[Fic] Rosa Epilogue
Oct. 7th, 2010 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deegeeakTitle: Rosa Epilogue
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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.
It had been just over a year since Alfred had seen Arthur. In that year, Alfred had thrown himself into becoming the kind of dom both he and Arthur deserved by learning everything he could - some of which he thought was pretty much physically impossible.
Scotland had given him a very odd look when he'd approached the older nation about going fishing - and asking for some advice. Alfred figured that if it had been good for Matt (and it had), then it had to be good for him, right? Angus had chuckled into the beer Alfred handed him before flatly telling him no over their fishing poles.
Alfred still felt a bit flushed when he thought of that. Angus had been very blunt. He felt that Alfred was best served by training anywhere else but in the Imperial British House. Arthur, he pointed out, was the de facto head of the house.
"But, it's your House I'm interested in," Alfred had protested. "not his !"
Angus gestured with his beer. "Lad, it's the same. The Scottish House is a Branch of the Imperial House. It wouldn't be right. "
At Alfred's frown he continued on, explaining that he thought the best thing Alfred could do was go to any other house for his formal training. "The brat's right, but dun let him steer yer way in this. Ye make up yer mind and do it, I do expect ye both in the Highlands for a couple's session or twenty eventually.”
After a few more beers, they'd decided to be productive and make a list of all the potential Houses Alfred could go to. After talking over what Alfred liked (he wasn't into Blood-play at all, but bondage? Yum), they narrowed the list down. Angus threw out France ("Dunnae even go there lad.) and Spain almost immediately (Not if ye value yer life.) Alfred tossed out Russia ("No Way In Hell") and all of the Middle Eastern Houses ("Why not?" "Did you really just ask that?"). After a few more beers, Angus crossed off Germany and Austria as well as Greece.
"Ye're ill suited to their styles lad," he said.
In the end, hung-over and without any fish, Alfred had a short list of five nations to present to his Boss when he finally dragged himself back to work. After laughing at him for trying to keep up with a Scot, his Boss leaned back in his chair and regarded him. "Go to Italy," he advised finally, tapping the list. "Sure, it's a yearlong commitment, but they'd make the least fuss over this."
Fuss, it went unspoken, was the fact that most European Pleasure Houses would likely use this as a means of advancing whatever House politics they were indulging in that week, and despite everything else, the United States of America did not participate in Pleasure House politics. Alfred's boss talked to the Italian brother's boss, and after a month, it was done. Alfred would be going to the Villa for a single session. Terms were negotiated and finally the deal was done.
So having handed off his meeting notes and schedules to his horrified states Alfred went to Italy for a year. Despite the time spent away from his lands, Alfred thrived on the sun soaked island the Villa was located on. The Italians were hard on their doms, demanding he perfect what he was taught and pushing him and his classmates to be better. The near Spartan training facility focused more on the physical dynamic between a Dom and Sub than anything else. His own Mentor, a grinning, wicked lady, had taught him to cut as much of the non essentials as he possible.
"Your body, Alfred," she lectured him over lunch one day, "is a most versatile tool. Use it well and often. Everything else? It is extra."It was advice he took to heart.
On the day she'd marked him, proud of her American student, he'd discovered Italy wasn't quite done with him yet. Waiting outside on the street were a pair of arguing Italians and a sleek, bright , Ferarri. Without so much as a hello, Lovino and Felicano had dragged him off, ignoring every word out of his mouth.
Lovino had to pry his hands off the seat when they'd gotten to their location, as he'd spent the entire journey clinging to the seat for dear life. At one point, as they shot around yet another curve, going at speeds Alfred preferred only emergency vehicles drive at, Feli had let go of the wheel in order to more effectively argue with his brother.
Over pasta.
Alfred had been sure he'd been about to die.
They were quickly forgiven however, when they arrived at a nondescript building in some sleepy little town. The building housed one of the last great Metal-smiths left in Europe who still crafted jewelry and Collars by hand. After a quiet moment spent talking in rapid Italian with the old man, the brothers then left him there, in the indifferent care of the old man, for a month.
He traded his glasses for goggles and spent his time hunched over with the other man, learning and working. In the space of a month Alfred learned how to pick perfect gems, select just the right metals. The old man had spent hours with him, drawing and re-drawing the design that would be his gift to Arthur. While Alfred could easily make things like horse shoes, nails and bullets without even thinking, this was something else all together. His idea of metal-forging was a crude, inelegant thing compared to this. He was used to an in and out style, whereas the old man would spend hours laboring over the heat of the forge, and the temperature of the metal, without ever working it.
Finally, Alfred held the result of a year's training and a month's hard work.
The old man grunted at him. Alfred had had to learn how to communicate with him via grunts as the old man didn't seem to speak a word of English. They were standing at the door, Alfred trying to find a way to express his thanks without the use of words, when the old man looked him in the eyes and said clearly "You'll do." With that, the door slammed shut behind him and he was left standing outside in the sun. Standing across from him, arguing again, were the Vargas brothers, with yet another Italian made super car.
He whimpered as they moved towards him.
(Alfred would have sworn he hadn't fallen out and kissed the pavement at the airport, but Lovino had thoughtfully brought along a camera to record it.)
Six hours later, he was landing in England and stumbling towards the nearest cabbie. Finally on his way to one of Arthur's homes outside of London, he had a nagging feeling he'd forgotten to do something very important. Alfred shrugged it off as the London cityscape bled into tame countryside. After what felt like an eternity, he found himself standing outside of Arthur's home. It was a tall, elegant affair, with vines climbing up its brick walls in an orderly fashion. Roses of all sorts of colors and shapes grew everywhere the eye could see.
Of course, he snickered, the Imperial Rose would have roses in his gardens.
He opened the gate and walked up the path. Before he'd even gotten up the steps though, the door slammed open.
Arthur stood in the doorway, an unreadable look on his face. Alfred grinned. "Hey!"
'Hey' had been the wrong thing to say. Arthur exploded on him with all the force of a small bomb. Alfred found he couldn't stop smiling. "A year! A bloody year with no contact and you expect me to do what?, Fall in your arms like some lovesick, PUT ME DOWN!"
Alfred cheerfully swung him around in a circle, ignoring Arthur's flailing. "I missed yoouu," he crooned. "I love you so much!"
Arthur twitched. "So why the bloody hell did you leave, you moronic git?. And by the way, if you think you’ll be getting any anytime soon you can think again." He paused. "Wanker."
Alfred just grinned at the irate Englishman. He'd missed this. "Got something for you, Arthur."
"I don't want it." The other bristled like his Mentor's cat had every time he got near it. He'd miss that old ragged tom, but he had Arthur again, and it was so perfect.
He dropped the box he'd carried with him in Arthur's hands. Arthur stared and then opened it. Alfred had a few seconds to bathe in the shocked, desperately happy look on his sub’s face before blazing green eyes met his and a fist flying at his face made his world go black.
He woke up a few moments later with a broken nose and Arthur safely inside his home. Judging by the sounds of the furious lecture coming from inside the house, he was in a world of trouble.
Alfred noticed the Collar was gone from the box.
He laughed at the blue English sky.
Life was perfect.
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
It had been just over a year since Alfred had seen Arthur. In that year, Alfred had thrown himself into becoming the kind of dom both he and Arthur deserved by learning everything he could - some of which he thought was pretty much physically impossible.
Scotland had given him a very odd look when he'd approached the older nation about going fishing - and asking for some advice. Alfred figured that if it had been good for Matt (and it had), then it had to be good for him, right? Angus had chuckled into the beer Alfred handed him before flatly telling him no over their fishing poles.
Alfred still felt a bit flushed when he thought of that. Angus had been very blunt. He felt that Alfred was best served by training anywhere else but in the Imperial British House. Arthur, he pointed out, was the de facto head of the house.
"But, it's your House I'm interested in," Alfred had protested. "not his !"
Angus gestured with his beer. "Lad, it's the same. The Scottish House is a Branch of the Imperial House. It wouldn't be right. "
At Alfred's frown he continued on, explaining that he thought the best thing Alfred could do was go to any other house for his formal training. "The brat's right, but dun let him steer yer way in this. Ye make up yer mind and do it, I do expect ye both in the Highlands for a couple's session or twenty eventually.”
After a few more beers, they'd decided to be productive and make a list of all the potential Houses Alfred could go to. After talking over what Alfred liked (he wasn't into Blood-play at all, but bondage? Yum), they narrowed the list down. Angus threw out France ("Dunnae even go there lad.) and Spain almost immediately (Not if ye value yer life.) Alfred tossed out Russia ("No Way In Hell") and all of the Middle Eastern Houses ("Why not?" "Did you really just ask that?"). After a few more beers, Angus crossed off Germany and Austria as well as Greece.
"Ye're ill suited to their styles lad," he said.
In the end, hung-over and without any fish, Alfred had a short list of five nations to present to his Boss when he finally dragged himself back to work. After laughing at him for trying to keep up with a Scot, his Boss leaned back in his chair and regarded him. "Go to Italy," he advised finally, tapping the list. "Sure, it's a yearlong commitment, but they'd make the least fuss over this."
Fuss, it went unspoken, was the fact that most European Pleasure Houses would likely use this as a means of advancing whatever House politics they were indulging in that week, and despite everything else, the United States of America did not participate in Pleasure House politics. Alfred's boss talked to the Italian brother's boss, and after a month, it was done. Alfred would be going to the Villa for a single session. Terms were negotiated and finally the deal was done.
So having handed off his meeting notes and schedules to his horrified states Alfred went to Italy for a year. Despite the time spent away from his lands, Alfred thrived on the sun soaked island the Villa was located on. The Italians were hard on their doms, demanding he perfect what he was taught and pushing him and his classmates to be better. The near Spartan training facility focused more on the physical dynamic between a Dom and Sub than anything else. His own Mentor, a grinning, wicked lady, had taught him to cut as much of the non essentials as he possible.
"Your body, Alfred," she lectured him over lunch one day, "is a most versatile tool. Use it well and often. Everything else? It is extra."It was advice he took to heart.
On the day she'd marked him, proud of her American student, he'd discovered Italy wasn't quite done with him yet. Waiting outside on the street were a pair of arguing Italians and a sleek, bright , Ferarri. Without so much as a hello, Lovino and Felicano had dragged him off, ignoring every word out of his mouth.
Lovino had to pry his hands off the seat when they'd gotten to their location, as he'd spent the entire journey clinging to the seat for dear life. At one point, as they shot around yet another curve, going at speeds Alfred preferred only emergency vehicles drive at, Feli had let go of the wheel in order to more effectively argue with his brother.
Over pasta.
Alfred had been sure he'd been about to die.
They were quickly forgiven however, when they arrived at a nondescript building in some sleepy little town. The building housed one of the last great Metal-smiths left in Europe who still crafted jewelry and Collars by hand. After a quiet moment spent talking in rapid Italian with the old man, the brothers then left him there, in the indifferent care of the old man, for a month.
He traded his glasses for goggles and spent his time hunched over with the other man, learning and working. In the space of a month Alfred learned how to pick perfect gems, select just the right metals. The old man had spent hours with him, drawing and re-drawing the design that would be his gift to Arthur. While Alfred could easily make things like horse shoes, nails and bullets without even thinking, this was something else all together. His idea of metal-forging was a crude, inelegant thing compared to this. He was used to an in and out style, whereas the old man would spend hours laboring over the heat of the forge, and the temperature of the metal, without ever working it.
Finally, Alfred held the result of a year's training and a month's hard work.
The old man grunted at him. Alfred had had to learn how to communicate with him via grunts as the old man didn't seem to speak a word of English. They were standing at the door, Alfred trying to find a way to express his thanks without the use of words, when the old man looked him in the eyes and said clearly "You'll do." With that, the door slammed shut behind him and he was left standing outside in the sun. Standing across from him, arguing again, were the Vargas brothers, with yet another Italian made super car.
He whimpered as they moved towards him.
(Alfred would have sworn he hadn't fallen out and kissed the pavement at the airport, but Lovino had thoughtfully brought along a camera to record it.)
Six hours later, he was landing in England and stumbling towards the nearest cabbie. Finally on his way to one of Arthur's homes outside of London, he had a nagging feeling he'd forgotten to do something very important. Alfred shrugged it off as the London cityscape bled into tame countryside. After what felt like an eternity, he found himself standing outside of Arthur's home. It was a tall, elegant affair, with vines climbing up its brick walls in an orderly fashion. Roses of all sorts of colors and shapes grew everywhere the eye could see.
Of course, he snickered, the Imperial Rose would have roses in his gardens.
He opened the gate and walked up the path. Before he'd even gotten up the steps though, the door slammed open.
Arthur stood in the doorway, an unreadable look on his face. Alfred grinned. "Hey!"
'Hey' had been the wrong thing to say. Arthur exploded on him with all the force of a small bomb. Alfred found he couldn't stop smiling. "A year! A bloody year with no contact and you expect me to do what?, Fall in your arms like some lovesick, PUT ME DOWN!"
Alfred cheerfully swung him around in a circle, ignoring Arthur's flailing. "I missed yoouu," he crooned. "I love you so much!"
Arthur twitched. "So why the bloody hell did you leave, you moronic git?. And by the way, if you think you’ll be getting any anytime soon you can think again." He paused. "Wanker."
Alfred just grinned at the irate Englishman. He'd missed this. "Got something for you, Arthur."
"I don't want it." The other bristled like his Mentor's cat had every time he got near it. He'd miss that old ragged tom, but he had Arthur again, and it was so perfect.
He dropped the box he'd carried with him in Arthur's hands. Arthur stared and then opened it. Alfred had a few seconds to bathe in the shocked, desperately happy look on his sub’s face before blazing green eyes met his and a fist flying at his face made his world go black.
He woke up a few moments later with a broken nose and Arthur safely inside his home. Judging by the sounds of the furious lecture coming from inside the house, he was in a world of trouble.
Alfred noticed the Collar was gone from the box.
He laughed at the blue English sky.
Life was perfect.
