling the younger man. Arthur buried his face against the larger man's chest, reveling in sweat, and heat, and everything about this incredible youth who simultaneously irritated him and intrigued him, provoked him and helped him- chose him, loved him, wanted him.
Arthur raised himself up, not wanting to pull out just yet. He needed to give Alfred the same release- but the sticky white substance smearing both of their chests told him that his hand wasn't needed. The cries had stopped, leaving the room echoing with harsh panting breaths that slowly calmed.
America's eyes were closed, and though his chest rose and fell with deep breaths, he wasn't moving.
Guilt started to creep back in, and he moved back, softened length sliding out easily. Had Alfred fallen asleep from too much drink while England had been busily taking advantage of his trust?
The boy he'd raised, fought with, and then lusted after, now completely debauched on the bed before him. Lips swollen with kisses, bites and bruises marking his neck and chest. Legs still spread, with England's seed leaking from the newly plundered opening.
His America. The possessive claim floated through his mind.
But not his. Alfred would have none of that sort of claiming, if he were in his right mind, just like he would probably not have said that he loved England, that he wanted-
Arthur sighed heavily, trying not to let the thoughts of consequences enter his head right now. He was too tired, and thinking of never being able to be close to America again would only make those tears that had been prickling his eyes from the time that he realized that there was more than mere caring-
Fuck. He'd fucked up.
Blue eyes opened partway, as he moved from the bed to retrieve a damp cloth to clean them both up. Alfred watched him languidly, not protesting the cleaning, the touch, the way England moved his limbs to a position more suited for sleeping- but he probably would tomorrow. If he even remembered tonight. Arthur cursed himself, and his lack of self control, of his letting the wrong bits of his anatomy do the thinking, and reasoning with a horny and plastered America.
"En'lan'?" The name was a bit slurred again, and it looked as though Alfred was fighting the sleep that so desperately wanted him- wanted him as much as England did.
"How do you feel, love?" England set the cloth aside, and sat on the edge of the bed next to his- no. Next to Alfred. America.
"Sleepy." The answer came with a faint smile, "But good. You?"
"I'm fine," England lied, punctuating it with a soft smile. "You should sleep now."
"K," Eyes started to flitter closed, "Stay with me."
Arthur chuckled humorlessly, knowing his weakness. He'd never been able to stay before when asked- begged. But now... obligations weren't until the next afternoon, and within the same city. And this could be the last time he shared a bed with the younger nation, and that hurt.
"I do love you, you know." Brushing the fringe away from the slumbering face, Arthur obeyed the drunken order, laying next to Alfred, drowsily aware when the larger man curled up against him.
There might be an argument in the morning. No. There would always be arguments in the morning. Right now, however? Everything was fine.