Alfred wondered sometimes why Arthur insisted on keeping himself clean to that very point where he made it a constant habit to either take a shower or a bath before he went somewhere, and then take one again when he came home. He barely seemed aware of the habit, but others could easily tell that it was there. If one asked him, he'd say that it was merely to keep his nerves in check, and that it was very relaxing. France liked to tease him and say that other nations weren't as filthy as he thought that they were; it wasn't completely necessary to shower or bathe as often as the Englishman did. To which Arthur would always reply by taking up how many times a day the frog either bathed or showered (which was actually more than Arthur), and then the argument was a unavoidable. But Alfred kept wondering. Did Arthur feel that he needed the relaxation that often? Were other nations that hard to deal with? Did it really take such a big toll on his nerves, or...? When he decided to talk to some of the other nations about it, he realised that they had not thought of it earlier.

"I believe that England puts himself under unnecessary stress, aru," said China thoughtfully. "The meetings are one thing, but all the arguments, aru... It's not needed. He always seems relaxed and mentally prepared, but it takes a big toll on his nerves, aru."

"England-san might need to lessen his workload," Japan added cautiously. "He works very hard, and he seems exhausted at times... No wonder he complains about his nerves after every meeting."

"Perhaps he would relax more if he became one with Russia, da?" Russia smiled sweetly when he spoke. "Or maybe if he just didn't need his nerves anymore?"

"Angleterre has a tendency to worry about nothing," said France with a snort. "If the showers and baths make him relax, then let him continue with this habit. It is certainly better if he is relaxed, rather than tense, non?"

Alfred reluctantly agreed with what France had said, but he was still a bit curious. Arthur had not been like this before; in fact, this habit had only started to show when the Second World War was over, and then it had been excused with "I'm still covered in blood and grime, I need to get it off". Maybe the Englishman just wanted to feel clean. But recently, he had started to shower or take baths more often than usual, and the American was very curious.


Two days before the next meeting, Alfred turned up at Arthur's doorstep, apparently expecting to be allowed to stay. But as he knocked, there came no answer.

"Iggy," he called and banged on the door again. "Iggy! I know you're home! Come on, open up!"

He frowned slightly and tried the handle; the door opened. It wasn't like Arthur to leave the door unlocked if he went out. So most likely was that he was somewhere in the house. Alfred began to look through the many rooms, but without any success. Even the lounge and kitchen was empty. But as he headed upstairs, he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom. He frowned slightly and stepped over to the door.

"Iggy, are you in there...?"

He could hear someone let out a low, pleasant humming in there; Arthur was home. He chuckled quietly to himself and placed his hand on the door's handle, quickly opening the door.

"Iggy~!"

He stopped short, staring in surprise at the Englishman, who had just turned off the water in the shower. He had his back turned against Alfred, but it was obvious that he had reacted to the American's voice. Arthur slowly turned his head and stared back at him, looking fairly shocked at seeing him.

"What the bloody hell..."

Alfred eyed his old mentor up and down; Arthur had surprisingly many scars, he noted. Perhaps he should have expected it, but it was still a surprise. But on his lower back, a strange mark stood out. It looked almost like a flag or something...

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you bloody pervert?!" Arthur quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips, a deep blush blooming on his face. "Get the hell out, you twat! Out! Sod off!"

Alfred bolted, Arthur screaming bloody murder after him. So much for staying for a few days... But as he remembered that he had nowhere else to stay (since he had, as usual, assumed that Arthur would help him out), he decided to at least try to make the Brit calm down.

---

Once Arthur came downstairs, Alfred had made tea for him and also some coffee for himself (knowing from experience that Arthur refused to keep coffee in his house, he had brought some with him). The American smiled nervously at him when the man sent him a seething glare.

"I told you to get out, you git," the Brit growled. "Have you finally gone deaf?"

Alfred quickly picked up the teacup and held it out to him.

"I made you tea," he blurted out. "J-just... You know..." He winced. "Please, don't throw me out; I have nowhere else to stay!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but accepted the offer of tea. But he refused to say about letting Alfred stay yet. The fact that the younger man had actually made him some tea seemed to make his mood turn at least a little bit. He sat down and leaned back, muttering quietly to himself about rude younglings who had absolutely no respect for a man's privacy. That particular sentence made Alfred lift an eyebrow and wonder what the older man had actually been up to... But a few moments of pondering that made him force the thoughts away before a light blush dusted his cheeks. Not a good idea to think of things like that right now, absolutely not... Especially not when he had that habit of saying things he absolutely did not mean to say, which always seemed to remind him of its presence when he did not want it to show. Right now was not a good time.

"I... I'm sorry for just opening the door like that," he mumbled and sat down opposite Arthur, sipping his coffee nervously. "I mean... I don't think I thought it through..."

The Englishman levelled him with a long look and shook his head.

"No, you definitely didn't," he grumbled. "Alfred, if you hear that someone is in the shower, you don't just slam the door open and barge into the bathroom like that. It's common sense. I don't barge into your bathroom when you're in the shower, you know. And nor does anyone else."

"France does," Alfred replied with a weak smile. "At least when he visits with... What's his name... Ca... Cana... Whatever. But I've been locking the bathroom door lately when they're over, I hate starting mornings like that..."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave Alfred a pointed look that clearly said "France is a special case and we shall not continue this conversation if he's dragged in, because we both know that it will only become a very uncomfortable discussion". The American returned to sipping his coffee again. They sat for a while in silence; Alfred wondered quietly if Arthur would allow him to stay or not, since he had been so rude already... But then again, wasn't it fairly rude of him to just burst into the shop like he always did anyway? And Arthur normally allowed him to stay then... However, this had been an invasion of privacy, so... Perhaps he'd have to look after another place to stay after all. He sighed to himself. It seemed that he was absolutely out of options.

"I suppose you can stay for a little bit," Arthur suddenly muttered. "But if you're not out of here by the end of the week, I'll throw you out."

Alfred blinked, and within a second his beaming smile was back, full force.

"Thanks, Iggy," he grinned. "I'll make dinner tonight, then! I don't feel like being down because of food poisoning this close to the meeting, you know. I mean, what would people do without the Hero there?"

Arthur growled warningly.

"My cooking is excellent," he snapped. "If you had any taste, you would realise that!"

"Hey! I've got great taste! Your taste buds must've died centuries ago!"

"Well, then it's not my bleeding fault, then it's Scotland's!"

"Yeah, right, you killed them yourself with your horrible cooking!"

"You bloody prat!"


The meeting dragged out a little on the time; the two Italians actually didn't get their lunch until they had asked for it for the twentieth time, and then only because Ludwig was getting sick of their whining and Romano's glaring. And because most of the other nations were getting hungry as well.

Alfred waited until Arthur had left the room, and then quickly stopped some of the others from leaving; China, Japan, Russia, France and Spain stayed (the latter whining loudly because Romano had run off).

"I wanted to ask you guys something," he said, leaning casually against the table as he spoke. "Do you guys know anything about a weird mark on England's lower back? It looks a bit like a flag..."

The others blinked in confusion.

"Inglaterra has a mark on his lower back...?" Antonio frowned a little bit. "I know nada of that."

Francis grinned, his eyes glinting slightly as he glanced towards the door.

"Now, this is interesting," he said. "Our dear Anglais has a mark we don't know of... Perhaps it could be a sensitive spot, since we don't know about it and he has never mentioned it..."

Alfred shuddered and tried not to think about what the perverted man was implying.

"Come on, don't any of you have any better suggestions?" He pointedly ignored Francis's offended glare. "It can't be a sensitive spot... I mean, I don't think it is."

Yao looked rather thoughtful.

"But what else could it be, aru," he asked. "America, don't you have any suggestion yourself, aru?"
"If I had one, I would've said so, right?"

Ivan smiled innocently and tilted his head.

"Perhaps it is a scar, da? Maybe it was a burn-mark? Someone might have branded him in his past."

Everyone shuddered and quickly pushed away that thought. Alfred glared briefly at Ivan, who obviously had no idea about why his comment had seemed so creepy. Kiku eyed the others for a moment before looking at Alfred again.

"Perhaps it's not really a mark, Alfred-san," he said quietly. "It could just be a tattoo, couldn't it?"

Alfred blinked. He had not thought of that, simply because it seemed very unlikely that Arthur, of all people, would have a tattoo. Not the proper English gentleman. But then again, there was that punk-wave... The one where Arthur had gone to whatever meeting he was called to with his hair dyed a vivid shade of green or red, a ripped and threaded t-shirt with "Sex Pistols" written on it, extremely tight leather pants (Alfred remembered staring very much and thinking about that Arthur had very nice thin legs), a large belt that could barely stay up around his slim hips and high steel-toed leather boots. And there had been piercings as well; several in his ears, one in his lip... And he had implied that there were more. Who knew, perhaps he did have a tattoo somewhere on his body, since he had actually pierced his ears and lip (among other things) before.

"That's possible," he muttered. "It could be a tattoo..."

He gave them a quick smile and thanked them for the ideas, and then hurried off. He needed to find Arthur, just to confirm that it really was a tattoo.


Arthur let out a sigh of relief and slid a bit further down into the water; he had felt that he was in a sore need of a bath, and now he finally got to relax for a while. The meeting had been as stressful as ever, and he thought that he deserved some sort of a small reward. And a bath was just perfect for his nerves.

"Warm and comfortable," he murmured to himself with a smile. "Absolutely perfect... No one here to bother me, no need to rush with any paperwork, no Francis trying to break into the bathroom... Just some time alone..."

He sighed happily and stretched, the warm water caressing his body. He could literally feel the stress being washed away. It was a lovely feeling, one he could never get enough of; and it was a feeling he almost felt a little bit addicted to. This sort of relaxation was to him what pasta was to Feliciano: something absolutely needed, or he'd snap and go mad... Alright, Feliciano probably wouldn't go mad, but he'd definitely have some sort of mental breakdown if he wasn't allowed to eat pasta.

"Whatever..." He sighed. "Not the time to think about those bloody fools. Just try to relax a bit, Arthur. You've earned it for putting up with those annoying gits all day... And you might need it before you deal with the biggest git of them all again..."

The warmth spread through him, some of it slowly beginning to travel south as he concentrated on how the water caressed a certain spot on his body-

Almost as if on cue, Alfred slammed the door open.

"Iggy! I wanna talk to you-"

Arthur yelped loudly and grabbed the closest thing at hand, which happened to be the soap, and threw it at the loud American, effectively silencing the younger nation.

"Out," he shrieked in a way that was hardly manly. "Out! I've told you before, don't just run into someone's bathroom like that, you stupid bloody git! Get out! Out! Out!"

Alfred rubbed the spot where the soap had collided with his forehead and backed out, quickly closing the door again, and Arthur grumbled angrily as he reluctantly got out of the bath, let the water go down the drain, and grabbed a towel. So much for relaxation... Now that the git was here and had said that he wanted to talk, he would most likely not leave until he got to say what he wanted. Arthur dried himself off quickly and grabbed his bathrobe, quickly wrapping it around himself before opening the door and stepping out from the bathroom. Alfred sat on a chair by the window, looking a little bit embarrassed, and looked at him.

"Uhm... Sorry 'bout that, Iggy..."

"You're a complete twat, America. Just why the hell did you do that?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something..."

Arthur groaned silently. Yep, he had been right. The lad was not going to leave until he had said what he came to say. Slowly, he walked over to the younger man and sat down opposite him, leaning back a little.

"What the bleeding hell do you want," he grumbled. "Just say it and get out."

Alfred smiled nervously at the fairly annoyed Englishman, who simply glared back at him as if daring him to say something that would piss him off.

"I just... well..." He bit his lip. "It's about something I noticed last time when I happened to run into your bathroom..." Arthur's eyebrow twitched slightly. "Ah... Well... It's just a quick question, y'know... It's... Do you have a tattoo?"

The deadly glare vanished from the Brit's emerald eyes, instantly replaced by sheer surprise. A blush began to bloom on his cheeks, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times while trying to think of something to say that might distract the younger nation.

"... No, I don't, I've never had a tattoo, and I'll never get one either. I hate tattoos; I'd never get one in my entire life."

Alfred smiled slightly.

"You're babbling, Iggy," he pointed out. "What's wrong?"

Arthur blushed again and quickly looked around in the room, seemingly looking after an escape.

"I don't know what you mean," he said quickly. "I don't have a tattoo, Alfred, that's absolutely ridiculous!"

Alfred only sighed and tilted his head.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," he drawled. "Either you explain and show me the tattoo, or I call everyone to the meeting room, drag you down there and simply pull off your bathrobe. In front of everyone. I swear I'll do it."

Arthur blushed heavily; he did not doubt that the damn prat would do it. The lad did say stupid things at times, but he was also one of few who would always mean it. And he was not fond of the thought of allowing anyone to see him naked unless he wanted them to... Which he didn't!

"Bloody stupid git," he growled as he crossed his arms. "I can't believe you... Would you actually do something like that? It's horrible!"

Alfred merely grinned at him. Yep, he'd do it. Most likely several times, if needed, if it meant that he'd get to see the tattoo.

"I'd do it," he said calmly. "I just want to see it, Iggy. Lots of people have tattoos, it's not so weird, you know. What's so bad about you having one?"

Arthur shook his head and sighed. He didn't like this at all.

"It is not that I think it's embarrassing," he muttered. "I just... Look, it's just something I did once, completely at random... It wasn't like I was serious about it, and... well..." The blush kept growing. "I... It's just something stupid... A-and I didn't want people to see..."

The American raised an eyebrow, his grin slowly getting wider as he calmly stood and simply stepped over to the older man.

"Show me," he demanded. "I want to see it now, and whatever you say will just make me want to see it more."

The poor former Empire groaned loudly. He was apparently not going to get away at all, not if he knew this boy right.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled and tried to scoot away. "I'm not going to show you, Alfred, I don't want anyone to see it! Have you ever heard the words 'it's personal'?! I'm not showing you!"

The obnoxious younger man merely continued to grin, grabbed his old mentor and lifted him out of the chair. He pointedly ignored Arthur's screaming and kicking and carried him over to the bed, where he calmly forced Arthur to lie down on his stomach.

"It's not so bad, Arthur," he said, despite that the Englishman probably couldn't hear him over the screaming and cursing. "Just stop squirming, okay? I don't want to pull your arm out of its socket..."

Arthur continued to curse angrily, but he stopped thrashing around. Alfred chuckled and patted his head, ignoring the warning growl that passed over the poor man's lips.

"I just want to see, Iggy," he chuckled. "Won't do anything else, I promise."

He grabbed the bathrobe and pulled, chuckling again at the loud shriek Arthur let out when he felt the fabric slip from his shoulders. The robe had not been tied around his waist, but rather held in place by the Brit's own hands. Now, it slipped down, revealing the Englishman's slender body, scarred back and pale skin. In any other situation, Alfred would most likely have thought it very erotic; but as it was now, he had only one thought in his head, and that was to see the tattoo. And once the robe had slid down past Arthur's hips and now barely covered his bare bum, Alfred curiously eyed the "mark" he had seen a few days earlier.

"Huh," he said. "That's an original design."

That it was a Union Jack flag was not so surprising; but Alfred, as well as anyone else, knew that a skull and a pair of crossed bones did not belong there.

"You combined your flag with a pirate flag?"

Arthur blushed slightly and squirmed again.

"I told you it was stupid," he mumbled. "It's... Well, the pirate-thing... I mean, I was a pirate once, and... I... I enjoyed it. And..." He frowned a bit and closed his eyes. "They were my people as well... They were from my country. They were... They were a part of me, in a way... I didn't want to forget that they were my people, no matter what they chose to do with their lives."

Alfred tilted his head, his trademark grin back with full force once more.

"But this was done recently, right," he asked. "I mean, I've run in on you in the shower and so on before, and you didn't have it then." Arthur mumbled something again. "Didn't they ask about it? I mean, it's a pretty weird design, and you're actually using your flag in it..."

The poor Brit sighed, sat up and smacked at the younger man's hand to make him stop touching the tattoo all the time; it wasn't like a burn-mark, but he had noticed that this particular area had been getting rather sensitive since he had this done. Sensations like warmth or cold lingered much longer than normal, and warmth had started to feel extremely pleasant; and the American's hands were warm...

"I just told the girl that I had traced my family quite far back in time," he said. "And that one of my ancestors had been a pirate captain. She said that she thought it was a great idea to honour my family..."

Alfred began to laugh. It wasn't a funny story, but it was so typical Arthur to think of something like that. Most likely, the man had actually thought of what to say long before he even went to get the tattoo done.

"Why are you laughing, you sodding git?! Stop it! Stop it, just shut up! It's not like you would've thought of anything better, you idiot!"

The younger nation only continued to laugh; but now, the reason for the laughter had changed. Arthur looked absolutely adorable when he blushed like that, obviously trying to fake anger when he just felt very embarrassed. He did that a lot, of course, but it was always rather adorable. And no one ever really understood why Alfred felt the need to laugh and put an arm around the older man every time it happened, completely oblivious to any sort of danger. And he did the same this time, taking no notice of the Brit's embarrassed sputtering and attempts to push him away.

"That's so cute, Arthur," he laughed. "Seriously, it's just so cute! I mean, it's typical you to think of something like that, but it's so absolutely adorable!"

Arthur punched his arm and glared at him.

"It's not meant to be cute, you bloody fool," he hissed. "Will you just shut up now, and- Ah!"

His eyes widened; it seemed that when Arthur had punched his arm, Alfred had allowed it to slide down over the poor man's back and managed to trail his fingers over the tattoo again. And the git had no idea about what he had done.

"... Did it hurt? Oh god, Arthur, did I hurt you?! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just-"

"Move your bloody hand, you idiot!"

Alfred jumped and quickly pulled back his hand, while Arthur got to his feet and wrapped the bathrobe firmly around his slender frame again.

"D-don't touch it like that," he muttered. "Just because it's already healed doesn't mean that it isn't sensitive!" He glared again. "A-and if you say that to France, I'm going to drown you, you rat!"

Alfred blinked in surprise. Sensitive...? So that was why... But then...

He began to smirk, remembering what he had been pondering for a while before this little incident.

"Say, Arthur," he said, tilting his head a little as he watched the older man. "This whole thing with taking so many baths and showers..." Arthur frowned slightly and began to slowly back away. "You always say that the warm water calms your nerves... Is it really just that nowadays? I mean, you seemed really embarrassed when I ran in..."

Arthur sputtered indignantly and shook his head quickly as Alfred got to his feet and started to step closer; the grin on the American's face was different from the usual one. This was the grin he always had when he knew that he was on to something, and he was going to use this to his advantage. It was the grin that said "You'll be my bitch for a while now", and it was something Arthur found very disturbing. The Englishman kept backing away until he hit the wall; before he could start to move to the right or left, Alfred was there and caged Arthur with his arms.

"So, what is it," whispered Alfred teasingly, smirking at the blush that rose on the older man's cheeks. "Is it really just for your nerves? Or is it for a more... personal reason?"

Arthur attempted to duck under his former ward's arm, but the teasing nation took this chance and looped his arm around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer. A warm hand trailed over the sputtering Brit's back, slowly getting closer to the targeted area.

"D-damn it, Alfred!" Arthur squirmed. "Please, s-stop that! I-it's not funny, you git! I don't... I don't like it..! O-oh lord, no, d-don't...!" A pleased sigh, bordering on a moan, passed over his lips as Alfred's fingers trailed over his lower back, making the robe's fabric rub against the sensitive skin. "Oh gods... Alfred, stop... It's... Ooh... N-no, this isn't..."

Alfred smirked again.

I probably shouldn't do this, he thought to himself. He'll be mad at me... But damnit, he looks so cute!

Arthur squirmed again, but he didn't try to get away anymore. He was still protesting against the gentle touches, but his body responded in a completely different way. Soft moans kept passing over his lips, perfect evidence for just how sensitive that particular spot was.

Ah... Dear god, this is too much, thought Arthur. A-at this rate... Oh, sod it all...!

Alfred held him close, his hand once again sliding over the older man's spine. It seemed that Arthur had given up completely on getting away (finally) and instead settled for allowing Alfred to do what he wanted. The American made him turn around, and mere moments later their lips crashed together. Arthur did not immediately respond; he was more busy trying to figure out why Alfred, who had been seen kissing so many different women, still seemed so damn inexperienced... He sighed into the kiss, making the younger man frown a little and move back.

"... What? Why are you sighing?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"For Pete's sake, Alfred, you were doing so well," he whined. "You were doing so well, and then... Seriously, what was that?"

Alfred bristled and glared at him.

"It was a kiss, of course," he growled. "What else? What did it seem like to you?!"

The Englishman just sighed and placed his arms around the former colony's neck.

"A very half-assed attempt that I would only have expected from a teenager who has never kissed anyone before," he said. "If you're going to kiss me, then do it properly. Not that sloppy. Or did those girls teach you to kiss like that?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked at how Alfred sputtered. "Oh, so they did. Well, then you'll have to forget what they taught you and instead try to understand what I'm doing."

He pulled Alfred back and kissed him gently; he was careful, almost as if he worried that the lad would shove him off. But then, he grew bolder and ran his tongue over the other's lower lip. As Alfred, seemingly a bit absent-mindedly, opened his mouth a little bit, Arthur's tongue immediately slid in and began to explore the cavern. Alfred did not, surprisingly enough, taste like hamburgers; but the distinct taste of coffee was there, and Arthur decided that it was the only time he could accept the taste without complaints. He figured that Alfred thought that he tasted like tea, anyway (which actually wouldn't be surprising). A mere moment later, the American began to battle for dominion over the kiss; he began to push Arthur's tongue back and instead try to slide his own into the Englishman's mouth. Arthur let out a quiet groan and pressed against him. The brat could learn something, after all. Then again, it could be the fact that Alfred was once again rubbing that spot... Then he remembered that he needed air.

"Mnh...!"

Alfred frowned slightly, still not breaking the kiss. He wasn't certain about what Arthur was trying to tell him, but he liked this, so he was not going to just let him go right now. But soon, the poor Englishman began to push at him, making loud and complaining noises until he finally let go. Arthur took a deep breath, blushing heavily as he glared up at the younger man.

"Are you trying to kill me, you idiot," he panted. "I... I need to breathe..."

Alfred chuckled and pulled him closer again.

"You've breathed," he said. "I want you to teach me more."

The Englishman rolled his eyes slightly.

"Well, you're a good kisser when you actually try," he muttered. "What else should I teach you?"

He closed his eyes and gave a small noise of pleasure as the young nation leant down and began to plant kisses along his jaw.

"There's something special," said Alfred between the kisses. "For all I know, my way of having sex is probably completely wrong, huh? Maybe you could teach me...?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open again, the blush on his cheek getting worse. At the moment, he was dangerously close to looking like one of Antonio's beloved tomatoes.

"W-what?! Alfred, d-don't... Don't say things like that, y-you bloody git!"

Alfred's grin became suspiciously Cheshire Cat-like, and he began to nibble teasingly at his old mentor's earlobe, drawing low gasps from the man.

"Then what if I do this...?"

He trailed his hand over the area where the tattoo was, the robe's fabric rubbing against the sensitive skin again. Arthur let out a gasp and a moan, immediately starting to squirm again. But he wasn't squirming to get away; rather, he moved as close to Alfred as he could get, pressed their bodies together, and began to whisper in a language that the former colony could not understand. He had heard Arthur speak this language once or twice before, but only when he was very upset or when he wanted to annoy Francis (because frankly, when the Englishman wanted to spite the Frenchman, he only needed to speak in his old language). He knew that it was called Old English, but he did not know what the words meant.

"Care to speak like a normal person, Iggy," he teased, smiling as he rubbed that spot again. "I want to know what you're saying..."

Arthur gasped again, his breath hitching.

"I... More," he gasped. "M-more, Alfred... P-please, I... I w-want more..."

The American trailed his other hand through the Brit's hair and nipped at his neck again.

"Oh, I don't know... Perhaps I should just leave?"

Immediately, Arthur's hand came up, grabbed his hair and pulled until he could look into the brat's eyes.

"If you leave now, I'm going to have to castrate you," he hissed. "And possibly lop your head off as well."

A mere second later, he crashed their lips together once more, forcing his tongue into Alfred's mouth. He wanted more, he wanted everything Alfred could give him; and it seemed that the brat was ready to give him quite much at this point. The robe slid up a little bit, and the warm hand trailed over the tattoo again, making Arthur gasp and moan and wantonly grind his hips against Alfred's. The American groaned and mumbled something in an absolutely indecipherable accent before picking up the shorter man and carrying him over to the bed again. He laid his old mentor down on his back, still kissing him, and began to pull off the bathrobe.

"'s in the way," he mumbled when they broke apart for air. "At least not as much as you usually wear..."

Arthur chuckled quietly and began to unbutton Alfred's shirt faster than one would have thought; the years of having embroidery as a hobby had made his fingers quite nimble, and it finally paid off. It took only a moment before the shirt had been thrown onto the floor and completely forgotten. The robe soon followed, along with Alfred's favourite leather belt; Alfred kicked off his shoes, hearing two thuds as they hit the floor. He reached out again and pressed his hand in between Arthur's back and the mattress, just for a moment letting his fingers flutter over the tattoo once more. The Englishman let out a very satisfying moan as he pressed against the American and began to kiss and nibble at his neck. After a moment, he bit down as hard as he could, making Alfred cry out as loud as he could (which meant that pretty much anyone in the building must've heard it); he smirked slightly at the cry and licked at the mark he had made, making the cry turn into a lustful moan.

"Aah...! A-Arthur...!"

The moan managed to set something off in the Brit's mind; if one imagined Arthur's restraint like a metal pipe, then it had slowly been cracking throughout this incident. Right now, it snapped in two halves, and he practically ripped off Alfred's pants. He couldn't stand it anymore; he wanted the man to get naked right bloody now, and he wanted to do something with the lust that had been built up in him.

"D-do something, you bloody git...!"

Alfred stared at him for a short moment; then, a predatory grin came to his face, and he kept the eager Englishman pressed down against the mattress as he grinded his knee against said Englishman's groin. He felt like teasing at the moment, and he knew that he was doing a good job. His hand trailed over the wanton man's chest, pinching his nipples.

"Nh... F-for god's sake, Alfred, t-that's..."

Another Cheshire Cat-like grin and an American tongue began to assault the hard nubs, twirling around them before teeth gently grazed them. Arthur began to moan and squirm, his back arching despite the younger nation's attempts to make him stay still.

"Mmh..." Alfred's golden blonde head lifted a little bit, and his sky blue eyes stared into the Brit's shimmering emerald orbs. "You know... you taste really good... There's... a hint of that tea you like... And... lemon, I think..." He closed his eyes again, his tongue quickly trailing from one nipple to the other. "Mnh... Even chocolate... That's interesting..."

Arthur let out a loud whine, grasping desperately at the young man's hair.

"D-don't do that, Alfred," he gasped. "D-don't talk like that...! I... Ooh!"

He tugged at the former colony's boxers, eagerly trying to make him discard them. They were absolutely not needed at the moment; in fact, they were very much in the way. But luckily, Alfred seemed to be just as eager as he was at this point, for in the next moment, he tugged then off with a wide grin. He held him down again and gently grinded their hips together, enjoying the gasp that came from the older nation.

"You want it pretty badly, don't you," he whispered. "You're gasping and moaning like this... And you're bucking your hips already... Just how long have you held this back? How long have you wanted this? Tell me that, Arthur... How long have you tried to stay satisfied without someone else's help...?"

Arthur shivered, his panting and moaning becoming louder. He could barely think anymore, and all his thoughts were focused on that growing length that rubbed against his own...

Sweet merciful God, he managed to think. He... He's big... A-and that is going to... to fit inside of me?

A hand trailed over his thighs, slipping in between their bodies to touch him. So warm, so very gentle... The hand wrapped around his throbbing erection and started to pump him, slowly, so painfully slowly. He bucked his hips again, making Alfred chuckle softly.

"What do you want me to do, Arthur," he whispered. "Show me what you want...?"

Arthur stared up at him, emerald eyes locking with beautiful sapphire ones. Moments later, he had his arms and legs wrapped around the younger man and kissed him passionately; he grinded their hips together, he nibbled at his earlobe and neck, he whispered things that one would normally only expect to hear from Francis, he moaned loudly... And it seemed like Alfred understood perfectly what he wanted.

"You want this so badly," whispered the American, "Should I leave you like this, hm?"

Immediately, the Englishman bit down on the young nation's neck again. He wouldn't speak, mostly because only gasps and moans came out when he tried; but the brat seemed to understand what the bite meant: "Leave and I'll hunt you down and rape you before your death". Arthur refused to let him go. Alfred chuckled quietly and nibbled at his earlobe. He lifted his hand and placed three fingers at Arthur's lips, and a moment later the Brit was eagerly sucking and licking at his them. It sent strange, but very pleasant, tingles through the young man's body. Once he decided that they were sufficiently coated with saliva, he lifted Arthur's leg a little bit and placed one finger at the entrance.

"Promise me you'll tell me if it hurts," he whispered softly. "I don't... I don't want to hurt you..."

Arthur smiled and nodded at him, letting out a low gasp as the finger slipped into him. Blue eyes watched him intently, a small smile playing on rosy lips as the finger pushed deep into the Brit. A moment later, another digit entered as well, and Alfred began to scissor his finger to stretch the opening. He pushed his finger just a little further into him, and received a loud moan, an arching back and several loud gasps as a reward when his fingers brushed against the spot he had been searching for. He smiled teasingly and slowly began to press in a third digit.

"Nh.... Aaah...!" Arthur bucked his hips involuntarily and began to try to push back against the fingers. "M-more! Alfred... More, please!"

Alfred let out a low chuckle and nodded.

"I'll take that as a sign of you being ready..."

He placed the Englishman's legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, positioning himself at the entrance. They looked at each other; Arthur smiled breathlessly and nodded.

"Do it, you git," he whispered. "Please, just do it..."

Alfred reached out and trailed his hand over Arthur's cheek, smiling softly before he started to push into him; the Brit gasped and bucked his hips eagerly, moaning as loud as he could. He had been right. Alfred was big, it didn't feel like he had been stretched enough. But luckily, it didn't hurt; the only feeling that passed through the former Empire's body was intense pleasure, pleasure he hadn't felt for so long... The American held still for a moment to let the older man catch his breath a little. As soon as the emerald eyes opened again and the Brit nodded, Alfred began to thrust, slowly at first and then starting to speed up. He began to try to "aim" from a different angle, and mere moments later, Arthur's moans turned into loud cries of pleasure, mixing with Alfred's own...

---

Francis frowned slightly; they were still in the usual building for the meetings, and surely Arthur and Alfred couldn't have disappeared. But they weren't in the American's room (he had already raided that place, with a few dirty magazines as a price), and Alfred was not with Matthew or anyone else. Arthur had not been seen. No one had anything to say about their whereabouts, so naturally the Frenchman got curious and decided to poke around a little bit. Perhaps Arthur had decided to "relax" a little bit, and maybe the American had imposed a bit? He smirked slightly to himself, heading towards the Englishman's room.

It was silent in the corridor, as usual. Not a single sound, except for the heels of Francis's shoes against the floor. But suddenly, a lustful cry pierced through the silence; it wasn't something he had expected, and quite frankly, it made him jump in surprise and stare at the door that led to Arthur's room. The cry did come from in there... And as he stepped closer, yet another loud moan was heard.

"Ah! A-Alfred, I... nnh...! O-oh god, right there!"

"Ce qui..." He raised a delicate eyebrow and pressed his ear against the door. "What might you be up to, Angleterre...?"

Moans, panting, loud gasps, cried out names... That there were two persons in the room was surprisingly obvious, and that one of them was Arthur was even more obvious. But who was the other one...? It was, after all, very possible that the Englishman was thinking of one person while enjoying some quality time with someone else.

"Oh god, Arthur...!"

He blinked in surprise; was that an American accent...?

"Oh my God! Oh God, do that again!"

... Yep, that was definitely an American accent. Francis blinked again and carefully tried the door handle. Unlocked... Very unlike Arthur, who would never risk leaving a door unlocked if he knew that the Frenchman was around. He opened the door to a small crack, raising an eyebrow as the moans floated out from the room, and peeked inside. And seconds later, when he realized what he saw, his eyes widened. Arthur was on his back, with Alfred over him, and they were moving rhythmically together, gasping and moaning, crying out each other's names. The Englishman bucked his hips wildly, begging for his partner to take him harder, faster, to give him more; and the American was, as ever, very eager to please.

Normally, Francis (being the pervert that he is) would have rudely interrupted it all by asking if he could join in. But he had done something like that to Arthur before, just to spite him, and that time he had almost gotten castrated right on the spot. And considering just how passionate and absolutely wild the normally so stoic Brit seemed to be, it would be a crime to do something like that now. A crime that, in Francis's book, landed right up there at the top to hang out with what Hitler and Stalin had done in their lives. And blueballing. So instead of saying something, he quickly stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a camera, waited for a moment, and then snapped a picture. As quietly as he could, he closed the door and then hurried off down the corridor.

"Digital cameras were a gift from God," he muttered as he took up the picture again to look at it. "... Oh mon dieu..."

He stared. It was absolutely perfect. Arthur's back arching, his emerald eyes half lidded and staring, as if mesmerized, at the other man. Alfred's eyes closed, his face showing an expression of absolute ecstasy, his lower body pressed against his partner's.

"Hungary and Japan could not have done better," Francis chuckled. "This one, I believe, should be a nice present..."


Alfred felt strangely impatient for the meeting to end. He was currently listening to whatever it was Germany had to say... Or well, not listening, just picking up a few words every now and then and wishing that the man would shut up and end it all. He glanced at the Englishman next to him; as usual, Arthur was paying attention and even taking notes.

Aah, that concentrated look, he thought to himself, allowing a small smile to show. Iggy looks so cute~! Damnit, Germany, just end it now, will you?! I want to drag him off now...

It had been exactly two months since that day when they first "had" each other. They had started going out, despite the fact that Arthur had protested at first and called it a very bad idea. But he had not been able to protest for long when the damned American put on his best "kicked puppy"-look and practically begged for a serious relationship. And so far, they had kept each other very happy. And now, it was their two month-anniversary, which made the American want to do something special.

Alfred smiled to himself and managed to move his hand over to Arthur without attracting any unwanted attention, not even from the intended target. But seconds later, his fingers trailed over the older man's lower back; a surprised jolt went through the man's body, and emerald eyes glared at him for a moment before turning back to watch the German continue with his presentation. Alfred, however, did now move his hand. He kept gently touching the tattoo he knew was hid beneath the clothes, and the Englishman's concentration slowly began to wane. Arthur bit his lip, his eyes darted between the German and the calmly smiling American, and a slight blush crept to his cheeks... And after a few minutes of this treatment, he suddenly flew up from his seat and began to yell something in Old English at the surprised personification of America. The other nations in the room stared at them, and France began to smirk knowingly.

"Pardonnez-moi," he said and tilted his head. "But, Angleterre, what exactly did you just say to him?"

Arthur glared daggers at his old rival.

"Ge beĆ¾urfan ne cunnan, cifesboren," he replied sharply, then caught himself and cleared his throat a little. "I... I mean, you need not know, bastard."

"You wound me, Ange," Francis laughed. "I am just curious about why you suddenly used your old language."

Arthur's blush deepened immediately, and he quickly excused himself and ran out. Alfred got to his feet with a wide grin.

"He hasn't been feeling well," he said. "As the hero, I think it's my duty to check on him."

He ran out as well, calling out for his old mentor. The other nations glanced at each other, clearly confused, but France stood up with a wide smile.

"We should keep an eye on them, non," he said. "Who knows, perhaps Angleterre snaps and tries to murder the young boy."

Ludwig groaned and massaged his temples. The meeting had been interrupted yet again, despite the fact that it had all gone so very well... But then again, it was to be expected, right?

France dragged Matthew with him, grinning happily as he began to track down the two nations who had abandoned the meeting.

"You see, mon cher," he said, "they have started something. I already know what it is, and it is only fair for you to know, since Alfred is your brother." He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a picture. "This is how I found them almost two months ago."

The timid Canadian stared at the picture in shock, a deep blush immediately covering his face.

"T-they were i-in b-bed together?!" He stared at the grinning Frenchman. "W-why didn't you j-just l-leave them alone?"

"But, Mathieu, I did!" Francis looked almost scandalized for a moment. "I only opened the door a little bit, and snapped that picture! I didn't disturb them!"

With those words, he opened the door to a room and blinked; Arthur was more or less bent over the table, and Alfred leaned over him, pressing his lips against the older man's shoulder. The Englishman's jacket was on a chair along with the American's beloved bomber jacket, and their shirts were unbuttoned. And Alfred's fingers rested on a strange mark on Arthur's lower back. But as the Frenchman and Canadian continued to stair, cerulean and emerald eyes slowly began to stare at them.

"Oops," Alfred mumbled. "Guess we got caught..."

"G-get off me, you git!" Arthur tried to stand again, but Alfred didn't move. "Move it!"

Francis's wide smile was suddenly back, full force.

"Ah, what a lovely moment," he grinned. "I apologise for interrupting, but Mathieu and I thought that this would not be a proper moment for you two to put your amour on display."

Alfred finally moved away, allowing his partner to get up. Arthur blushed heavily and quickly started to button up his shirt. The American, however, seemed very content with showing off a little bit.

"So how long have you known, Francis," he asked calmly. "I mean, it's not like we've told anyone, and we haven't been that obvious..."

Francis laughed and stepped into the room, placing the picture on the table; he watched their reactions with a very amused look on his face. Arthur stared in shock, the blush getting even worse as his eyes slowly widened. Alfred blinked, stared at the picture, and then slowly looked back at the Frenchman.

"Happy two month-anniversary, mes chers amis," chuckled Francis. "May you have a long life and share the eternal, immortal love."

Arthur slowly seemed to come back to reality, as he turned his head and began to give his old rival the best death glare he had ever given someone.

"Cifesboren," he growled. "You damn bastard... When did you take that picture?!"

Francis began to back towards the door.

"Two months ago," he said, speaking in a rush. "And now I believe that it is time for me to run, oh my, look at the time, take care, bye-bye then!"

He fled, dragging Matthew along. And Arthur turned to look at his lover.

"... Should you or I kill him," he asked.

Alfred grinned and patted his shoulder.

"It's all yours, Iggy."

"Don't call me Iggy!"

Alfred only laughed as he followed Arthur to the corridor and then watched him race after his prey. He might have the craziest lover ever to exist, but he loved the man. And besides, Arthur was more than sensible enough to get rid of a bloodstained shirt before leaving the building; especially if France regained enough consciousness to go to the police or call the Englishman's boss before Matthew dragged him off somewhere.

"Well, Arthur," Alfred mumbled with a soft smile. "You're fucking crazy... But damn, I love you..."

He stepped back into the room to fetch the jackets. If he acted nice, then maybe Arthur would allow that special kink... After all, it was not very good to hoist the colours without a captain...