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[Fic] Rosa part 4
Title: Rosa Part 4
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doomy_slasher
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Rating: R
Warning: Part of the Power Exchange AU. BDSM, fantasies.
Summary: Alfred gets a clue, and Arthur gets laid much to everyone's relief.
Alfred would remember he'd left his briefcase at the Pub where Ivan could get at it and promptly go into hysterics later. Later Arthur would have to call his Queen and beg her to not demand Alfred get punished for treating an Imperial Rose in such an uncouth manner.
But that would be later. Much later.
Right now Alfred was staring at Arthur in his hotel room. Arthur was trying to sit up from where he'd been shoved onto the bed. Alfred hadn't bothered to turn any lights on and the room didn't get much natural light.
It made for a foreboding effect - the angry, upset Dom standing by the door, staring at Arthur.
(For all Yao might not be able to get the measure of Alfred, Arthur was certainly getting it in truck loads at the moment.)
Why was Alfred so angry, Arthur wondered? Was it because of Ivan's advances towards him? He wanted, wished suddenly that the reason why he'd been bodily hauled across the city was because Alfred was jealous of Ivan. That, he, old, worn out, fallen empire, Arthur Kirkland could make Alfred F. Jones see green.
He wished he was the one that this proud, golden, free spirit came to ground for.
"Lad."
"Would you have gone to him, Arthur?" Alfred was suddenly in his face, in his personal space, shoving him back on to the bed and following him down. "Would you have let him touch you?"
Arthur shivered. Damn that lad, for being able to push all the right buttons. Cheap bed sheets beneath him, warm, hard body hovering above him. Alfred's face was inches from his own. If he lifted his face he could kiss the lad like he’d always wanted to. Blue eyes demanded an answer from him. He closed his eyes against the hurt and anger in them.
"Well?"
It hadn't helped. Instead the scent of Alfred, spicy and comforting, teased at his nose and he became hyper aware of every point where their bodies met.
"What business," he demanded, "is it of yours? I sleep with whom I want to, when I want to, without needing permission from you!"
Alfred's hands tightened on his shoulders.
He panted silently, praying that in his anger Alfred wouldn't notice his body's signals. "Let me go Alfred." It came out even and calm. He was rather proud of that fact. "You've made your point. "
The too warm heat of Alfred's body moved slightly and he relaxed into the bed. Alfred would, of course, let him go now so they could discuss this like adults. He'd make tea for himself and Alfred would drink his coffee. They'd talk - he'd promise not to sleep with Ivan (at this meeting at least) and Alfred would accept it and go back to his free spirited ways.
"No." The dark tone had his eyes flying open again and a surge of adrenaline bolting through him.
He knew that tone. And rarely had it ever boded well for him.
He'd heard it from his greatest King as he was ordered to safety with his king's beloved queen. He'd heard it from his dear Bess as she shouted her defiance, his defiance, their defiance at the world.
He'd heard it from the mouths of countless human mortal doms as they stripped him down and sent him flying.
But he'd never heard it from Alfred before. Never heard the American blend words with heat and passion and utter, complete domination.
Instantly he was fighting to get out from under the other nation, even knowing as he did so that he didn't really want to get free. Alfred took the blows and flipped him onto his stomach, pinning him with his body.
Alfred dropped his full weight onto the slighter man, feeling Arthur wheeze just a bit. Maybe he was just an untrained country hick. Too big for his britches and trying to play with things he shouldn't. But damn it, Arthur had let Ivan touch him.
Ivan knew what Arthur felt and tasted like. And from what it had sounded like, knew it quite well.
(A part of Alfred that Al made a point of ignoring most of the time was purring with satisfaction at finally getting Arthur under him.)
He ignored the cursing and yelling coming out of Arthur's mouth and fished around for a pillow. Jerking the case off of it, he quickly tied Arthur's hands and spun him back around, settling between the Englishman's legs.
He was going to do something he shouldn't. He was going to lay here on top of Arthur and tell him that Alfred was what he needed. He didn't need Ivan, or Denmark, or Spain (but Spain was blissfully tied around Romano's little toe anyways, so no worries there). He needed Alfred. And Alfred needed Arthur to fill the hole in him that had been there since 1776.
Because hell. Arthur was Alfred's everything and that angry Englishman shaped hole inside of him hurt. He was tired of it hurting.
"I want you," he forced out. Great confession there.
"Well bloody fucking grats to you. Now get off me!" Arthur yelled at him, unimpressed with his confession.
Alfred shook his head. "I don't think so." He snapped his hips up and felt the man beneath him tense sharply and spread just a little. It felt so good having, Arthur beneath him, snapping and fiery, just like in his dreams.
"I dream of you Arthur. I dream of your eyes all sharp and full of demon-fire, glaring at me. I dream of your voice screaming my name." Alfred kept rocking his hips, but Arthur didn’t seem to be relaxing or moving with him anymore. He let one of his hands drift down Arthur's side, stroking at his skin through the cloth, frowning when it only seemed to make him more determined to get away.
Arthur's heaving reminded him of the dusty days spent under endless skies. Alfred snorted to himself. He didn't think Arthur would be highly appreciative of being compared to a wild mustang. It was appropriate though - there was an untamed, fey, elegance to Arthur that he'd only ever seen in the thundering herds that roamed his western states. Well, if Arthur was like a mustang, then some of those skills he'd learned over the years might come in handy. He knew all about coaxing wild things into accepting him.
Arthur had finally gone silent and still under him, his face turned away. Despite that, he could still feel the waves of furious disdain pouring off the smaller body. Alfred propped himself up on his elbows and slowly started to comb his fingers through messy hair. All the while he never stopped slowly rocking his lower body against Arthur's. ‘See,’ he said silently to the angry Englishman. ‘See how good this feels? Don't you want more?’
Time stopped moving for them as they lay there in their own little world of dusty harsh breaths. Alfred's hands were tangled in Arthur's blond locks, a look of concentration on his face as he combed through them. Their legs were still tangled from where Alfred had pinned Arthur, and both of them were languidly moving against each other.
Finally Arthur broke the silence and spoke. "Lad, what are you doing?"
He felt more then saw the shrug. "Touching you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know that, but why?"
Alfred shifted above him and those wonderful hips stopped moving.
"Alfred?" The blond looked briefly at him before burying his head in his neck. Arthur shivered at the breath playing over his neck.
"I don't know, okay? It’s just, he got to touch you and I don't get to. Ever. And he doesn't care," Alfred continued. "And I do. I really do. There's this huge hole inside of me that's you shaped and it's been there forever and I don't feel right unless you're there. Even though you hate me."
"You can't be jealous of every nation I've slept with, you know." Arthur sighed and started to respond to the distress in Alfred's voice when the rest of what he'd just been told hit him.
Oh.
Alfred kept muttering into his neck as he lay there in shock. Things like how he kept trying, but nothing ever seemed to impress Arthur and how much he really did love him.
Something inside of him eased. This (HIS) Dom wanted him. Needed him, really, and just him. "Why on earth didn't you just tell me instead of prancing about?"
The look of shock rather pleased him. He rarely got to shock Alfred. The realization Alfred had wasted so much time dillydallying about was vaguely annoying, though.
(Arthur chose to ignore the fact he'd been just as responsible when it came down to it.)
He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but the guilty look wasn't it. Alfred laughed nervously, eying him like he expected Arthur to go Imperialistic on him.
"Well," he began sheepishly, "Francis said to woo you. So I um, tried to woo you. And Spain said that I should give you things that would remind you of me!"
(Across town at that very moment, while draped in naked Matthew and Gilbert, Francis felt a cold chill take a hold of him, quickly followed by a feeling of doom. Despite the most enthusiastic efforts of his beloveds, Francis found himself not being very much interested in staying bed. Rather he wanted to be out of England and as far away from it as he could get. Quickly.)
"Oh they did, did they?" Arthur said softly.
(Antonio's head shot up from where it had been buried in Romano's neck. Despite the unhappy yelling from his Lovi - but then Lovi was always yelling, he looked around for the sense of dangerbadthings that had slammed into him. He wasn't sure why he had the sudden urge to throw clothes back on himself and Lovi and haul the two of them to the most defensible castle left in Spain. Maybe he should bring some tomatoes too.)
"Yeah," chirped Alfred, blissfully unaware of what he'd just done.
"You bloody fucking moron!" Arthur's yell rocked the other nation back on his heels. Blue eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. "Why would you have listened to those two idiots about anything?"
"Um?"
"They've probably been laughing about this for years, you git!"
(In fact, Francis had found the whole thing amusing for about five years during the early days of the revolution. Antonio thought it had been cute. Neither one of them had been laughing at it aftersince the war of 1812. Since then they'dve just been depressed over the obliviousness of both parties.)
Alfred flopped down on the bed beside him. "Well shit."
"Well shit indeed." Arthur frowned. Without the weight of Alfred to prevent him from moving about he was pretty sure he'd be able to undo the pillowcase
"What're you doing?" Alfred was studying him. He dropped a glare on the oblivious man as his finished untangling the pillowcase. "What does it look like I'm doing?”'
"Um."
Hands free now, he stretched and rolled his shoulders as the other nation stared at him.
~.~
"So uh, why did you do that?" Alfred asked curiously. He was trying rather hard to not be obvious about his staring at Arthur, but he was reasonably sure Arthur was aware of it.
"Do what?" The other asked.
Alfred squirmed a bit inside. "Untieyourselfyouwerereallyhot."
"For pity's sake, Alfred, if you want something speak up and just ask!"
Okay then, he thought, this isn't that hard. "Can I… you know..."
Arthur turned back to him and glared. "No I do not know as you have failed to ask me any sort of understandable question."
Why was he making this so hard? "Tie you up again," he muttered.
"What?"
"I said, can I tie you up again ‘cause you're really hot like that!" Alfred bellowed into the room. This was it. Arthur was going to pat him on the head and call him 'lad' again. He was going to get told that he was too young, too silly, too immature. Arthur had to like mature company.
Like Ivan.
"It'd, um, make me feel better?" he offered.
Beta:
doomy_slasher Characters/Pairing: America/England
Rating: R
Warning: Part of the Power Exchange AU. BDSM, fantasies.
Summary: Alfred gets a clue, and Arthur gets laid much to everyone's relief.
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Epilogue
Alfred would remember he'd left his briefcase at the Pub where Ivan could get at it and promptly go into hysterics later. Later Arthur would have to call his Queen and beg her to not demand Alfred get punished for treating an Imperial Rose in such an uncouth manner.
But that would be later. Much later.
Right now Alfred was staring at Arthur in his hotel room. Arthur was trying to sit up from where he'd been shoved onto the bed. Alfred hadn't bothered to turn any lights on and the room didn't get much natural light.
It made for a foreboding effect - the angry, upset Dom standing by the door, staring at Arthur.
(For all Yao might not be able to get the measure of Alfred, Arthur was certainly getting it in truck loads at the moment.)
Why was Alfred so angry, Arthur wondered? Was it because of Ivan's advances towards him? He wanted, wished suddenly that the reason why he'd been bodily hauled across the city was because Alfred was jealous of Ivan. That, he, old, worn out, fallen empire, Arthur Kirkland could make Alfred F. Jones see green.
He wished he was the one that this proud, golden, free spirit came to ground for.
"Lad."
"Would you have gone to him, Arthur?" Alfred was suddenly in his face, in his personal space, shoving him back on to the bed and following him down. "Would you have let him touch you?"
Arthur shivered. Damn that lad, for being able to push all the right buttons. Cheap bed sheets beneath him, warm, hard body hovering above him. Alfred's face was inches from his own. If he lifted his face he could kiss the lad like he’d always wanted to. Blue eyes demanded an answer from him. He closed his eyes against the hurt and anger in them.
"Well?"
It hadn't helped. Instead the scent of Alfred, spicy and comforting, teased at his nose and he became hyper aware of every point where their bodies met.
"What business," he demanded, "is it of yours? I sleep with whom I want to, when I want to, without needing permission from you!"
Alfred's hands tightened on his shoulders.
He panted silently, praying that in his anger Alfred wouldn't notice his body's signals. "Let me go Alfred." It came out even and calm. He was rather proud of that fact. "You've made your point. "
The too warm heat of Alfred's body moved slightly and he relaxed into the bed. Alfred would, of course, let him go now so they could discuss this like adults. He'd make tea for himself and Alfred would drink his coffee. They'd talk - he'd promise not to sleep with Ivan (at this meeting at least) and Alfred would accept it and go back to his free spirited ways.
"No." The dark tone had his eyes flying open again and a surge of adrenaline bolting through him.
He knew that tone. And rarely had it ever boded well for him.
He'd heard it from his greatest King as he was ordered to safety with his king's beloved queen. He'd heard it from his dear Bess as she shouted her defiance, his defiance, their defiance at the world.
He'd heard it from the mouths of countless human mortal doms as they stripped him down and sent him flying.
But he'd never heard it from Alfred before. Never heard the American blend words with heat and passion and utter, complete domination.
Instantly he was fighting to get out from under the other nation, even knowing as he did so that he didn't really want to get free. Alfred took the blows and flipped him onto his stomach, pinning him with his body.
Alfred dropped his full weight onto the slighter man, feeling Arthur wheeze just a bit. Maybe he was just an untrained country hick. Too big for his britches and trying to play with things he shouldn't. But damn it, Arthur had let Ivan touch him.
Ivan knew what Arthur felt and tasted like. And from what it had sounded like, knew it quite well.
(A part of Alfred that Al made a point of ignoring most of the time was purring with satisfaction at finally getting Arthur under him.)
He ignored the cursing and yelling coming out of Arthur's mouth and fished around for a pillow. Jerking the case off of it, he quickly tied Arthur's hands and spun him back around, settling between the Englishman's legs.
He was going to do something he shouldn't. He was going to lay here on top of Arthur and tell him that Alfred was what he needed. He didn't need Ivan, or Denmark, or Spain (but Spain was blissfully tied around Romano's little toe anyways, so no worries there). He needed Alfred. And Alfred needed Arthur to fill the hole in him that had been there since 1776.
Because hell. Arthur was Alfred's everything and that angry Englishman shaped hole inside of him hurt. He was tired of it hurting.
"I want you," he forced out. Great confession there.
"Well bloody fucking grats to you. Now get off me!" Arthur yelled at him, unimpressed with his confession.
Alfred shook his head. "I don't think so." He snapped his hips up and felt the man beneath him tense sharply and spread just a little. It felt so good having, Arthur beneath him, snapping and fiery, just like in his dreams.
"I dream of you Arthur. I dream of your eyes all sharp and full of demon-fire, glaring at me. I dream of your voice screaming my name." Alfred kept rocking his hips, but Arthur didn’t seem to be relaxing or moving with him anymore. He let one of his hands drift down Arthur's side, stroking at his skin through the cloth, frowning when it only seemed to make him more determined to get away.
Arthur's heaving reminded him of the dusty days spent under endless skies. Alfred snorted to himself. He didn't think Arthur would be highly appreciative of being compared to a wild mustang. It was appropriate though - there was an untamed, fey, elegance to Arthur that he'd only ever seen in the thundering herds that roamed his western states. Well, if Arthur was like a mustang, then some of those skills he'd learned over the years might come in handy. He knew all about coaxing wild things into accepting him.
Arthur had finally gone silent and still under him, his face turned away. Despite that, he could still feel the waves of furious disdain pouring off the smaller body. Alfred propped himself up on his elbows and slowly started to comb his fingers through messy hair. All the while he never stopped slowly rocking his lower body against Arthur's. ‘See,’ he said silently to the angry Englishman. ‘See how good this feels? Don't you want more?’
Time stopped moving for them as they lay there in their own little world of dusty harsh breaths. Alfred's hands were tangled in Arthur's blond locks, a look of concentration on his face as he combed through them. Their legs were still tangled from where Alfred had pinned Arthur, and both of them were languidly moving against each other.
Finally Arthur broke the silence and spoke. "Lad, what are you doing?"
He felt more then saw the shrug. "Touching you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know that, but why?"
Alfred shifted above him and those wonderful hips stopped moving.
"Alfred?" The blond looked briefly at him before burying his head in his neck. Arthur shivered at the breath playing over his neck.
"I don't know, okay? It’s just, he got to touch you and I don't get to. Ever. And he doesn't care," Alfred continued. "And I do. I really do. There's this huge hole inside of me that's you shaped and it's been there forever and I don't feel right unless you're there. Even though you hate me."
"You can't be jealous of every nation I've slept with, you know." Arthur sighed and started to respond to the distress in Alfred's voice when the rest of what he'd just been told hit him.
Oh.
Alfred kept muttering into his neck as he lay there in shock. Things like how he kept trying, but nothing ever seemed to impress Arthur and how much he really did love him.
Something inside of him eased. This (HIS) Dom wanted him. Needed him, really, and just him. "Why on earth didn't you just tell me instead of prancing about?"
The look of shock rather pleased him. He rarely got to shock Alfred. The realization Alfred had wasted so much time dillydallying about was vaguely annoying, though.
(Arthur chose to ignore the fact he'd been just as responsible when it came down to it.)
He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but the guilty look wasn't it. Alfred laughed nervously, eying him like he expected Arthur to go Imperialistic on him.
"Well," he began sheepishly, "Francis said to woo you. So I um, tried to woo you. And Spain said that I should give you things that would remind you of me!"
(Across town at that very moment, while draped in naked Matthew and Gilbert, Francis felt a cold chill take a hold of him, quickly followed by a feeling of doom. Despite the most enthusiastic efforts of his beloveds, Francis found himself not being very much interested in staying bed. Rather he wanted to be out of England and as far away from it as he could get. Quickly.)
"Oh they did, did they?" Arthur said softly.
(Antonio's head shot up from where it had been buried in Romano's neck. Despite the unhappy yelling from his Lovi - but then Lovi was always yelling, he looked around for the sense of dangerbadthings that had slammed into him. He wasn't sure why he had the sudden urge to throw clothes back on himself and Lovi and haul the two of them to the most defensible castle left in Spain. Maybe he should bring some tomatoes too.)
"Yeah," chirped Alfred, blissfully unaware of what he'd just done.
"You bloody fucking moron!" Arthur's yell rocked the other nation back on his heels. Blue eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. "Why would you have listened to those two idiots about anything?"
"Um?"
"They've probably been laughing about this for years, you git!"
(In fact, Francis had found the whole thing amusing for about five years during the early days of the revolution. Antonio thought it had been cute. Neither one of them had been laughing at it aftersince the war of 1812. Since then they'dve just been depressed over the obliviousness of both parties.)
Alfred flopped down on the bed beside him. "Well shit."
"Well shit indeed." Arthur frowned. Without the weight of Alfred to prevent him from moving about he was pretty sure he'd be able to undo the pillowcase
"What're you doing?" Alfred was studying him. He dropped a glare on the oblivious man as his finished untangling the pillowcase. "What does it look like I'm doing?”'
"Um."
Hands free now, he stretched and rolled his shoulders as the other nation stared at him.
~.~
"So uh, why did you do that?" Alfred asked curiously. He was trying rather hard to not be obvious about his staring at Arthur, but he was reasonably sure Arthur was aware of it.
"Do what?" The other asked.
Alfred squirmed a bit inside. "Untieyourselfyouwerereallyhot."
"For pity's sake, Alfred, if you want something speak up and just ask!"
Okay then, he thought, this isn't that hard. "Can I… you know..."
Arthur turned back to him and glared. "No I do not know as you have failed to ask me any sort of understandable question."
Why was he making this so hard? "Tie you up again," he muttered.
"What?"
"I said, can I tie you up again ‘cause you're really hot like that!" Alfred bellowed into the room. This was it. Arthur was going to pat him on the head and call him 'lad' again. He was going to get told that he was too young, too silly, too immature. Arthur had to like mature company.
Like Ivan.
"It'd, um, make me feel better?" he offered.