Author's Note: Alright, here is Chapter 13! It took longer than the last one but sooner than the past chapters. Hope you guys like it.
Warning/s: Make out session at the end. Underage readers, mind the page breaks, alright? Ultimately, the decision falls unto you.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
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Once lunch ended, the nations gathered once more inside the conference room though some had yet to arrive. Usually, Germany would have to wait for another fifteen minutes before taking yet another roll call as some nations have the annoying habit of disappearing after lunch to do whatever whimsical thing that wormed its way into their heads. Eventually, he'd seek them out himself because if he had assigned someone else, then that someone would loiter around. Case in point, last month's meeting when Northern Italy, who was supposed to find France, had disappeared into the kitchens, charming the kitchen staff that had no idea who and what they all were and teaching them how to make the perfect, al dente pasta. The chefs hadn't even bothered to feel offended at all as they followed the Italian's instructions; such was the power of Feliciano's earnest smile and coaxing, sweet voice. It took a while to convince him to go back to the conference and only with the promise of a plate of Capellini with Asparagus and Pancetta that he could eat during the meeting.
Of course, in hindsight, Ludwig knew he shouldn't have agreed for Feliciano to bring the pasta as Feliciano took to begging Germany to let him eat during the meeting and it only served to spur the other nations into following his example. Now, South Korea was eating kimchi (1) straight from a jar, Spain and Southern Italy were sharing paella and pizza, Poland was feeding a blushing Lithuania bigos (some kind of meat stew from Germany's understanding), and even Japan was nibbling on dried squid while he scribbled something in Hungary's notebook while she toyed with his camera.
He wearily sighed and rubbed his temple as he accepted that maybe this was better than having his brüder bring out the beer. Looking at his watch, there were four more minutes left before roll call and while there could be a few nations that might still be out doing whatever it was they do, four nations were notably absent. He was a little disappointed that they would be unprofessional enough to bring their private relationships and consequently, their issues, into a World Conference but he hoped that it would not impede their judgment. He knew that it truly wasn't any of his business (unlike most) but he swore to intervene if it would affect the rest of the world.
Two more minutes and a concerned Canada slipped through the open doors followed by a strangely subdued America (Germany would not admit it, but he was a little worried). His gaze followed as the pair stood before their chairs, Canada raising his brows in question while America answered with a slight shake of his head, then resumed their seats. France, who was already seated on his own chair, nudged the Canadian discretely and the soft-spoken blonde turned to him and shook his head, mouthing "later" at his former caretaker.
A minute more before roll call and random nations began to pile in and at the end of the line were Russia and England, the most talked about nations for this month's meeting. The Russian allowed England to go first, a gloved hand pressed at his lower back and pushing him forward while the other held an unassuming paper bag. Before they separated as they sat opposite each other, Russia opened the bag and handed England two small boxes which the Englishman took with a small, grateful smile and went on his way to his seat.
Hungary was a little disappointed that they did nothing else, not even kiss, but Germany supposed that it was for the best and nodded with approval at their good sense if for no other reason than to be considerate to America who watched them sadly.
England took his seat in the middle of his two former colonies and with a glance at all the others who were happily munching on their food despite lunch being over just a while ago, placed the two boxes on the table and decided to open one of the boxes and bring out exquisitely made mini-cakes, one strawberry and cream and the other chocolate with cherry sauce.
He took the tiny forks from the box and laid it beside the cakes before gently pushing the strawberry one to Matthew who accepted it with a surprised thanks and the chocolate one to Alfred whose gaze he met squarely. He smiled and lifted his hand, running his fingers through soft, golden hair and whispered so only he could hear, "Always remember, you are my precious, little boy. Nothing and no one can ever change that."
Arthur nearly panicked when Alfred's eyes welled with tears and was taken by surprise when the American promptly leaped off his chair and tackled him, sending him and his chair to the ground.
"Alfred, you dolt!" he shouted in reflex and wrapped his hands around Alfred's arms wrapping around his shoulders.
"I love you, Iggy. I really, really love you," the American whispered softly in his ear.
"I know," he replied with a smile as he patted his back. "Now, be a good lad and get off of me. My back can't take this kind of trauma anymore."
And America laughed, cackled like he had so many times before in that grating yet endearing manner. "You're getting really old, dude! How do you expect to get down and dirty like that?"
"Alfred, do not be vulgar! I taught you better than that!" snapped the Englishman as Alfred stood up and easily pulled him.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm just calling it as I see it."
He grinned cheekily at Arthur and sat back down. The Englishman was muttering about something or another but he wasn't listening and stared happily at the cake where he noticed their tiny flags sewn into one.
Alfred knew that while things were a little different, they were okay and he was going to be, too.
Matthew watched the whole thing with barely concealed happiness. He stared at his own cake and the tiny inscription made from icing caught his attention. It said merci.
As Arthur sat down, he felt the older nation's hand on his arm. He turned to him and Arthur said, "Merci d'être là pour Alfred." (2) His heart warmed and he felt himself smiling back at Arthur.
Everything was going to be alright.
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By the end of the first day of the two-day World Conference, Germany had noted that they had finished well within the schedule, even while taking the usual chaos and drama into consideration. The second day would focus on strategies to work through the issues in the reports while maintaining global standards and he knew this would be the more difficult session because it would inevitably include global warming, giant robots, mass-producing hamburgers (or pasta) to solve world hunger and who knew what else.
Still, he knew it wouldn't be the same for everyone if that sort of nonsense were gone.
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The ride back to the hotel was quiet and thoughtful. Arthur asked Ivan to stay in his room for a while and together, they sat on the bed, propped on soft, fluffy pillows. Dinner had just arrived but forgotten, though Ivan thought they were just too comfortable and too lazy in their position to get up and eat. The Russian had his arm wrapped around Arthur while the Englishman laid his head at the crook between Ivan's neck and shoulder, his thumbs rubbing the back of the Russian's free, gloveless hand, humming a little tune.
The Russian had shed his trench coat and dress shirt, wearing only his pants and a crisp, white shirt and Arthur, having his clothing at hand, had changed into a loose, faded shirt and a pair of shorts.
Ivan turned his head a little, just enough for his nose to brush against Arthur's soft hair. He took a deep breath, delighting in his scent and tightened his arm around him. He was thankful that Arthur was in a better mood now. Earlier while they had lunch, Arthur was not quite himself, his thoughts and attention flying elsewhere. He had known it was because of America.
He had told the Englishman about what his former colonies told him when they had been apart, laughingly telling Arthur he had known it would happen. Arthur had apologized needlessly and Ivan had told him so. In turn, Arthur told Ivan a little of what America said to him. He hadn't said much; only that America took it harder than the others.
Of course, Ivan had known what it truly was about and had been at a loss to try and offer comfort. He had known that Arthur cared deeply for America and making the latter unhappy would make him just as miserable. So he tried something he had never thought to do in his life: help Arthur reconcile with America.
"Have you and America fought before?" he had asked.
Arthur had seemed startled at the question but he answered truthfully. "Of course. It was inevitable that we have our arguments. Our biggest argument, as you know, would be for his independence."
"How did you settle back to being friends?" he had asked as he stirred his coffee slowly.
"It took a while. A few words here and there and then we were friends again. We never truly talked about it or anything." Arthur had paused to think and then slightly winced. "I suppose, I didn't make it any easier for us to do so."
"Ah, then earlier than that, when you fight with him, what do you do to make it better?" he had persisted.
Arthur had not stayed in his thoughts for long. "I used to cook him something to eat when that happens and we eat it together. If I'm pressed for time, I buy something from the market and share it with him. He'd be so happy afterwards."
Ivan had thought that while cooking something would carry much more significance, having little time would make buying something more practical and would end this tension much sooner. So he said, "why not give him something you know he'll like to make him feel a little better then?"
Arthur looked at him with wide green eyes before he smiled. "That's a great idea. It might not be much but it's a start, isn't it?"
"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," Russia had replied.
And that was that. Nothing else had been said although he had felt good knowing that he had somehow contributed to making Arthur feel better.
"Ivan," Arthur called softly, his eyes as green as wet leaves, on the Russian's hand as his thumbs wrote invisible patterns on his pale, cool skin. "I didn't say it earlier but thank you for saying what you did. I'd not have thought about it on my own."
Ivan chuckled, his chin resting atop Arthur's head. "You overestimate me too much, Zain'ka. Had you been given time to think, you'd have thought to do the same thing. And I did it for myself, in a way, because I don't like seeing you so troubled."
"Still, thank you. I'm so happy that I'm with you," Arthur whispered, his voice low as he looked up at Ivan's eyes and let go of his hand, laying a warm palm against a cool, pale cheek. "So unbelievably happy."
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He slid his hand down the nape of Ivan's neck and pulled him down, the larger nation following his unspoken command and dipping his head to capture those soft lips in his own. He lifted his larger hand and ran his fingers through soft, straw-colored hair, tugging the captured strands in his fist as he felt the smaller nation tremble against him. He licked softly at those full lips, sucking and gently nipping the rosy flesh while his free hand slipped under the loose shirt, his hand curving around his tiny waist before slowly stroking up and down along his side.
Arthur gave a low, pleased cry against his mouth, arching his back and rubbing their chests deliciously together, his own free hand worming its way between them to lift the hem of Ivan's shirt and slip inside, loving the cool, velvety skin beneath his questing fingers as hard muscle bunched and flexed with his touch.
With great reluctance, Ivan pulled back and let Arthur pull his shirt over his head. The island nation gazed at Ivan's chest with wonder in his hazy, green eyes, small hands tentatively touching every scar, every faded wound. He moved forward and pressed his lips to each scar he could reach with such reverence that Ivan felt his heart fill with warmth and, dare he say it, love for this nation who had gifted him with so many things, who looked at him with no fear in his eyes and a smile on his lips.
And then Arthur reached up and kissed him again, lightly brushing his lips against his before licking them slowly, asking for passage that Ivan readily granted as he opened his mouth. He felt heat pool in his belly, dark amethyst eyes, shutting closed as Arthur explored his mouth, his hands finding purchase over Arthur's slim hips as his fingers tightened at every dizzying stroke Arthur's tongue gave his own.
Arthur cupped the back of his head and rose to his knees while Ivan remained seated on the bed facing him, gaining a little leverage in height as he plunged his tongue into the sweet mouth with a demanding passion that Ivan had not expected but happily responded to. With a little mischief in Arthur's part, hinted only by a gleam in his eye, he retreated and plunged yet again into the warm, wet cavern, over and over, in an imitation of what would come.
Utterly and unbelievably aroused, Ivan sucked the appendage in his mouth, unwilling to let it retreat as one hand began to tug the smaller nation's shorts down almost violently while the other was under Arthur's shirt, thumb and forefinger rubbing a pebbled nub insistently as Arthur's breath hitched and his rhythm shaken, purring low in his throat at the sharp pleasure that went straight to his groin as he pressed his chest firmly against those sinful fingers.
Pulling away for a needed breath of air, his hands sliding over the Russian's broad shoulders, Arthur panted and looked down at Ivan. Purple eyes were staring intensely in his own, pupils dilated in pleasure, lips swollen surely just as much as his own. His skin was no longer cool, he realized, instead it was so deliciously warm and flushed, the color rising above his neck and onto his cheeks.
And he knew right then and there that this was neither the time nor place for something so intimate and so beautiful.
"Maybe we should stop here," Arthur began softly. His eyes widened at the sudden hurt that reflected in Ivan's purple eyes. "Not that I don't want to continue! Gods, Ivan, I want to so very much but, at the risk of sounding like a girl, I don't want to do it in a hotel in France like some one night stand," he paused then and bit his bottom lip, "assuming of course that you'd like this to be more than… that?"
He yelped as he was pulled into Ivan's arms, crashing against the hard chest, a hand tangled in his hair. Tipping his face up, Ivan dove and crushed their lips together, the kiss rough and hot and so passionate, it positively sent Arthur's toes curling in pleasure.
"Arthur, must you ask such stupid questions?" Ivan asked fiercely, his lips hovering dangerously close before resuming his ministrations, smothering Arthur's cry of pleasure with his mouth and tongue.
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Later in the night, they ate their now cold dinner, not minding in the least as they shared kisses in between and light touches that ignited and stoked their desire. They slept in the same bed, limbs tangled under thick sheets, their slumber filled with dreams and promises of sweeter times.
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Author's Note: I thought it slightly ironic that Ivan had unknowingly saved Alfred from eating Arthur's cooking. Considering Alfred's demeanor, I doubt that it would have made him feel better.
*BLUSH* This is the first time I've published an explicit scene. Goodness… I am embarrassed but I'd be embarrassed more if I sucked.
Please tell me what you think! Did you like it? Did it suck? Was it totally unrealistic? Or was it awkward? Anything for me to improve on, guys.
Think about all the other explicit scenes I'll likely mess up if I don't get any feedback about it.
GUYS, I'm nearing 200 reviews! Thank you so much for all your patience and support. As a bonus, if you are my 200th- 205th reviewer, I'll write a oneshot for you with a pairing of your choice. Just add the details that you want to read about.
Translations and definitions:
Kimchi – a Korean dish made with fermented vegetables. Originally, according to Wikipedia, it was made from vegetables and beef stock only and is now being made with red chili. Not sure how accurate this is so correct me if I'm wrong.
Merci d'être là pour Alfred—roughly meant as "Thank you for being there for Alfred". I don't know French so I used Google Translate (not mine) and I don't know how accurate it is. Correct me if I'm wrong.