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Title: Reaching Reality - Part 3/8 - [[AmeCan, USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Canada, America/Canada, America/England.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and sexual situations.
Summary: Starting at the base bone of Arthur’s spine and working its way up for a little more than five inches, there was the image of an upright electric guitar...


“… Oh, I get it now - you called this,” Alfred paused to gesture around the room, “a date just to piss off those girls.”

He smiled as Arthur did.

“Exactly. I could see that those birdies were bothering you, so I decided to shut them up. Although, what I said has the whole rest of the school talking about how the new British kid is gay,” he said while crossing one leg over the other from where he sat at the couch. They were in the living room on the first floor of Alfred’s, currently empty, home, the dining room and kitchen also sharing this floor. “And I’ve been pleasantly surprised, there haven’t been too many rude comments. Most students seem to be accepting enough.”

Alfred nodded at this, glad that Arthur’s sexuality wasn’t under too much fire. His own would have the same level of understanding, however, his partner certainly wouldn’t. What they had together wasn’t wrong or hurting anyone, damn it, simply out of the ordinary… In spite of that, if he and Matthew weren’t twins, then there would be no need to hide their relationship, and he probably wouldn’t be seeking out something else with the boy he was standing across from in this very moment…!

“Good,” he said mildly in comparison to his rapid pace of thought. He paused and poured sweet ice tea into the two glasses he had previously set out on the coffee table, the pitcher he was holding chilled from the refrigerator. Its cold exterior helped to placate his sweating palms - why were they sweating? - and relaxed him overall. He laughed a bit after setting the pitcher down and seating himself beside his houseguest, “We need more diversity around here, anyway. And just look at you! Foreign and gay all at once-- Err, well, sorry, you know what I mean. You’re pretty special for our school.”

Arthur rolled his eyes in a playful manner. He swiped at him and stuck his tongue out, which Alfred was told had been pierced last weekend, as was evident in the glint of silver he saw, and went to pick up his designated glass of tea. A wisecrack was made about this not being the type of tea he was accustomed to before he took a long sip.

With the other boy preoccupied by the sugary drink, Alfred took this time to look him over for what must have been the third time since he had arrived. That tongue piercing was only the beginning of how decisively different their styles of dress were.

On a Saturday morning such as this, there was no school, and therefore no need to wear their usual, individuality-lacking uniforms. Rather, they were able to freely express themselves - Arthur was doing a perfect job of this, sporting black high-top boots and equally dark skinny jeans held in place by a studded belt. His upper half continued the frivolity, the Union Jack t-shirt he was wearing partially covered due to an, again, black vest and loosened tie. A pair of leather gauntlets and chained bracelets adorned his wrists, and it seemed to be a miracle that this was still Arthur Kirkland. The same student who dabbed his mouth during lunch hour and who had never been seen without his uniform freshly pressed, was actually a punk at heart. Hm.

Alfred, sitting a few inches away, slumping on the leather couch, wasn’t quite as flashy with his grey American Eagle brand t-shirt, jeans, and Converse shoes. The bright teal color of his shoes was most likely the showiest part about his outfit, and that was nothing in comparison to Arthur’s, well, everything. He liked that, he liked that a lot.

He was just… just so fascinated with Arthur. The sharp contrast between how he dressed outside of school and how daintily he held his glass stirred excited shudders in the pit of his stomach. His voice, too, accented and precise, gave him the urge to reach out and caress the mouth from which it came. Of course, he didn’t. But he was dying to, dying to express his feelings without appearing foolish and without getting himself in trouble. The worry of Matthew was continuously burning at the front of his mind.

“So,” Arthur said, interrupting the babblings of his host’s mind, after he had finished his sip, “where did you say your brother was? Ah, no, he’s your twin, isn’t he? I had somewhat hoped that he would be here, I haven’t seen the two of you side by side yet.”

“He’s doing volunteer work at the local hospital. And here,” Alfred nodded as he stood from the couch. He trotted over to the entertainment center that sat opposite of them, simultaneously switching on the flat screen television and grabbing a picture frame that rested on a shelf off to the side. It was handed to Arthur, his intrigued gaze darting around the photograph of Alfred and Matthew posing in their swimsuits on some Californian beach, both grinning. Over the buzz of the television, he explained while pointing at it, “That was on our birthday this past summer. Dad took us to Los Angeles… We’re pretty similar, but not really if you look at the details of our hair and faces and stuff.”

Arthur shook his head in comprehension, setting the frame down and saying, “Cute… I have older brothers, but they’re all back in England either in college or married. We don’t talk much… Though I take it the two of you are fairly close?”

“Yep,” Alfred agreed, glancing away when the word ‘close’ brought up the memories of their recent sexual encounters. He kept his mind from dwelling on it too much, and watched with weary eyes as Arthur picked up the frame once again. Those weary eyes widened when he noticed Arthur reclining slightly against one of the arms of the couch, his tight t-shirt, not tucked in, raising to expose a bit of skin. Deliciously pale skin that caused him to thirst for his own glass of tea. It was certainly enough to catch his attention and barely take note of what was said next.

“You two play off each other well. It sort of reminds me of-- Oh, no!”

Having been casually tossing the frame back and fourth in his hands while leaning, it had slipped and fallen behind him. A subsequent crack! was heard and they shared a flinch. Arthur was quick to apologize, flipping himself to bend over the arm of the couch in order to reach the mess, stretching his body. The action, combined with his t-shirt’s tendency to lift, made for most of his lower back to be exposed. Alfred’s focus was involuntarily drawn there and his eyes were soon like saucers. The sight was so slim and smooth and… tattooed?

Starting at the base bone of Arthur’s spine and working its way up for a little more than five inches, there was the image of an upright electric guitar. It was boldly outlined in black, the face of the guitar colored with the same Union Jack design as his t-shirt. What’s more, a correspondingly outlined ribbon snaked around the neck and top half of the guitar, the words ‘Hot Six String’ written in cursive along it. The entire thing stood out quite intensely on that otherwise milky-white hide.

“Whoa,” Alfred was unable to stop himself from blurting, dropping all thoughts of Matthew and the risk of the situation here, similar to how frame had been dropped. He blinked several times and swallowed back the powerful urge to touch. “Nice ink.”

Damn, Arthur was turning out to be one hardcore punk, and one sexy beast.

“Hm? Oh, yes, that… I had it put on before I left England, somewhat of a goodbye gift,” Arthur informed him. He stopped reaching for the shattered frame and straightened his posture, actually raising the bottom hem of his t-shirt further to allow for a better view, as if he were encouraging Alfred to slip into a state of total lust - and that’s exactly what he did.

“You got this done on your own? I guess since you’re of age, you didn’t have to have a parent sign you off on it, huh?” he questioned while gambling a brief tap of the tattoo with his index finger at the center of the guitar. That tap soon morphed into a stroke, his finger applying a light pressure and tracing the ribbon in sheer absorption. The speed of his stroke increased upon noticing a gentle quiver in the other, controlled and still bearing some wild element. He bit his lower lip in exhilaration and murmured, “It’s awesome.”

“Thank you…”

“I mean, it looks really, really good.”

“Alfred, you’re touching me.”

Startled, he drew away at the words. His palm had been placed flat against Arthur’s tattoo, unobserved by himself, and was now clutching at his chest, embarrassed from his lack of self-restraint. His heart was thumping loudly, as well, he could feel it. And it shouldn’t be! This was wrong! Well, what he and Matthew had was also considered wrong, although that was the issue - he was in an established relationship, however fucked up it was, and he had no entitlement to cheating, or whatever the hell was happening here. He glanced in a random direction and returned to his former sitting position, having edged toward Arthur. He grabbed his abandoned glass of tea and began to drink, rendering himself incapable of speaking for a moment.

Arthur, his t-shirt released to cover the inked skin and with one eyebrow cocked, said, “I’m tired of talking about my unimportant tattoo, I want to hear something about you. Tell me… Aren’t you bothered by what people say at school? You’re definitely one of the more popular upperclassmen, so it’s no wonder why everyone wonders what you like.”

Alfred kept silent and didn’t turn to face him. He set his glass down on the table, the sweetness of it seeming to turn sour in the back of his throat as he failed to come up with a snappy reply. Fuck! It wasn’t usually this difficult to respond to these types of inquiries, why was it such a challenge with Arthur!? He opened his mouth, and not a word left it.

“Doesn’t it bother you that they whisper and create rumors for no other reason than to see if it will get a reaction from you?”

“… Uhm, yeah, it does. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Alfred finally answered with a shrug. He shifted slightly and perked his head to stare at the shorter blonde. “It’s like you said, I’m popular, I guess, so none of the stuff that’s said is too mean.”

He winced when he heard the first following question, having recognized its inevitability.

“I see. So then, what do you like? Am I allowed to ask?”

Squirming in his seat and awkwardly rubbing the side of his neck, Alfred returned to his quiet demeanor. He hated how ridiculous he must have appeared. How obvious. And, for a second time, he found himself struggling to lie to Arthur or to give him a strong response. He quit his inner musings and attempted to combat the blush spreading on his cheeks, Arthur having moved closer to him. They were separated by less than a foot, that distance shrinking for each passing second, due to Arthur and his furthered nerve to lean in. The sugar from the tea could be tasted amongst their mixed breaths.

“What if I kissed you? Would you push me away because you’re straight?” Arthur asked, becoming more daring. He then rested both hands on either of Alfred’s shoulders. He waited.

“N-No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t push you away.”

“Then it’s safe to say that you’re gay?”

“… Yeah. And that I’m glad you’re the same way,” Alfred mumbled with a hint of shame, his own hands shifting to rest at Arthur’s hips. Hey, if he was going to confess his sexuality, he might as well confess who that sexuality drove him toward. To him, it felt like the best course to take, especially when it was flowing so naturally and when those emerald green eyes were twinkling at him, that charming chuckle causing his ears to perk. Yes, yes! He wanted this so badly!

Their lips met softly at first, each frightened of moving too fast for the other. However, after several reassuring squeezes at the shoulders and hips, Alfred was soon sucking on the most sensitive areas of Arthur’s tongue, near and on his piercing, with the groaning British boy in his lap and dry-humping him in an effort to satisfy the bulges in their pants…

Matthew would come home to a settled house later that evening. Arthur had taken his leave about an hour after lunch, and Alfred was presently in the shower upstairs, washing off some minor stains from in-between his legs. This left Matthew alone with only the sounds of the water running and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room… The living room… He stepped into it, and narrowed his gaze upon seeing the smashing picture frame of him and his beloved twin to the side of the couch. He was confused, and for every shard of glass that he gathered and that pierced his fingers, a new question probed his mind. Angry, suspicious questions. The rage that was building up within him was as red as the blood drops on the floor.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

Title: Reaching Reality - Part 2/8 - [[AmeCan, USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Canada, America/Canada, America/England.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and sexual situations.
Summary: Abruptly, and very softly, Arthur leaned in to give a response to the joke, his words hidden by the chatter of the students and the ever-present giggles of the girls, “A boyfriend back home? I wish.”


Within the next couple of weeks, Alfred’s fondness for pre-calculus was caused by more than the fact that he had utterly mastered the manipulation of parallel equations. It was his seatmate, damn it! Arthur Kirkland and that gorgeous face and voice of his. Yes, gorgeous. He wasn’t afraid to admit it inside his own mind, that he was beginning to adore the shorter blonde more than his calculator and video camera and football combined, though certainly not aloud. He refused to breathe a word of this growing fascination with anyone, and especially not Matthew.

Certainly, he loved his twin - and that was just it, he loved him dearly and had no desire to hurt him with these silly feelings. Matthew remained strong as number one in his book, it merely so happened that Arthur was snatching up a bit of his attention.

He was guilty. Guilty in the head, yet guilty nonetheless. And he inherently knew that there may be some sort of sufferings for it, each new conversation with Arthur he had bringing him one step closer to who knows what…!

“Hey, dude, you know that those girls keep looking and you, right? And giggling?” Alfred informed Arthur one early September day in first hour, fighting to keep the contempt out of his tone. It was their daily work time after the lesson, and he was finding it rather difficult to focus on the worksheet in front of him or how rosy the other boy’s cheeks were on this particular morning when the pair of females behind them were being so obnoxious. He was aware of their gazes set on Arthur, he heard the whispers about what a sight he was. He hated them for it, what if they were stealing him away!? It irritated him to the point of growling beneath his breath, “Stupid bitches.”

Arthur shook his head and sighed, “Don’t make such a fuss over it. Honestly, I don’t understand what American girls find so attractive about British boys. Or attractive about me, really, since I’m rather quiet and untalented…”

“You’re talented. I’ve seen how good you write in English, remember? You showed me that nice essay.”

A chuckle escaped Arthur’s lips at this, and he said, “I suppose so. But still, they should be chasing someone like you, someone who’s intelligent and athletic. Two great qualities, I think.”

“Nah,” Alfred said hurriedly, ignoring the faint blush on his face that was the result of the compliment, intended or not, “don’t say that kind of stuff. Besides, it’s doesn’t matter, I don’t need them.”

“Neither do I.”

“… You, uhm, have a girlfriend back in London?”

The now-smiling senior shook his head for a second time, cocking one thick eyebrow as if it were signaling a challenge. He shrugged his shoulders and then laughed upon hearing one of the girls behind them squeal over how he, apparently, has no romantic attachments.

Alfred, believing that the situation had become light once more, teasingly, and without understanding exactly why, questioned him, “Oh, what is it, huh? You have a boyfriend, instead?”

With that, their conversations changed for the better. Additionally for the dangerous, this being an initial step in the direction of who knows what. Perhaps even more dangerous was the truth that the two of them failed to foresee this step, though they managed not to trip. At least, not yet.

Abruptly, and very softly, Arthur leaned in to give a response to the joke, his words hidden by the chatter of the students and the ever-present giggles of the girls, “A boyfriend back home? I wish.”

With a dry mouth and blinking eyes, Alfred was at a loss as to what could possibly be said. Well, fuck, he hadn’t been expecting this. How in the world had his newest friend decided to tell him such an intimate thing? It couldn’t be the result of their previous, simple banter, could it? Or was it due to the fact that he had told him of his extremely liberal political views last week? Whatever it was, he accepted it, and he was eager to let that be known, “Is that how it is? That’s cool of you for telling me, I seriously wouldn’t have ever guessed otherwise.”

Alfred returned home that afternoon in a delighted, confused daze. He had spent his entire football practice dwelling on Arthur and what he had said, to an intense degree that he had dropped the ball and tripped over his feet several times. Despite the coach’s shouting and his teammates’ annoyance, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, especially once he had tossed his backpack and sport bag on the floor of his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it and breathed out an almost sickly sweet sigh. Fuck, he was finally coming to terms with it all - he didn’t simply like Arthur, he was craving him! He wanted him, and he was dying to fill that want before any other boy in the know attempted to make a move on him. He huffed unhappily at the idea of it, surprising himself.

While he had confidence in his own courage to ask Arthur if they could see each other more often - to hang out, to date? - there were, unfortunately, some nagging issues that stood in the way. His sexuality continued to be hidden away, and it wasn’t as if Arthur would determine its truth from his looks or personality… Also… there was that tiny fact of--

“Alfred? Come out here, please, I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.”


Opening the door, he was greeted by his twin with a tight embrace, though he dared to edge back from it by an inch or two, telling him, “I’m all sweaty and dusty from practice. I’m sure I smell awful, let me go so I can clean up.”

Matthew instantly shook his head, grip increasing , “No. You smell musky and it’s fine with me - it gets me in the mood, actually.”

“Shhh! Dad’s downstairs, don’t say stuff like that.”

“I don’t care. You were daydreaming, I could tell, during lunch today and you had an extra long practice and now you’re locking yourself in your room. And you know I’ll be gone all weekend for my volunteer work! I want to be with you.”


Alfred finally returned the embrace, glancing wearily at the nearby staircase for any sign of their father before placing a kiss on the top of the shorter boy’s head. Shorter. Right, though they may be twins, they bore physical differences that made them individual people, assuring them that they weren’t fucking their reflections each time they slipped under the sheets - Alfred was taller and more muscular, Matthew’s hair longer and a darker blonde, one having a set of aquamarine irises and the other’s sapphire, their tones of voice and styles of speaking completely separate.

Regardless of that… When either of them was hurting, they became the same person, sharing that pain, whether it be emotional or physical. It was a connection that existed deep within them at the very core of their being, and Alfred was unable to fend off the twinge in his heart, a result of the distance his twin was experiencing. He heaved a sigh and repeated the kiss.

“So, what’s with you?” Matthew asked hotly, stepping further into the bedroom and using his foot to kick the door shut subtly behind them. With a narrowed gaze, he shoved - gently, though a shove all the same - him to sit on the edge of the bed, wiggling into his lap a moment later with his legs hitched on either side of that sturdy waist. Both hands clasped around the back of his neck, rubbing and flexing more roughly than what was necessary as he gave no chance for a reply, instead murmuring, “You wouldn’t even cuddle after sex last night… And your thrusts were weak, that’s not normal for you.”

On the word ‘thrusts’, Matthew had done one of his own for emphasis on how serious he viewed this, their fronts grinding together for a split-second. Alfred winced at the movement and at the frown that was facing him.

“You know that I’ve been tired lately, football and a couple of my classes have gotten pretty hard. But it’s no big deal, and I’m sorry for making you feel like this,” Alfred apologized with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. He had to. His right hand reached up and the fingers of it were touched to the other’s persevering frown. And when Matthew refused to speak a word, he began to involuntarily imitate that frown. His hand dropped away and he arched forward to whisper to the cheek he found, “Look… I’m fine, just kinda stressed, okay? And I promise that I’ll be less stressed if you would stop worrying. About. Me.”

Alfred kissed him again, this time pressing their mouths together and gliding his tongue past those pouting lips when he had the chance. There was power and determination hidden behind the contact, similar to his last few sentences, serving as the unspoken message to Matthew that there was nothing amiss aside from the normal burdens of school life. Both hands moved to clutch at his hips, the strength that Alfred put into it more than what was necessary, existing for reassurance. The kiss intensified with a tilt of his head and the addition of nipping teeth while he gave the stilled hips a good squeeze.

Taking in the situation in its entirety, Matthew mulled it over, responded positively to the physical affections, and accepted the majority of it. It was merely instinctive, human nature to latch onto a small amount of suspicion, despite what had been said.

When Alfred felt his twin slowly relaxing and heard an ‘Okay’ mumbled between them, an enormous wave of relief washed over him, although, of course, he didn’t express it. Only his love was to be displayed. His hands shifted downward in order to slide into Matthew’s jeans, pressing his palms flat against his firm backside to push them closer, opening his own legs slightly, their chests perfectly aligned…

To say that Alfred was a nervous wreck the following Friday morning would be an understatement - Matthew was the main cause for his anxiety, seeming to be watching him constantly and inquiring him about the most obscure things, and yet, there was another who sent restless shivers along his spine… Arthur Kirkland and the revelation concerning his sexual orientation. His heart thumped at a quickened pace and the pit of his stomach tingled as he took his seat in his pre-calculus class. He immediately turned to the boy beside him.

“Arthur, hey, uhm, are you doing anything this weekend?” he asked, hating himself a moment later for being so blunt.

Bright emerald eyes flickered toward him, and he raised his head to reply, “No, I’m not. Why? Are you?”

“No, actually, that’s why I was wondering… I thought that maybe, you know, we could hang out. If you want to, I mean,” Alfred said with a polite nod of his head. A brief instance of silence hung in the air in the same space of the proposal, which wracked his nerves further and he suddenly felt the need to add, “My place will be empty, so my brother and dad wouldn’t bother us. We can do whatever we want.”

Damn, why did I say that!? It sounds so sexual and weird and I‘m such a desperate little…!

“You mean something like a date? All right then, I think that would be lovely.”


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

Title: Reaching Reality - Part 1/8 - [[AmeCan, USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Canada, America/Canada, America/England.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and sexual situations.
Summary: If Matthew ever learned that he was checking out other boys, frighteningly close to what he was doing right now with Arthur, there would be consequences...


Alfred’s arms were wrapped snugly around his twin, hands rubbing up and down his back and lips soft against the other’s. He was comforting him. It was only the first day of their junior year in high school, and he was already comforting him. Today, he bore the physical heaviness of the book bag on his shoulders, and the emotional heaviness of knowing that the two of them didn’t share even one class this year. They would be separated for the entire school day with the exception of lunch.

Together, they stood at the front door of their empty home, fifteen minutes before the first bell on campus would ring. Their mother’s untimely, illness-related death, at a point when they were still in diapers, and their father’s need to be at the office from sunrise to sunset created the silence that surrounded them - broken by nothing more than Alfred’s whispered consolations and Matthew’s sniffles and the light smacking of their mouths. They were alone, and they loved it. They were in love.

Or, at least, that’s what Alfred knew he was supposed to believe. He knew that Matthew and himself were supposed to be utterly intimate and connected with one another, that’s how it had always been…

From the moment they were able to walk, they would hold hands. Initially, it had simply been for stability in their legs, although as they grew older and continued the hand-holding out of sheer habit, emotions began to alter between them. It was a dramatic and daring development that they were taking on. And they weren’t even aware of it, it was just too natural for them, the bond they were creating.

At age seven, their urges to seek out each other’s hand became so intense that Alfred would sneak out of his bed each and every night in order to slip into Matthew’s, one room over, and vice versa. They would clasp their hands beneath the cotton sheets and fall asleep with their bodies aligned and their expressions affectionate. They were never checked on by their father, and were therefore never found out for this little ritual - they were good boys, they didn’t need to be checked on.

A few weeks past their tenth birthday, a new step in this ritual was added. They had both recently visited the eye doctor to receive the glasses they required, and wore them to bed that night out of excitement, touching their frames and smiling. When they had decided to lean their heads in, with less than an inch of space separating them, for a better look, they paused. Several blinks were made, a breath or two was drawn, and then… they kissed. It was gentle, a butterfly-like peck that had seemed to be instinctive. This tender contact was a part of their ritual from that instant forward, mixed somewhere amongst the hand-holding and inner, slightly confused thoughts of what would happen next.

Their wonderings lasted three long years, hormones assaulting them around the age of thirteen and causing desires and their relationship to heighten. It drove them to one passionate discussion on an early August evening.

“Mattie, I want to, I really want to, but…”

“But what? Alfred, you said it yourself that you want to.”

“I know, but, well, what if someone finds out?”

“No one will ever find out. And who cares if they did, anyway? I love you, and you love me, so this is just what’s right. I want this, I want you.”

“… Okay, I believe you. Thanks, Mattie.”

That night created a new step in their ritual, as well, a promise that they would have make love on something close to a biweekly basis. That night they shared the loss of their virginities, the same as so many other things, they were closer now more than ever before. They had to be, they were perfect together. And through their sweating skins, panting mouths, semen-stained thighs… They sealed their physical and emotional bond, so strongly that it became a burden to them when one of the two of them was hurting. Like in this very moment, Matthew wiping away his final round of tears that had been caused by the lack of school time with one another.

Yet, for an unknown reason, Alfred couldn’t relate to this sorrow - obviously, he could understand it in being his twin, although it didn’t affect him. It bothered him, sure, but not to the point of weeping. He didn’t mind the separation. It wasn’t that he needed it… he simply didn’t mind.

They soon untangled themselves and walked out into the world after a final short, caring kiss. The instant that they stepped out of the seclusion of their home, they became an honest pair of twins, not lovers, and not a single touch was given, no suggestive remarks were made. Incest was a social taboo, a concept that even their liberal hometown of New York City was unable to tolerate. Within the confines of their affluent Manhattan home, narrow and having three levels, was the single peaceful space in which they could do whatever they pleased without being judged. However, at school and on the streets, they displayed no motions of affection other than brotherly ones, and they each had yet to take up a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. None of their classmates knew either of their preferences, and they hardly cared, as they were each popular - Alfred more so - enough to evade such questions successfully. If the subject came up, they usually told some lie about waiting for the supposed maturity of the dating scene in college…

Carlton Prestige Academy, their private high school that was a brief walking distance away, was bustling with activity by the time they arrived, a minute or two before the first bell of the day would ring, having been slowed by Matthew’s dragging feet. He was frowning as they stepped into the lush courtyard, his features shaded by the surrounding oak trees and his frown only deepening when the bell actually rang, forced to slip away to his fourth level French class. He did so once he had murmured a goodbye to his twin and had lightly punched at his shoulder.

Now alone with nothing but the other students surrounding him, and there were quite a few, as the Academy had a total of 2,000 alumni within its four grade levels, Alfred edged off to the side in order to glance at his schedule. Although he was interrupted by greetings and high-fives from a few of his friends that spotted him, he managed to memorize and map out his classes in a little over a minute - pre-calculus was in the upper half of the main building, standard junior English was on the left side of campus, creative film was in the practical art department behind the main building, then there was lunch in the courtyard, American history was also on the left side of campus, chemistry was in the lower half of the main building, and football was, of course, out on the field. Right. He was set for these six courses, and he believed that nothing would stop him from doing well, similar to how nothing, not even daily, extended separation from Matthew would stop him from loving his twin. He was going to be just fine, and they were going to be just fine.

However, this entire thought process was before he entered his first period class. Before things changed. From the moment he greeted his teacher and took note of where his assigned seat was and who it was he would be partnered with, his priorities morphed drastically. And he was completely unaware of it, unaware of how his eyes widened at the sight of flawlessly tousled honey blonde hair and a glinting green gaze, unaware of how his ears perked at the sound of a foreign accent.

As role was called, a pause taken in the middle to briefly welcome and introduce the Academy’s newest student from London, he learned that his seatmate’s name was Arthur Kirkland. The name seemed British enough, silently reiterated for every time he spoke, his lips producing a normal vocabulary of the English language but with that sweet tang of an accent. Words were more beautiful when he said them. Others, particularly the girls in the nearby rows, appeared to hold the same belief, since they constantly pestered him during work time if only to hear ‘I don’t know the answer to that one’ or ‘Maybe it’s seven?’ spoken in that foreign tone. He himself, on the opposite end, remained quiet, somewhat of a rare feat for him, especially in a math class, and busied his mind with equations and attempts at comprehending these feelings welling up inside of him.

He was sexually attracted to his own gender, obviously, just look at his current partner! Though he had never found another male who was worth his attention and efforts. And that was most likely for the better, understanding that if Matthew ever learned that he was checking out other boys, frighteningly close to what he was doing right now with Arthur, there would be consequences.

Nevertheless, he was unable to hold back as he gestured toward Arthur’s worksheet somewhere close to halfway through the class period, telling him, “The answer to number three is radical two over two. See? It’s because your graphing line curves and hits those points.”

He had held up his calculator, which displayed the correct graph and numbers for the problem. On his worksheet, he was already at number seventeen, although he had stopped to glance at his neighbor’s and examine his work. It appeared that the British boy honestly didn’t have a clue, and he raised an eyebrow at this, attempting to lock their gazes and make conversation while suppressing his urge to merely stare. He wanted to stare, damn it. The Academy’s uniform of khaki slacks and a light blue blazer for the boys suited that slim frame beside him quite nicely, his hips seeming to be hugged and his shoulders angled at an appealing level between slouching and set straight back.

Arthur was, to him, a piece of work - that idea reaffirmed when he spoke in that voice of his.

“Yes, well… Thank you. I was getting to that, it’s a bit difficult for me to focus on math,” he explained, his pale face turned in Alfred’s direction, those thin lips beginning to arch into a smile, “It’s my worst subject. I’m in this class because seniors have to take in order to graduate, it’s horrible, I know.”

“I’m here because I like math, I like it a lot, and I’m good at it. I’m a junior, so, yeah… We’re opposites, huh? You’re old and you hate math, and I’m young and I love it,” Alfred said, mirroring the other’s smile by the end of his babblings. What’s more, it stretched into a full-blown grin when he heard Arthur laugh, even feeling his arm touched in a playful manner.

“I’m only a year ahead of you, calm down, I’m not old,” he said, a few chuckles continuing to burst from him here and there…

Alfred’s grin persisted long after pre-calculus had ended, a quick goodbye said to his new seatmate - friend? - as he left the classroom. It was plastered on him like a shining seal of happiness, and when questioned about it at lunch by Matthew, he claimed it was the product of the school’s hamburger’s on the menu today. And when questioned a second time at home, his claim changed to the fact that their father had called and told them that he would be pulling an all-nighter. Yes, his happiness stemmed from simple grilled beef and a lack of parental interruptions. It certainly wasn’t because he had made a fresh acquaintance in first hour, and he certainly wasn’t amorously distracted by that enticing accent or girlish figure or how his arm had been touched…!

Laying in bed later that evening and busying his mind with these thoughts, Alfred soon recognized a familiar ache in his lower half. He blinked and shifted beneath the sheets, his arousal furthering from the fabric of his boxers brushing against him with the movement. Hm. With Matthew still finishing up his shower and changing in the adjacent bedroom, he saw no harm in sliding one hand beyond the elastic band at his waist. Since masturbation wasn’t a part of his normal routine and with someone other than his twin in mind, he wasn’t too surprised at how much pleasure he took from the first stroke. He moaned, licked his lips, and continued.

“Sorry, I was thinking about you changing and I got excited. I guess I can’t help myself,” he was explaining a couple of minutes later, Matthew having climbed into the bed. The smaller blonde had immediately moved on top of him and had noticed the hardening member hiding under those innocent, rocket ship-print print boxers. He accepted the lie and beamed at the explanation, however, and was delighted to hear more, “I need you, Mattie. My dick’s so hard for you, seriously, I almost came just thinking about you.”

Alfred then brought him in for a kiss, pleads for affection tied into the mix of lips and tongues. It wasn’t until the contact was broken, their bodies already moving with one another, that he received a reply.

“You’re so cute, Alfred… Mm, school wore me out more than I thought it would, so let’s skip the sex tonight. But I don’t want to leave you like that, so how about I suck you off?” Matthew offered, already working to toss the sheets aside and pulling down his twin’s boxers to reveal the warm, throbbing bit of flesh that he was entirely accustomed to. Their eyes met for a split-second. His right hand then went to lightly grip the base while his mouth went straight to its task of taking a delicious amount of the erection in. The left hand shifted behind Alfred and squeezed his backside, something he knew intensified the experience for him. He knew because they were lovers, because they had always been this way and that nothing would change them.

And when Alfred eventually released stronger and faster than ever before, so much so that Matthew needed to both swallow and lick the excess, spilled semen from his twin’s inner thighs, he believed that it was all within his power. He knew that he was the reason for Alfred’s sexual highs, not the mental image of some British senior.

Matthew remained oblivious, and Alfred couldn’t wait for math class tomorrow.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~
12 April 2011 @ 09:34 pm
Title: Goosetail - Part V, The Tower - [[USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, America/England
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and sexual situations.
Summary: That bare skin would have been freezing if it hadn’t been for the warm body above him, pushing and thrusting against him...


Alfred’s probing mouth was soon followed by his probing… well, it’s safe to say that Arthur was feeling a whole new kind of pain and pleasure once he had released the first time - this having caused Alfred to swallow, wipe his chin, and begin to undress his lower half. After a bit of position adjusting and stretching, Arthur found himself on his hands and knees, facing down and with his backside up in the air. That bare skin would have been freezing if it hadn’t been for the warm body above him, pushing and thrusting against him…

Sex. He blamed it being his first time, but it felt so extraordinarily wonderful and excruciating simultaneously. He wasn’t bleeding, from what he could tell, though he was positive that he was going to be split in half from all this newfound stretching. Bloody hell, he wasn’t an acrobat, his insides weren’t meant to move like this! But then… then Alfred would hit some spot far inside him and he would coo, nerves wrapped in a delicious fire.

“A-Ah, fuck,” he hissed between grit teeth, squirming like a dog in heat. His hands clawed at the floor and his emerald green gaze began to fog over with tears. He flexed his spine and whimpered as the penetration increased, suddenly feeling too much at once. A gulp of air was taken, “Al-Alfred… You’re, ah, oohh… Alfred…”

“Shhh, I gotcha,” Alfred responded with, almost purred, damn it, both hands now grasping Arthur’s hips as he continued his steady rhythm of in and out. His own hips shook slightly, tinged with ecstasy and strength. He let out a groan, “So tight, glad I had you first…”

They went on fucking and grunting and sweating like the dirty pieces of society they were - only stopping when Arthur felt a warm burst of liquid inside him and when he himself was finished off for a second time by Alfred’s hand… He flopped over, finally able to do so now that Alfred had pulled out. A sigh was heaved and he rolled over to face him, having felt him shift to rest on the floor, as well. The tremors of physical pleasure that were still flowing through his every bit of flesh combined with the brisk, garden-scented night air that was fluttering in through his cracked window left him breathless.

“Look at you…”Alfred said, astoundingly calm for just a minute or two after sex with someone he had known for less than week. He was grinning. “This has been quite the night, huh? A night with a knight in shining--”

“You are most certainly not a knight in shining armor! You’re crazy.”

“-- a night with me. You’ve cross dressed, spied, and lost your virginity! I’m pretty proud of you. We should do this more often,” Alfred managed to tie off his interrupted babblings with. Chuckling softly, he nestled against the blushing blonde and threw an arm over his body, keeping them close. Neither of them bothered to hitch their clothes back up or wipe any stains from their skin before falling into a content sleep.

The morning after was Hell.

They had been discovered - it seemed that the King’s soldier count had doubled overnight, half patrolling in and around the castle while the other half were out on the road to war. And it appeared that a certain squadron of these soldiers who remained within the castle held the job of ordering the servants around, for the time being. When it was realized that a certain, scrawny male night cleaner was missing, they immediately checked his assigned quarters. It was here, a few seconds after the corridor’s gilded clock had struck eight, that Arthur and Alfred were found out.

Torn from their broom closet of a hiding place, Alfred and Arthur had hardly a moment to redress themselves and to understand that this was the end for them, tossing one another worried glances as they were led from the little door in the wall, soldiers surrounding them and their hands being bound by thick rope. They were told not to speak, and that the King had no time to deal with a grubby assassin and the treacherous servant who had formed an alliance with him, that they would merely be condemned to death without further fussing. Arthur whimpered, and Alfred kept his head cocked high. Damn him. No amount of bravery would save them - he knew where they were headed. The tallest tower of the entire castle. There was a stone ledge that jutted out from it, where prisoners and the like were kicked off into a deep, dark pit below. He saw nothing but broken necks in their future together.

Led past the ballroom and up several flights of cherry wood stairs, their sides grazing along the banister which they were cornered against, Arthur silently cursed the world. He cursed the King’s prying soldiers, he cursed himself for being so careless, and, most of all, he cursed Alfred - that blue-eyed demon had given him a taste of real adventure and adrenaline, and now it was being taken away from him! They were going to die! For once, he had truly experienced life, he noticed that he was craving more, a-and more… This craving increased for every step toward his death he took. He gulped and glanced at the man at fault here.

To be liberated, oh, to be liberated from all this - he wished for nothing more. Either that, or he would have liked to die miserable, completely innocent and viewing death as a fresh start for him. No, no, let him go and live…!

“… And, finally, for crimes of treason,” the head soldier of the squadron read to them by memory, seeming to have accumulated and calculated their wrong doings when they had been marching to the tower, currently standing on that terrible jutted stone point that Arthur had mentioned earlier. They were side by side, the heels of their feet nearly over the edge and their hands still bound. Gazes locked straight ahead, they listened to the head soldier and his monotone, merciless voice, “You are both to die for these crimes. Away with you.”

And as two of the soldiers stepped forward to deliver swift kicks of fate, Alfred did something amazing.

He leapt at them, hidden knife from last night’s ball drawn and its steel blade glittering in the daylight. That blade was soon dripping scarlet, as he had been quick to slice through the two guards, the remainder of the squadron too hasty with their own weapons to stop him. They were equally sliced, some mortally wounded and others simply stunned. Either way, they had a clear path. He extended a hand to Arthur, a free hand, a hand he had used to keep the knife concealed until the proper moment, to cut the ropes and win against the soldiers. He was beaming.

“No need to thank me, just call me a hero, and let’s get out of here.”

Blinking, Arthur edged closer, allowing his own bound hands to be released and agreeing, “All right, you win… Hero.”


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~


Title: Goosetail - Part IV, The Broom Closet - [[USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, America/England
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur yelped, a rather manly yelp, if such a sound was even possible, and he cursed himself for giving a hint toward his true gender... 


“Tomorrow, in fact. I will raise this great army of mine starting tomorrow!”

These vicious words of the King, followed by the cheers of his noble group, were lost on Arthur and Alfred as they fled the scene in the garden. They scurried along with Arthur in the lead, intending to guide them back to his servant’s chambers. Broom closet. It was more of a tight broom closet than a ‘chamber’.

Attempting to act innocent for every partygoer and guard they trotted past once they were back inside the castle, Arthur was oblivious to the hard stares he was currently receiving from Alfred. He was being inspected from every angle - up and down, side to side, even the style of his walking and head movements were noted. Hm. The young hero’s brows knitted together in thought at these observations and at the remembrance of their close encounter within the lilies. He could have sworn he noticed something beneath that dress, of course he was going to be watchful and suspicious…!

“How much further, Miss Kirkland?” he questioned, unable to keep the rising skepticism out of his voice. He kept his gaze locked on his skittish blonde guide, weaving through the castle’s upper, darkened corridors with him. Damn, his mighty intuition must have been thrown off by all the excitement around here, he couldn’t yet say for sure as to whether or not his suspicions were correct. He couldn’t call the other out, it was too soon and he may actually be wrong, which meant he had to continue on with being polite, “I don’t want you to wear yourself out with all this rushing about.”

“I’m fine, we’re almost there…”

Indeed, it was only a few more turns up ahead before they arrived at a spot along the wall where there was a latch built into the structure, decorated to match the flowery wallpaper surrounding it and barely big enough for a small adult to fit in through. Alfred had to squeeze and wiggle for over a minute in order to follow Arthur into the hidden hovel that was his personal ‘servant’s chamber’. And it was a damn good thing he could see that it had an open window on the opposite end once they were inside. He couldn’t imagine how stuffy it would be otherwise!

Despite the fact that he had just had a personal tour inside the King’s mind and was now accepting the only hospitality he could receive, Alfred couldn’t help but be blunt as he leaned back on the nearest wall, wooden and half-way covered with a stack of novels, as he asked “So, what now?”

Arthur bit his lower lip and hesitated, emerald gaze weary while he knelt down a few feet away from Alfred, “Well… It’s past sunset, which means I’m supposed to be doing my usual castle-cleaning work. But, since I have to make sure you don’t get into any trouble, I’ll have to skip tonight and stay here. There really isn’t much to do. We should wait until we figure out what to do next, if we’re even going to do anything. We wait. And sleep, if you’re tired.”

Alfred nodded and then nodded a second time when Arthur excused himself to the closet within this closet of a servant’s chamber, declaring that he needed to change and would be out soon enough. When Alfred himself was asked if he required some alone time in order to change, he shook his head and said that the rest of his clothing was hidden off in the nearby woods under some tree and beside a stream where he had left his horse tied, his noble steed - and he wouldn’t dare ride away to safety now, not with such an interesting scene playing out before him, even more fascinating than the King and his plans, really…

It was pleasant to live in a time period where men and women wore similar articles of clothing to bed - nightgowns, as the one Arthur already owned and hadn’t been forced to steal - and therefore made the task of masking one’s true more simple. However, it was certainly more obnoxious than pleasant to have your company eyeing you like some freshly-sliced piece of roast beef when you stepped out of your changing closet. Arthur awkwardly pushed his still-clipped-in hair extensions behind his ears and swished along in his nightwear, hoping to appear somewhat feminine in his manner of walking and then sitting. He delicately folded his legs beneath himself once he was adjusted in front of the peering blonde.

“… Miss Kirkland,” Alfred finally started with, breaking the soft silence that had settled over them and their little hideout, “I want to thank you again for all you’ve done for me. Really, you’ve been great. Any jokes and laughs asides, I wouldn’t have been able to get this far without you.”

He took his hand - for the umpteenth time tonight, damn it! - and flashed a wicked smile.

Arthur fidgeted, focusing less on that smile and more on how Alfred’s fingers were beginning to trace up along his arm while he replied, “Yes, well… Bloody hell, it was no big deal. We haven’t done much, anyway, there’s no need for thanks… Alfred, you’re touching me. Stop it.”

Touching was quite the understatement, as the curious hero was now flat-out stroking along Arthur’s arms. He may have enjoyed it if he weren’t trying to keep a secret and if he wasn’t having to face that stupid grin. He made a ‘hmph’ sound and edged back by a few inches, oblivious to the information he had just unknowingly given Alfred; muscles could be felt under the fabric of nightgowns. What’s more, said fabric would press down completely on the chest of a male, as Arthur’s did, when that male folded his arms in a fit of defiance. There was no breast support, not even some tiny bumps.

Right. He believed that he had enough ‘evidence’ at this point, it was time to put his valient plan into action! And if it failed or turned out to be incorrect, then at least he was doing the heroic thing by making an attempt!

“Hey. C’mere.”

“Wha--? N-No, wait! Argh!”

Arthur yelped, a rather manly yelp, if such a sound was even possible, and he cursed himself for giving a hint toward his true gender. Though it mattered not at this point, as it seemed that Alfred had already figured out everything for himself. For the reason he had yelped in the first place was that he had been pushed backward onto the floor, Alfred quickly wiggling to be in between his legs. There was an abrupt downward pressure and he gasped.

He blushed. He squirmed. He whipped his head to the side in order to avoid eye contact while Alfred leaned in and whispered, “I thought so. A hero’s intuition, really, ha… What’s with the act, Miss Kirkland?”

Surprisingly, Arthur immediately informed him of the actual situation, if only to spare his body from being stabbed repeatedly, which is why he had put on this female façade in the first place, and if only it would get Alfred off of him at a faster rate. It didn’t. His little explanation and growled plea for mercy earned him nothing more than a laugh, a grin. How annoying! And fuck, he couldn’t escape, the weight and muscle power above him was too much to struggle with.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, so calm down… I’m just, kinda confused. I mean, it’s great that I was smart enough to figure you out, but, you know, I don’t want the adventure to stop there,” he told him with a pensive expression, leaning in a little further and causing their breaths to mix and for Arthur to involuntarily gulp. This caused his confidence to swell and now there was no way in Hell he would move from the fairly suggestive position he had taken up. Heh. “I know we still have the King to overthrow and everything, but that could be days from now. What about the rest of tonight? I think there’s time left for more heroic acts and adventuring.”

“What… What do you mean?” Arthur questioned him suspiciously, not bothering to adjust his voice to the female role he was no longer playing. He continued to blush furiously and squirm in his pinned-back circumstances, however, he was listening and inquisitive. “What are you saying?”

“I mean, you know, are you… like that? You know what I mean?”

“Like what?”

Alfred’s glasses slid by a millimeter or two down his nose as he closed in on Arthur’s slim frame, finding his lips of all things. With his own. He refused to pull away until he had gotten a good taste and shock from the other.

“… Like that?”

Startled by the sudden, affectionate gesture, Arthur lay motionless and blinking for a good ten seconds before something occurred to him. Alfred was ‘like that’, and he himself definitely had a story to tell…

“So, you see,” he was saying a few minutes later while summing everything up, “nobody around here wants to kiss a lowly servant boy who works in the dead of night. That was my first kiss… Which means, I don’t exactly know what I like or if I’m ‘like that’, I have absolutely no experience to speak of whatsoever.”

Alfred chuckled, pleased with this information, “Well, I’m no mighty sex god myself, but I’m sure we can still manage to have a bit of fun…”

The second kiss was a little more rough than the first - this was due to the fact that Arthur was giving in this time around rather than being caught off guard. And not only was he giving in, he was also pursuing, pressing his lips back against Alfred’s with what he hoped was a pleasurable amount of force. The corners of his mouth tingled and he eventually found himself parting his lips completely, his tongue unexpectedly eager. Thankfully, Alfred’s was, too, and he couldn’t help but whimper as they slid back and fourth together in a slick friction of curiosity and lust. He was so engulfed by the sensations that he failed to notice his own, awkward mouth-smacking noises for each new kiss they began - oh well, a beginner’s mistake.

The hair pulling and murmuring of Alfred’s name came naturally to him, on the other hand, as he was usually one to be fussy. It almost seemed as if he were scolded him, and his excitement deepened when being able to call out the other’s name gave him a strange sense of power. He inwardly wondered if he was already developing some sexual kinks, though he was unable to dwell on the matter for long. Having Alfred increase the ferocity of the kiss for each passing second and feeling his hands slowly exploring his barely-clothed backside - it was much too distracting.

Although, after just several minutes of their busy locked lips, Arthur was pained to realize that he had a much more prominent issue to deal with here than just his lack of experience - something a little further south than his mouth. It wasn’t his fault he was so easily aroused, he had never done anything like this before, damn it! He shifted uncomfortably beneath his captor and groaned to feel the movement cause an agonizingly-teasing brush of his growing erection on one of Alfred’s hips. Fuck.

“Shhh, it-it’s all right,” Alfred said in the most purring voice he could manage, which wasn’t too attractive when he was out of breath, a result of a lack of enough pauses between their kisses. He smiled shakily, the expression widening when he gave a light downward thrust and noticed how effortless it was to feel Arthur through the thin fabric of his nightgown. Hard and smoothed over by the covering of the soft material. He attempted another purr, “I’ll take care of this… I’m going to show you a little trick with my mouth and hands. Try not to scream.”

And as Arthur began to lose the innocence of his body with Alfred leading the way, the remainder of the castle was on edge as the King made plans to claim this world for his own.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

18 March 2011 @ 06:56 pm

Title: Goosetail - Part III, The Garden - [[USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, America/England
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and future sexual situations.
Summary: Alfred smiled, bending his own head downward to press his lips to the closest pale cheek he found. This kiss was gentle and a bit smirking - and it caused Arthur's mind to churn at the same confusing rate as his stomach...


Alfred drew in a sharp, strained breath, his eyes glued to the King. The man’s flowing velvet robes and crowned head of dark brown hair swayed with his weight as he exited to the left of the hall with his chosen company. And Alfred continued to stare until he vanished from sight completely.

He licked his lips and his gaze narrowed.

“… No. Whatever the bloody hell you’re thinking, no,” Arthur snapped at him, a bubble of worry beginning to brew within his stomach upon watching his date’s forehead wrinkle in thought. Terrible thoughts, no doubt.

“Aw, it’s all right, we’re just going to follow him.”

Arthur blinked, and blinked again. He took a moment in order to reassure himself that his makeup hadn’t somehow ruined his vision and deceived him into believing that he actually saw a smile on that fool’s face. No makeup damage whatsoever, that brash expression across from him was, unfortunately, very real. Fuck.

“We’re just going to follow him? You idiot, do you have any idea as to what would happen if he caught us, us with no excuse to be out there in that garden, no excuse to even be at this ball!?” he hissed, a step taken back from their rather snug dancing position. He folded his arms and went on to say, “We would be exiled or tortured or--!”

“Hey, isn’t the ‘main garden’ or whatever he said right beside that little herb plantation we were at earlier?” Alfred abruptly questioned. His voice was stronger than Arthur’s suppressed one, his effeminate tone brushed aside, and he was forced to listen… Hm? The herb plantation from earlier? What did that have to do with anything?

“Yes, it is,” he answered, the corners of his mouth twitching in annoyance. A second backward step was taken when Alfred’s glasses caught the light in an absolutely mischievous manner at the sound of his given response. This couldn’t possibly be good. And that was confirmed when he himself was snatched up like a twig and hauled along by his forearm through the dancing and chattering crowd. They were headed for the left exit of the hall.

The scheming ‘hero’ managed to explain his thinking process while they scurried along, “All right, so here it is - I remember seeing the main garden from the herb plantation, and it’s huge! Well, you should know, since you live here. Anyway, I’m sure with so many plants and statues and everything else in there, we’ll be safe! I’m sure we can find good hiding places and we can spy from there, being totally inconsistent!”

Heaving a sigh, Arthur made a retort, “First of all, the world you’re looking for is inconspicuous. However, more importantly, I still say no. This is way too dangerous! You have no idea what could happen, do you?”

If he had planned on furthering this rant, he wasn’t given the opportunity, as Alfred had soon whipped around to hold him steady by the shoulders. A small squeeze was given. He was grinning, again, and their eyes met at such an intensity that the flustered blonde was forced to look away. Though his ears perked at the following words he heard, “Miss Kirkland, please don’t worry. I’m the hero in this story, I have to take risks that might help me, it’s just how I am. My brave blood would boil if I didn’t… And now, I would really, really appreciate it if you came with me.”

Arthur’s shoulders were released and his right hand touched, an indication that Alfred hoped for him to stay close by. He did, after a quick pondering of the situation, and trotted beside him, head partially bowed and feet scuffing on the regal flooring that led to the left exit. Two guards were placed on either side of the carved oaken door that was the entrance to the main garden, their matching bladed staffs crossed over the middle of the door in a ceremonious manner. Only the gleam of their vicious gazes could be seen poking out from the helmets of their armor. Armor that was shadowed by the overhanging fixtures around the top of the door, which gave them a little extra lenience in the prospect of remaining hidden.

You better know what you’re doing, Alfred. I’m probably being an idiot here and putting more faith in you than you deserve, goddamn it…

Lost in this inner grumble for a moment, Arthur was surprised by what he saw when he glanced up. Alfred had squirmed his way in between the guards while innocently asking the whereabouts of the nearest gentleman’s room, and had stuck both hands out and upward when the armored men turned their heads. His hands located a particular area of flesh on each guard’s temporarily exposed neck, and he roughly pinched it with his thumb and pointer finger. Under the cover of the bliss and plain stupidity of the guests, the guards moaned and collapsed on the floor within a few seconds. Alfred swiftly dragged their unconscious bodies together and off to one side of the door. He then turned to his blinking blonde companion, nodded, and proceeded to undo the door’s iron latch.

... Well, all right, the task may not have been completed with some courageous sword slashes or blood-lusting punches, like the heroes in his beloved fiction novels usually did, but it was indeed done. It went quickly and unnoticed, too. He smiled softly to himself. Perhaps Alfred was a person he could have absolute confidence in. And there were certainly means to finding out: head for that garden with him.

“I see him,” Alfred whispered, using his arm, once again locked with Arthur’s, to guide them back behind a hedge, its lush greenness keeping them out of the sight of the King. He currently stood about twenty feet from them and was surrounded by the Queen and whatever other nobles he had chosen. They had taken a roundabout path to reach the hedge they were at now, and had avoided being spotted, their movements constantly at the rear, they didn’t dare attempt to walk at the same pace or in front of the King. Not even Alfred was that reckless.

“I-I see him… too. But what, whew, are we going to do?” Arthur questioned breathlessly, nearly wheezing as he gripped the chest of dress and leaned against the sturdy hedge. He gulped the night air in and fought of a gasp of surprise at how winded he was. Fuck, he should have seen this coming! The two or three glasses of champagne he drank earlier combined with all this bouncing around in tiring high heels… It made for a… He paused in his own thoughts to feel a painful lurch in the pit of his stomach… It made for a sick feeling. He was going to be sick. “Uhm…”

Alfred, who was watching the King and company with his body tense like a coiled spring, heard Arthur’s stressed sounds and glanced over to witness him fanning himself and clinging to the shrubbery for support. His brow furrowed in worry and he managed to avert his eyes from his target and focused on the young lady - man - beside him. His concern for the other was heightened when he noticed the beads of sweat that dotted Arthur’s pale white skin here and there, his legs trembling and his weight beginning to sink to the ground.

“I-I’m fine, I’m fine,” Arthur said as Alfred rested the back of his hand on his dampened forehead and held him by his shoulder. He would have been blushing at the contact if his mind weren’t so preoccupied by the thought he might see that champagne and those party finger foods for a second time. Ugh. He lurched forward again and slapped his right hand over his mouth, removing it and speaking when he was certain that nothing was going to interrupt him, “I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all. The… The lights and music from the ball and running outside like this has just made me a little dizzy.”

He winced and blinked over at Alfred. And he winced when he was scooped up bridal-style without any warning.

His stomach gave another painful lurch, but at least he was off his feet at this point and he no longer needed to grip that damn scratchy hedge. Instead, he was holding onto, with both hands, in fact, the front of Alfred’s dress tunic. And as he opened his mouth to protest or something of the like, he took in a deep breath of the cologne Alfred was wearing… A musky scent with a sort of mild honey tang. Wow, that’s actually-- Wait, why hadn’t he smelled it before? Where did a scruffy troublemaker like him even find cologne? Why was he still mentally fussing over this!?

“Gah!” he growled, the noise bursting from his mouth due to his lack of a steady mind. He shook his head, which, of course, simply made his swirling stomach feel worse. He groaned, “Put me down.”

“Nah, I’ll just keep things this way. I’m sorry, but I don’t need you slowing me down, Miss Kirkland. Let me carry you and you can rest that dizzy head of yours…” Alfred smiled, bending his own head downward to press his lips to the closest pale cheek he found. The kiss was gentle and a bit smirking - and it caused Arthur’s mind to churn at the same confusing rate as his stomach. “… Okay?”

Arthur gulped and gave a weak nod.

“Great! Now, let’s keep going. I think they’ve stopped a ways up ahead, that’ll be good for us, too,” he chirped while they crept away from the hedge together.

They sought out a fresh hiding place in a circle of lily plants, the tall, thick stalks keeping them safe, that was almost directly beside the benches and pond where the King and his company sat. The royal group spoke calmly amongst themselves, although the King was the most prominent of the lot, “An army! A mighty army I do wish to raise! Obviously, my kingdom already has a powerful military force, and yet I wish to make it grander. More soldiers more weapons! Think of it, those idiotic neighboring countries, and possibly those beyond them, could be mine!”

“Tch, what a dick, he’s stealing my plan! And I don’t know if I’m ready to stop him yet,” Alfred murmured between grit teeth. It took every ounce of strength he had not to dash out to the benches and stick his blade in the King’s throat. He growled again at the thought. He then turned to face Arthur, still inwardly fuming, and was softened instantly by the looks of the other. Arthur wasn’t trying to, honestly, he couldn’t help that he was fanning his flushed neck with the petals of a plucked lily or that he was allowing tiny whimpering sounds to escape him… Noticing the attention he was receiving, he pulled his shawl more tightly around him, an involuntary reaction to embarrassment.

“Ah… Maybe we should quit for tonight. There really isn’t much more we can do right now, I guess. C’mon,” Alfred shrugged, moving to place his right hand on Arthur’s, the sweat-dampened fingers laying against his stomach. He snatched it back out of his continued embarrassment, and that proved to be a fatal mistake. Almost as fatal as last night when he had accepted this supposed hero into his life.

With noting to grab, Alfred’s hand wavered for a split-second until it merely flopped on the green gown’s fabric. It fell at Arthur’s waistline, where he could have sworn he noticed something other than the smooth femininity one would expect from a young lady such as Miss Kirkland. Something below. Below.


“Yes! I agree completely, l-let’s head inside,” Arthur said, barely remembering to maintain a quiet voice with the King likely being within earshot. His cheeks were the darkest shade of pink to date, and he hurried to stand and create distance between himself and Alfred. He only maintained his cool and his appearance as a helpful servant girl by making an offer in a fairly pleasant tone, “You said you wanted to see the servant’s quarters or what have you, right? Let’s go then, we’ll stay there tonight and figure everything out there… I’m feeling much better, by the way.”

At least, he hoped he would be feeling better. If he didn’t, he couldn’t imagine how treacherous the rest of this night could be. What’s worse than a violent King catching you in his private garden? A fooled young man in a shared bedroom wanting to take a look at your privates.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

Title: Goosetail - Part II, The Ballroom - [[USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, America/England
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and future sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur gave a huff of air, concentrating on the actions of his feet more than anything, fretting for no apparent reason over the touching of Alfred's hand at his waist and shoulder...


Turning the shimming green garment over in his hands for the fifth or sixth time, Arthur finally came to the conclusion that no matter how long he wished and stared, the dress in his grasp would remain a dress. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to wearing, regardless of its beauty. That beauty was overshadowed by its feminine appearance and stolen status.

Yes, the dress had been stolen, along with several other items, simply snatched out the Queen’s closet late last night after his little conversation with the ‘hero’ in the corridor - the grinning intruder had slipped back out of the same window he had entered from while he himself scurried down to the royal chambers. He doubted the Queen would notice the absence of one dress when she had an entire room within the room of her closet that was dedicated solely to her evening wear. Tch. The idea caused him to roll his eyes skyward, though not quite as much as the idea of him, of… Alfred.

He shook his head. The thought of the young man reminded him that he needed to hustle up, they were scheduled to meet up in less than half an hour at the small herb plantation outside of the castle, near the ballroom, which was their area of interest tonight. Almost an entire day had passed since their last meeting, and he was beginning to feel a bit nervous… Ever since he had returned to his broom closet of a servant’s room late last night, butterflies had been flitting around his stomach.

B-But, he felt butterflies because of the rage he may insight into the already-darkened heart of the King by assisting an outsider and spying on him and plotting against him! Not a chance in Hell was it because he worried about Alfred’s reactions to him, whether or not he would be able to maintain his fake female identity, plain ‘Miss Kirkland’, as he had previously told the young man to address him, and whether or not Alfred would actually… like him? Appreciate him? Ah, fuck, he didn’t know, and he didn’t have the time to sit there and ponder it. He had a dress to wiggle his way into.

And thank goodness the Queen was a bit on the skinny side - the King, of course, had chosen one of the most fair and formed women in the kingdom for his latest bride - which meant that Arthur was able to wear the dress without it seeming too bulky or awkward on the slim stature he bore. However, it was still a teenaged boy in women’s clothing, and his cheeks became tinted while he watched his cross dressing-self fidget in the mirror on his wall. Again, he had little time to waste staring at himself, so he was quick to kneel down in front of the mirror and pop open the tins of makeup and blonde hair clips that he had also stolen.

For the following twenty minutes, he fussed with everything from his eyeliner’s thickness to the angles of his extended hair clips. It was no wonder he constantly heard the lords and dukes of the castle complain about women and how long their appearance preparation took! During this time, a moment was taken to think on whether or not he should pluck his maybe-larger-than-average-eyebrows to enhance his femininity. Nah. On that note, he barely managed to scramble out of his room, ‘borrowed’ high heels and all, to meet Alfred at their set time in the herb plantation.

He knew when Alfred’s eyes darted over him with a bemused expression upon his arrival that it was going to be a very, very lengthy night.

“Miss Kirkland,” he greeted him rather formally with, annoyingly taking his right hand for the second time in the past twenty-four and kissing it. The equally formal attire of a dress tunic and stockings on him caused everything to be all the more strange. And the only item that could have been worse than the affectionate gesture was Alfred’s commentary on what he was wearing, something extremely unnecessary and occurring this instant, “That dress looks lovely on you, I like how it matches your eyes, the perfect date for a hero… Although, your makeup seems a bit off. Here.”

Arthur had been so preoccupied with the first piece of praise, involuntarily toying with the placement of his hair clips and his pastel pink shawl, brought along to cover his somewhat-muscular arms, that he was surprised with the observation of his poorly-done makeup. He was even more surprised by Alfred’s saliva-dampened thumb reaching up to wipe away a bit of the excess gloss on the corners of his lips. Their gazes locked for a brief moment and he let out a slight gasp before he gained a grip on the situation and batted at the probing thumb while its owner chuckled.

“Never you mind, let’s head inside. Hurry, get in with the crowd and move to the back with me once we’re through the doors,” Arthur instructed him in his light female tone, allowing their arms to be linked as they exited the herb plantation and worked their way amongst the people entering the lavish building.

Walking briskly through the crowd to their destination, Arthur, to his horror, noticed an ever-present trait in the royal and esteemed women around them. Breasts. Curves. Oh, fuck. His flat chest and boxy male figure failed to completely compliment the gown he was wearing, something he should have noticed earlier! What should he do, what should he do!? His exposure was imminent! Should he excuse himself and flee to the powder room to stuff himself, or should he just call this whole thing off--!?

“Did I already tell you that you look lovely? Because you do, despite your funny eye shadow,” Alfred smiled down at him while they walked, the white fabric of his dress tunic brushing against him. “Heh, I never knew servant girls could clean up so well.”

With a tiny gritting of his teeth, Arthur realized that Alfred was, thankfully, probably too oblivious to notice his lack of cleavage and hips, and he sighed, “Yes, you already said that. And I already told you to keep quiet about it. I look silly and I could care less, we have work to do…”

Alfred was going to open his mouth and inform him that he was sincere in his words, but then chose to remain silent when he caught sight of the determined air about the other. How adorable.

Indeed, they had work to do - they staked out a point at the rear of the ballroom, idly sipping glasses of champagne together and pretending to comment on the many silver and gold streamers draped onto the walls, the fragrant floral center pieces that brought each dining table a flash of color. It was nothing more than a ruse, the crowd discussing the latest gossip of the country and the reason for this particular ball, a prince’s birthday, while they stood and focused on the King at the far end of the building.

“You see,” Arthur began to explain with a quick gesture toward the King, “beneath those robes of his, he wears armor. Double-steel-enforced armor on both his front and back that he even wears in his sleep for protection. You can’t just sprint up there and stab him. Well, you could, though you would have to stab him straight in the throat to be effective.”

He gave a grunt, this being one of the many bits of information he had shared with and explained to Alfred in the past hour. At least he hadn’t been cut off too much in that time.

“Hm…” was Alfred’s response, his eyes almost appearing calculative, his left hand tucked beneath his chin. He held this position for nearly a minute, then snapped his fingers, and conjured up that familiar grin. His voice was filled with a frightening amount of bravery, “Let’s get closer to him! C’mon!”

“Wait, what? No! Th-That’s the reason we’re back here, you idiot! We don’t want to be seen, we don’t need to be closer to him, it could be dangerous,” Arthur argued in vain, his champagne glass snatched from his hand and set aside by Alfred, his body being guided down from the ballroom’s raised rear area and out into the open. Not a single guest gave them more than a glance, and yet, in his frantic state of mind, each and every set of eyes around them were cold and eager to report them to the King. He gulped a nervous lump that was caught in his throat.

Now that they had shifted to the middle of the building, there was one obstacle between them and the throne where the King sat watching the ball - the floor space set aside for, goddamn it, dancing.

“May I have this dance, Miss Kirkland?” Alfred asked from where they stood at the edge of the cherry wood polished floor, bowing and offering his hand .The movement led to a brief view of the young man’s back, the sparkling light from the crystal chandeliers hanging above almost seeming to illuminate the blade that was tucked away in backside of Alfred’s belt. He certainly was resolute in regards to this attempt at a noble assassination. Musing this seriousness, he immediately accepted the offer, if only to hurry that fool from bending over any longer and risk having someone notice the shape of the blade beneath the dress tunic’s fabric.

“Look at him up there…” Alfred said as they stepped onto the floor and picked up with the other dancers. They rocked gently and stepped this way and that to the sounds of the small string orchestra in a corner at the front, and he continued, “His face is terrifying, his expression is set in stone. And he looks like he’s ready to kill a spunky hero like myself.”

Arthur gave a huff of air, concentrating on the actions of his feet more than anything, fretting for no apparent reason over the touching of Alfred’s hand at his waist and shoulder. Because of this, he failed to foresee the mild innuendo would create when he spoke, “I know, it’s awful. It’s as if he’s ready to kill anyone, really, wanting to consume their body and take it for himself.”

Laughing softly, Alfred’s voice was made to be more of a purr and he brought them closer by a few inches with a press of his hand, saying, “Speaking of consuming bodies, figuratively, of course, and keeping them for oneself… I think that’s a great idea for me, and I think I already have the perfect candidate. I mean, the servant’s quarters can’t be that small, and, hey, I’m sure we’ll be quiet enough--”

“You perverse fiend,” Arthur interrupted him with, blushing profusely. The blood in his system had flooded to his cheeks when he realized what was being implied and when he actually pictured it inside his mind. He shuddered. A good shudder or a bad shudder, who knows. He found himself unable to dwell on such things when he was too busy flaring his nostrils in anger and resisting the urge to punch Alfred in jaw… He couldn’t do that, it would draw unwelcome attention.

The cocky and easily-excitable part of his mind, however, couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride - he had honestly tricked him into believing that he was a woman. What a talent! It was unclear to him as to whether or not he enjoyed using this talent, but that hardly mattered, the both of them turning their heads forward and focusing to watch as the King make an announcement of his departure to the main garden with the Queen and a few others.

“He’s gone,” they whispered.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

Note: It may be a week or two before the next chapter is up, as I'll be out of town.

09 March 2011 @ 12:23 am
Title: Goosetail - Part I, The Corridor - [[USUK]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, America/England 
Rating: R
Warnings: Language and future sexual situations.
Summary: His hand had been snatched back at this point, clasped together with the other in the pale blue folds of his apron’s fabric...


Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow, adjusted his apron, and sighed.

A quick glance at one of the castle’s many regal clocks told him that it was only a few minutes past midnight, the gilded hour hand still resting on the twelve. Leaning on his broom, he pouted at it. He then pouted down at the pile of dust he had collected from his endless sweeping motions down along the corridor. Damn. A few minutes past midnight signaled that he about another hour or so remained before he would be sent off to bed - and why was he doing his servant’s work so late in the night? Why was he a servant to begin with? Well, his tale is somewhat of a children’s classic, filled with a faraway setting and royalty and wishes. All it was missing was some real adventure…

His parents didn’t have even one copper piece to their name when he was born. Because of this, naturally, they sold him to the first nobleman that passed through their dirty little hillside village on the following day. They received a considerable amount of gold while their son was carried off to the country’s mighty castle to be made a slave under the rule of the King.

He was raised there, raised to work there, and made to do women’s work such as cleaning due to the high number of male servants that already occupied the royal grounds. More painful than that, his womanly duties have always been ordered to be carried out at night - him being seen polishing a decorative suit of armor while standing on his tiptoes and clad in an apron certainly not something any esteemed visitors or guests to the castle would appreciate. He managed to earn his three square meals a day and managed to keep his delicate blonde head on his neck through his good behavior… However, in no way did that mean he was content here! Oh, woe is him, him and his life of late-night work and a lack of a family and isolation among the servants who had actually fulfilled their gender roles and weren’t forced to reverse them--!

“Ha, ha, ha!”

This soft, cocky chuckle was heard from a nearby window on the other side of the corridor, one which Arthur had propped open with a box of polishing cloths. And on the edge of the window, between the plum thread-embroidered drapes, there sat a shadowed figure, a curled hair on the head and shining white teeth displayed in a grin being the only distinct features in the faint starlight. The figure took a moment to blink back at the moonless sky and pulled some sort of hook and rope up from beyond the window, and then promptly hopped inside the castle completely as if it were the King himself… This couldn’t be, it was an intruder!

Unbeknownst to his own ears, he must have let out a rather shrill squeak of fear, for a split-second later, the figure had whipped around to face him, a hidden sword drawn. The blade was lowered and sheathed soon enough, though, once the figure had observed him and stepped several paces closer. The figure’s face and was now in the one focused ray of starlight at the center of the corridor, aquamarine eyes brave but not threatening, perhaps it was the half-moon glasses perched on his nose that made him less intimidating. His grin from earlier was still in place, and the curled hair was made more visible in its dark blonde color and seen to be attached to a full head of ruffled locks.

Arthur, in contrast, was backed against a wall in a near-trembling state, the vast majority of his personal details shying away from the dim light that this stranger seemed to soak up and radiate. This would be the first and most major issue between them.

“Ah, please forgive me, fair dusting maiden,” the stranger said while he abruptly strode forward and cupped Arthur’s adjacent hand in his own. He then leaned his head down and - what the bloody hell!? - kissed the back of his palm. Peering up at him, he held an amused expression and continued to perceive him as a woman, saying, “I apologize if I startled you. A hero would never do such a thing, and I can assure you, I am a hero. A great one, too.”

“H-Hero? What are you--!?”

Wait. Not only did this delusional dolt believe that he was a hero, but it was also obvious that he believed Arthur to be female. Why? Well… the girlish yelp he had produced earlier and the work apron tied around his slim waist were most likely to blame. The inky air around him was guarding his masculine aspects, as well. Fuck, this was worse than having to push dust around, and, by the large look of that sword sheathed in the stranger’s leather belt, he had better go along with it all! If he were to be discovered as a male now, he thought in a panicked mindset, the stranger may perceive him to be a threat and stab him on the spot! The wisest course of action, he rationed, was to play the role of the weak, innocent woman servant and lower his eyes. He bowed his head and put out submissive vibes that would keep this rash ‘hero’ from attacking him in a fit of who-knows-what.

And, not only that, but he was forced to pitch voice to somewhat match the shriek from earlier. He winced inwardly when the feathery, feminine sounds were pushed past his lips.

“I, I mean, please, don’t harm me… I promise I won’t breathe a word about your illegal entrance,” he attempted to negotiate with the ‘hero’. His hand had been snatched back at this point, clasped together with the other in the pale blue folds of his apron’s fabric. He didn’t dare look up, and only listened for the next minute or so. And he felt his mouth draw further and further downward into a frown for every word he heard. Even the ‘hero’s’ name caused him displeasure - Alfred, for it was chimed out in a tone that was much too proud. Obnoxious. Loud. Bastard, the thought he had the entire world mapped out and ready to be manipulated!

What’s worse, soon he would find himself in the foreground of it all, although that fact was currently unknown to him, as he was still silently fuming.

The audacity! Simply because this reckless teenager had managed to wiggle his way up the castle’s wall in the middle of the night, simply because the King was not to most fair in the world, didn’t mean something like this was going to happen. This did not make him a hero! However, he didn’t dare speak out. The phrase ‘reckless teenager’ rang out inside his mind while he eyed the blade sheathed at Alfred’s waist.

“… So, do you see what I’m saying?” Alfred said, rudely leaning on the ebony frame of a portrait of the queen. That had just been polished! His soft growl of annoyance was ignored as Alfred continued to speak, “I’ll assassinate the King and gain control of this castle and country. Then I’ll use my newly gained army to assassinate other kings in other countries and will soon have the whole continent in my palm… Ah, it’s great, isn’t it? But before I can do any of that, I need your help.”

Arthur chanced a glance at the lighted face above him, and took another step into the shadows. That glance morphed into a widened gaze of - horror? confusion? opportunity? - while he soaked in why he was ‘needed’. It seemed that, by Alfred’s exaggerated standards, he was the sole person to be trusted in the castle, a mere servant who had been caught off guard and who had been foolish enough to listen to these ramblings. Now Alfred wanted him to be his secret guide within the castle walls, his eyes and ears during daylight hours, and his partner in crime.

“C’mon, if you help me out, I can get you out of those servant clothes. We’ll overthrow the King together! You don’t even have to do much, just give me information and set up a few things!”

This was Alfred’s brilliant proposal to persuade Arthur. It was certainly tempting, but also stupid. Stupidly tempting. He hesitated and nervously wrung his hands together, the palms beginning to sweat when he remembered that somewhere close to fifty feet down along the corridor, the King was sleeping. The man of the castle, the country was sleeping and ready to order Arthur’s head lopped off if he were to commit a high crime. And treason with the companionship of an outsider was definitely a high crime.

A high crime he was considering. A-Ah, well… Fuck it, why not? It wasn’t as if he had much going for him if they did get caught. Accepting Alfred’s idiocy and his half-brewed plan, he gave the ‘hero’ sliver of credit, he did have courage. Hopefully, a bit of that courage would rub off on himself. Because the way he viewed life now, he had two possible courses of action, both of which would require courage to face: either they would succeed and obtain the crown of the kingdom, or they would fail and be sentenced to death. Hey, at least, going by the latter, he wouldn’t have to sweep every inch of these damned hardwood floors any longer.

With a forcibly relaxed breath leaving his body, Arthur nodded and stated in a falsely female voice, “All right, we have a deal. There’s a ball tomorrow evening, and you and I will be attending - it should be our first step. We’ll spy on the king and the other royalties, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~!

22 February 2011 @ 04:37 pm

Title: Blonde Suicides - [[A Oneshot in 3 Parts]]
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, France, France/Jeanne D’Arc
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, Drug use, Self-harm, Human AU.
Summary:  The stories of a wanna-be hero, a colorless man, and a soiled lover...


Alfred F. Jones : Delusional

He loved the world - wanted to save it, wanted to be adored by it, wanted to be its hero. And he actively attempted to do so. From donating blood to taking in stray animals he found in the alleyway behind his apartment complex, he played his given part. Or, at least, he did as much as he could, his very best. Yet that never seemed to be enough, and he hated himself for not being able to cradle the entire earth within the palm of his hand and create perfect peace like he wished to. Every night, he would pray to be blessed with the chance to make that happen, aquamarine eyes gazing at the cityscape outside his window, hoping… By some ill will, that blessing failed to drop from the sky into his lap. He was just a boy who wasn’t meant to know such wondrous things. He was trapped here, in this situation.

Understanding this, he found no error when he leapt from the edge of his ten-story apartment complex. What did it matter - he was acting out a favor for this doomed dimension by having it take care of one less soul, wasn’t he? Sure, he could do good deeds in life, however, in order to exist as the true hero he desired to be, he needed to free himself. And how liberating it was while the smoggy air rushed past his ringing ears. Into death he went, and to whatever world lay beyond it. Perhaps that would be the place he was meant to watch over. This thought surged through his bright, incoherent mind until he struck the pavement.

Arthur Kirkland : Faded

His life was a grey one. Between the black of his concealed depression, to the blissfully white demeanor he projected onto his surroundings, he found himself stuck with that sickly middle shade. And he didn’t give a bloody fuck about it. He was consumed, with this void and without reason, causing him to slowly break off all relations with friends, family, his own mind… There were days when he would skip out his college classes, despite the fact that he was the professor, the youngest on campus and teaching a prestigious Shakespearian literature course. Rather than watching his students’ obnoxious faces while he lectured on the themes of Hamlet, his accented voice ringing throughout the hall, he preferred to sit at home. Alone. Staring out at the rain and sipping a cup of tea, his favorite flavor, Earl Grey…

Damn it. He needed some real color, something to renew his liveliness! A butcher knife to his wrist seemed like the quickest, most-efficient solution to his problem - and what a fantastic river of scarlet it created. It stung, but it was somehow beautiful to him. The metal reflected his gritting teeth and his lips curling upward. Again and again, the blade gnawed at his flesh, his bone, until he could slice no more. He dropped the knife. As his gaze fogged over with pain and tears, he breathed a sigh. Now his mind was finally at peace, lulled to rest by a flurry of dazzling lights and rainbows.

Francis Bonnefoy : Grieving

Before the others, there but a single woman for him - Jeanne. Gorgeous and passionate and perfect, the same as the red roses he often lavished her with. She maintained a sense of balance in both his body and mind. Until she left him, that is, slaughtered in a brutal car crash, the incident which sent his heart and the majority of his sanity crashing into pieces along with it. He lost his ability to love and became absolutely filthy, from fucking high school girls to businessmen, his nights were occupied. Lonely, his one night stands cold with a lack of romantic sparks, though occupied nonetheless. Without Jeanne, his original and truest lover, this was all he had, and he could handle it.

While he could handle his situation, in no way could he control it. He would toss and turn the moment he went to bed each night, yearning for the past and his pale skin glistening with beads of sweat. His sleeping pills could only give him so much relief. Usually, the little round tablets were taken once or twice a night by him… As time progressed, as his emotional wounds refused to heal, he gulped down the pills at least four times a night. Every night. That was fine by him, being granted more than sleep, making the task of remembering Jeanne more simple. Her scent and touch greeted him in his pseudo-sweet dreams, carrying him off to a placid imaginary land that he never wished to return from. He craved both it and her with such heartache that, one evening, he downed an entire bottle of his new addiction. He slumped to the floor, lost in a permanent slumber and fantasy.


Questions, comments, concerns? Tell me~

06 December 2010 @ 04:29 pm
Title: That's Show Biz, 2/2
Author/Artist: colonel_alqui
Character(s) or Pairing(s): USUK, America, England
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing, sexual situations
Summary: “Heh… What’s there to answer? I can’t get off to you, dude. You’re a dude,” Alfred said, continuing to laugh and shifting away from the fuming British man when he seemed stable…


“And that, my friend, is the makings of a true actor.”

Arthur blinked. He blinked several more times, biting the inside of his cheek until he could detect the faint flavor of blood, and when he didn’t awaken from this twisted nightmare, he screamed.

“You goddamn son of a bitch! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill your family, my agent will hear about this--!” The rant was abruptly cut off as Alfred clamped a hand over his mouth, his other hand easily holding him down by the shoulder, his knees pinning him to the couch at the waist. With his strength and stature, it was a simple task restraining the other.

“Now, now - I won’t let you talk until I know you’re calm… Nod to show me you understand,” Alfred instructed, still much too relaxed for the situation. He even had the audacity to grin and idly wiggle himself back and fourth like a child caught up in an some devious game.

If there was one thing Arthur hated more in this moment than being physically controlled, then it was his incapacity to speak. He had no means of conveying his complete and utter revulsion for what had happened, no means of expressing the torture he was going to slam onto Alfred when he had the chance. Fuck! He couldn’t even begin to believe this, the overwhelming detestation flowing within him causing his face to take on an angry shade of pink. And although he would, very grudgingly, admit this was partially his fault for his own eagerness and naive mindset, he wouldn’t dare voice that revelation aloud. It was entirely Alfred’s fault, that damn creep, and he refused to say otherwise…

… But, in order to say anything at all, had no other choice than to agree to the other’s defined conditions. He nodded as best as he could manage with his head pressed back into the couch, and without narrowing his eyes too deeply in anger. His mouth was freed.

“Why the fuck aren’t you hard?” Arthur immediately snapped at him, his right hand boldly skimming over the front of Alfred’s pants and not feeling much. There was no physical excitement to speak of. His fingers shook in agitation and confusion and, ignoring his own now-embarrassing bulge in his boxers, he growled, “That was way too much action for you to not… to not be aroused, damn it! Gay or not!”

Alfred laughed.

“Answer me, you stupid wanker!”

“Heh… What’s there to answer? I can’t get off to you, dude. You’re a dude,” Alfred said, continuing to laugh and shifting away from the fuming British man when he seemed stable. Sure, the guy was pissed, but he wasn’t shouting at the top of his lungs or throwing punches, so he viewed the situation as safe enough to fully liberate him. Tch, this was fine. And sitting back on his haunches on the couch, he was oblivious to the enormous mistake he had just made.

Somehow, the hateful expression on Arthur’s face had managed to grow darker, and he asked doubtfully, “So, I’m assuming that you’re not going to apologize for what you did to me? While you sit there laughing?”

“Nah, why should I? You fell for it,” he replied, light blue eyes glinting without a hint of remorse. He tilted his head slightly as he watched Arthur stand from the couch and glare at him. Another loud chuckle escaped him when he noticed the other’s hands clenched into fists and trembling. The only thing he feared at this point, if he had ever feared anything to begin with, was that this idiot was going to cry like the gullible baby he was!

Arthur turned on his heel, strutting out of the break room with as much dignity as one could with a flushed face and boxers that were a bit too tight. He went silently, not a single piece of his attention paid to the conceited face that he knew was behind him. He had better things to do.

His socked feet slid along the smooth concrete floor of the studio, returning him to their shooting area. There, he scooped up what he sought out - Alfred’s camera. Some fancy thing of an unnecessarily high caliber with too many buttons and switches and dials. Nevertheless, like any modern camera, the slot for the memory card was on the side with a small latch. He popped it open and withdrew the card, warm in his hand from its recent use and feeling extremely flimsy and … breakable. He was certain it had the capability to hold hours of footage, but that didn’t mean it could hold strong against a good flexing of his fingers.

From the shooting area, he took a few steps toward the break room, enough to be visible in Alfred’s line of vision as he waved the memory card tauntingly back and fourth. He knew his quick scheme was being set into motion when he saw the other mouth several swears and scramble to hurry out into the studio. Good. He stretched slightly before moving to sit on the wooden crate that had been used for the filming, his feet apart - after lightly kicking at the camera, which was once again on the floor - and the card gripped firmly, carefully in his right hand. He was confident that this would work out in his favor, passive aggression always seeming like the best way to go.

“Shit, shit! Whoa there, hang on, why do you have that? It’s mine, give it to me,” Alfred demanded, his arms nervously splayed out on either side of him when he stood in front of Arthur. At an impressive time of five seconds, he had dashed the distance from the break room to the studio, looking for all the world as if he had been the one who was tricked here. In reality, he was merely a victim of his own cruelty.

Arthur sneered, “I have this because you’re a heartless git. And I’m not handing it over until you’ve made things up to me… Fix this, and I’ll call everything even.”

Upon saying ‘this’, he gestured downward to the still-evident bulge in his boxers. He was solemn, his voice having been absolutely rigid. Unforgiving. Why shouldn’t it be? Alfred had smashed this fate onto himself. And hey, he wasn’t the insanely prude and proper gentleman that most people perceived him to be, he had a more sinister side, too.

Adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose with insecurity, Alfred mentally mulled over what had been said. Despite the obvious seriousness seated across from him, he couldn’t believe this. Arthur was painfully wrong if he though he was going to finish him off. And he was even more wrong if he thought he could get away with stealing his footage. It contained more than just this recent project, which his company would beat him for if he lost today’s work. In addition, it featured an abundance of raw footage from his summer trips to New York City and Miami. He planned on editing it into a film for his own enjoyment, it was special to him, unable to be shot again and not yet uploaded to his computer… No way in hell would he let this happen! This wasn’t supposed to happen to a hero, on his turf, he wasn’t anybody’s bitch to be bossed around!

“Fix it? Yeah, right. I don’t do hand jobs or whatever.”

“Who said anything about that? I want a blow job.”

No way!”

“Fine then, I’ll snap this in half,” Arthur threatened, beginning to bend the memory card and stopping when he heard a strained squeal of fear. His sneer remained, watching the frustrated boy stomp his feet on the ground and mutter to himself. He was clearly distraught, which was satisfying to know, and that satisfaction grew when he hesitantly edged closer and sank to his knees, cheeks tinged with a blush. This was too easy. Oh, wait, it shouldn’t be this easy, there needed to be some specific precautions…

“No screwing around,” Arthur said in warning, the hand that wasn’t holding the memory card shifting forward to brush through Alfred’s hair. The dirty blonde locks felt soft to the touch and were tugged at until Alfred was snugly in between his legs, the memory card now held behind him for safekeeping. His control over it was the key to getting this done, he had to guard it carefully. “And don’t you dare bite me.”

Alfred made an annoyed growling sound, sliding Arthur’s boxers partially off with the other’s wiggling cooperation, until they were an inch or two above his knees, and mocking him, “Is that so? If I do bite you, do I get to pay for your dick’s surgery? Which, by the way, isn’t too impressive.”

With his grip on Alfred’s hair still fierce, Arthur jerked his head to face upward, momentarily keeping him from any backtalk or any sight of his, apparently, ‘unimpressive dick’. He rolled his eyes and swiftly scolded him, “Shut up. Put that babbling mouth of yours to good use and suck me off.”

“I swear to God, I’ll--!”

“Oh, and one more thing, take off your jacket and shirt. Do it,” Arthur cut through the verbal tantrum with, flicking his head in provocation. This little power trip was exactly that: filled with power, and it was pretty damn hilarious, too. He was indulging in every pout Alfred aimed at him, the memory card dangled high when protests were made about the removal of his upper garments - the action having no rhyme or reason other than his own enjoyment. It was official, the tables had been rightfully turned. How lovely.

“Hm…” Arthur raised a rather amused eyebrow and brushed his free hand across Alfred’s freshly-bared chest. He was lean, though his muscles were defined and his skin had a slight tan to it. This pleased him and he smiled, his gaze then drawn to the center of his chest. What’s this? It seemed that beneath his clothing, Alfred had been hiding a silver chain necklace, the charms it contained, a Christian cross and two dog tags, being of the same polished color. His raised eyebrow became more curious than amused, and he couldn’t help but ask, “A fan of Jesus, are we?”

He scoffed at the cross as he ran his fingers over it in particular. Although that scoff morphed into a shiver when he noticed Alfred’s hands delicately grasping the base of his erection in preparation for his forced act.

“I’m not a fan, but the company makes me wear it and flash it occasionally, you know, for publicity purposes,” he answered with a shrug. He continued to speak when his dog tags were touched and a similar inquiry was made about them, “I bought those for myself. They just have my name, birthday, where I was born… general stuff.”

He sat there, pissed off by his predicament and freaked out by the other man’s cock that was directly in front of him. That he was about to put in his mouth. He winced and glanced up wearily when Arthur asked another question. It was unrelated to their current circumstances and angered him further, his torso tilting away when his dog tags were read over and repeatedly stroked. Ugh.

“Alfred F. Jones… What does the ‘F’ stand for?” was the question, bright green eyes sparkling at him in Cheshire cat-like fashion. Indeed, he was perfectly aware that he was pestering Alfred with his time wasting. That’s what made this all the more fun for him.

“It stands for ‘Fuck you’,” he snapped back at him, altering his weight from knee to knee and glancing up at the hostage memory card in anticipation. “Now I’m doing this before you sit here and start a whole interrogation.”

The rant that Arthur had been ready to launch at him was quieted when the aching head of his erection was suddenly engulfed by a hot, wet mouth. That’s right, it had been aching, their brief conversation causing him to temporarily push it out of the forefront of his mind. His focus was confined to it once again, and he groaned when Alfred’s tongue darted out to lick along as much of his length as he could reach. Oohh…

Alfred obeyed every obnoxious, whimpered-out order that was given - ‘Go faster’, ‘Watch your teeth’, ‘Tell me you like this’. He hated it, and only behaved as he reminded himself of why he was getting this guy off in the first place, for the sake of his precious memory card that was held so precariously behind Arthur’s back. Damn him for being able to keep it steady, he couldn’t snatch it away! He even had one bright green eye open to monitor him in case he attempted to break his end of the deal. One wrong move would incite Arthur’s wrath and bring fourth a crushing grip. Fuck, he inwardly whined, he was actually going to have to finish him!

And finish him he did. Several minutes later, with a rough squeeze and swirl of his tongue, he heard Arthur’s final command of ‘Swallow’ as his mouth was abruptly brimming over with bitter liquid. He gulped and gasped, a slick warmth now lining his throat. He could barely hear himself think over the pleasured moans that persisted above him. Rocking back onto his haunches, he wiped his hand over his mouth, removing any disgusting white stains that may still plague him. The last thing he wanted was for any sticky reminders of this deed to be smeared onto his shirt and jacket when he slipped them on.

“Th-There, you sick bastard…” Alfred breathed out, surprised by the stutter and weakness within his voice. He rose from the floor, his head, thankfully, no longer bowed. He didn’t bother to wait for a reply, and went to grab the memory card from Arthur, successfully retrieving it and spinning around to haul it to a safer location along with his camera, as well. He knew it was best to walk from the scene immediately, lest his irritation and disgust get the better of him and he knock that accomplished expression straight off his torturer’s face.

Arthur let out a small chuckle, his tone laced with the lingering chills of physical delight, “We have a second shooting session tomorrow morning, don’t you forget.”

“Burn in Hell.”

“I’ll see you there.”


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