Harvest Time
Sep. 23rd, 2010 10:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deegeeakTitle: Harvest Time
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Can/Fran/Prus
Rating: PG13
Warning: Implied Relationships, Kissing. Part of the Power Exchange Universe
Summary: It's fall time and Arthur knows what that means. Written for the Autumn Love Party at USxUK comm.
One day it would be a hot sweltering, hazy summer day. It'd be filled with cold tea, and grilled foods on a groaning pick nick table. Alfred would be wearing as little as possible, and Arthur as much as Alfred would let him. Alfred would be jumping for Frisbee in the sun, and Arthur would hide in the shade. Alfred would tan, and Arthur, burn.
The one night, the air would shift and the world changed. Overnight leaves turned in an explosion of color Arthur never saw outside of the Americas. Golden yellow, firey red, and burning orange turned the forest of both America and Canada into a riot of color.
A thick quilt, made by a grateful farmer's wife, suddenly appeared at the end of the bed they shared. The sheets went from thin cotton to a thicker, warmer set. Wood appeared by the fireplace in the living room. Arthur would find Alfred clearing out his store room and freezer, cleaning and preparing for the coming bounty.
The one morning, Arthur would find himself being woken by a cold nose, burrowing under his collar, at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Then, once he'd woken the Englishman, Alfred would tumble them both out of bed before grabbing his grubbiest work clothes he had. Then they'd be out the door before the sun had even risen.
Alfred and Matthew never met at the same farm twice. As far as Arthur knew the system by which the two North Americans picked the farm was some archaic system known only to them. Matthew would meet them as always, already there. Sometimes Francis would be there, or Gilbert, or more often, both.
And then as the sun broke over the firey-hued trees, they'd set to work. As the sun burned the morning chill off in a clear blue sky, Arthur would struggle to remember the last time he'd worked this hard with this much manual labor. Alfred would tease him, and he'd shoot back with some quick insult. Sometimes they'd work with one of the others, but they usually kept to their own patch.
Around noon they'd stop and feast on the thick sandwiches and the last of the cider. Alfred would wrap himself around Arthur, who'd wind up perched on his lap. He'd tease him as Arthur's face went red and Gilbert would making gagging noises till Francis pounced on him as Matthew laughed.
After lunch would come the inevitable work of actually dealing with the morning's harvest. Why he was the one stuck making all the jams, jellies and fruit butters he had no idea, but he suspected it was because the one thing they all trusted him not to destroy. Matthew would prepare the cider and other brews with Gilbert. Francis helped Alfred prepare the harvested meat. Then Alfred would wander in the kitchen sweaty and dirty, just in time to grab Arthur and bend him over backwards with a deep, filthy kiss before running off to grab more jars for Arthur to fill.
As evening fell the group would break up, the day's bounty divided evenly between Matthew and Alfred. Once the harvest was stored away, Alfred moved into the kitchen to check on the crock-pot he'd leave simmering and the bread left to rise. Arthur would go shower and then come downstairs, lured by the smell of thick stew and fresh bread.
They'd eat in front of the fireplace, curled up together, feeding each other and wordlessly speaking as the fireplace crackled and burned away.
Then Alfred would gently pull Arthur to his feet, and to the room, where'd they both collapse, just in time to wake up to another crisp morning full of promise and harvest.
Characters/Pairing: America/England, Can/Fran/Prus
Rating: PG13
Warning: Implied Relationships, Kissing. Part of the Power Exchange Universe
Summary: It's fall time and Arthur knows what that means. Written for the Autumn Love Party at USxUK comm.
One day it would be a hot sweltering, hazy summer day. It'd be filled with cold tea, and grilled foods on a groaning pick nick table. Alfred would be wearing as little as possible, and Arthur as much as Alfred would let him. Alfred would be jumping for Frisbee in the sun, and Arthur would hide in the shade. Alfred would tan, and Arthur, burn.
The one night, the air would shift and the world changed. Overnight leaves turned in an explosion of color Arthur never saw outside of the Americas. Golden yellow, firey red, and burning orange turned the forest of both America and Canada into a riot of color.
A thick quilt, made by a grateful farmer's wife, suddenly appeared at the end of the bed they shared. The sheets went from thin cotton to a thicker, warmer set. Wood appeared by the fireplace in the living room. Arthur would find Alfred clearing out his store room and freezer, cleaning and preparing for the coming bounty.
The one morning, Arthur would find himself being woken by a cold nose, burrowing under his collar, at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Then, once he'd woken the Englishman, Alfred would tumble them both out of bed before grabbing his grubbiest work clothes he had. Then they'd be out the door before the sun had even risen.
Alfred and Matthew never met at the same farm twice. As far as Arthur knew the system by which the two North Americans picked the farm was some archaic system known only to them. Matthew would meet them as always, already there. Sometimes Francis would be there, or Gilbert, or more often, both.
And then as the sun broke over the firey-hued trees, they'd set to work. As the sun burned the morning chill off in a clear blue sky, Arthur would struggle to remember the last time he'd worked this hard with this much manual labor. Alfred would tease him, and he'd shoot back with some quick insult. Sometimes they'd work with one of the others, but they usually kept to their own patch.
Around noon they'd stop and feast on the thick sandwiches and the last of the cider. Alfred would wrap himself around Arthur, who'd wind up perched on his lap. He'd tease him as Arthur's face went red and Gilbert would making gagging noises till Francis pounced on him as Matthew laughed.
After lunch would come the inevitable work of actually dealing with the morning's harvest. Why he was the one stuck making all the jams, jellies and fruit butters he had no idea, but he suspected it was because the one thing they all trusted him not to destroy. Matthew would prepare the cider and other brews with Gilbert. Francis helped Alfred prepare the harvested meat. Then Alfred would wander in the kitchen sweaty and dirty, just in time to grab Arthur and bend him over backwards with a deep, filthy kiss before running off to grab more jars for Arthur to fill.
As evening fell the group would break up, the day's bounty divided evenly between Matthew and Alfred. Once the harvest was stored away, Alfred moved into the kitchen to check on the crock-pot he'd leave simmering and the bread left to rise. Arthur would go shower and then come downstairs, lured by the smell of thick stew and fresh bread.
They'd eat in front of the fireplace, curled up together, feeding each other and wordlessly speaking as the fireplace crackled and burned away.
Then Alfred would gently pull Arthur to his feet, and to the room, where'd they both collapse, just in time to wake up to another crisp morning full of promise and harvest.
