Title – The London Tea Party (VERY original)
Started – ? How sad! I don't know when I wrote my first Hetalia story! ToT
Finished – 12-28-10, Tue (2PM)
Characters – America, England
Genre - Romance
Rating – M
Upfront Summary [the summary that shows up with all the other information before you click on to read the story] = Oh no! England has grounded America from his oh so precious tea! Come and witness his horribly-planned-out PWP solution…
A/N - This was actually my first attempt at a Hetalia fanfiction believe it or not! XD After a while, I kind of realized its purposeless-ness and left it be while I worked on other, more urgent stories. ^^; So, please don't hesitate to tell me of any mistakes and stuff…
Just in case, here's a small key:
Disclaimer = I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia/APH. Hidekaz Himaruya does. If I did, I'd request Non-tan (Iggy's seiyuu), Inoue (Spain's seiyuu) and his Nico double, and Jun Konno (HRE's seiyuu) to send me recordings of sweet lullabies or just their voices all in character or embarrassed or something. =w= *veee~*
Whelp, hope you like this lemony fail!
~~~(The London Tea Party_START)~~~
America was visiting England. No, visiting would be fun. America was…seeing England? Meh. Vague, but close enough.
Now, America was a growing boy. But one could look at him and call him a man. Recently, America felt he was being treated unfairly by his guardian England. Although England had repealed the Stamp Act on his people, he didn't wait long to charge a new replacement tariff on their oh so delicious tea! America wasn't as tea-crazy as Turkey, but he loved it very much and the tax was really bothering him.
He hadn't really thought through this plan of how to convince England to repeal this act too (not to say that he actually assesses the situation beforehand on a daily basis), but the fiery excitement of having the hero (himself of course) flying (sailing), unbeknownst, to the villain's hideout (England, by default) was too much to keep a straight head or face as he pointed gallantly towards the approaching land.
The English officer, as strict as he was, stopped the American ship at the port. When asked to state his business, America pompously stated that he was here to see England. After a pause, the Portman asked him to pay a 'parking' fee to which America meekly produced and then bid the new tourist a farewell.
America then sneakily meandered through the streets of England without looking too suspicious and had finally arrived at his guardian's doorstep. The house looked so different than the cottage they had built together. Their home. He briefly wondered if he preferred this European house to theirs as he knocked on the door.
When England answered, his heart took a leap. He looked up at America with a radiant imagery, and he couldn't deny that his first thoughts were: He came to see ME?
England hid the blushing though and admonished the teenager, "I thought I told you not to cross the sea unless it was absolutely necessary." But soon enough he sighed and smiled. It was a very sweet gesture. England backed away from the entrance. "Please, come in."
They were in the bedroom. America wasn't quite tuning in, but the reasons they were there were something along the lines of the living room being too messy and the kitchen smelling of fumes.
America glanced over at his guardian beside him on the bed, buttoning up his top.
England was in a casual long-sleeve collar shirt and black breeches, and barefoot. He looked as though he had just woken up which…triggered a feeling difficult for America to grasp.
And then, not-so-distant childhood memories of waking up into that big country's arms came flooding back and a blush became noticeable to England.
The Brit quickly shifted his hands to his lap, failing to finish buttoning up the rest of his shirt. America looked up at him – his hair amok and flustered, the same probably applying to the man's thoughts.
It was the perfect time to strike.
America flared his blond hair and said, "I want you to repeal the Tea Act." Unfortunately, much to his surprise, England had immediately settled down and faced him seriously as if he predicted this would happen.
"No." America faltered at his cuteness. Er, curtness.
Gesturing with his hands, "I really feel for you, England, after your fight with France. I know that you're in debt, but taxing me isn't going to help with that."
"If it's so meaningless, then why does it offend you?"
America couldn't answer that.
"What if I promise not to buy tea from anyone else?-"
"I knew you were buying crap from other countries, you law-evading git!" exploded England, making the other wince. "I can't believe you!"
"Yow! Calm down, I'm sorry! I won't do it again!" The British man crossed his arms unconvinced and looked in the opposite direction, staring at the dresser mirror instead.
America sighed and combed a hand through his cake-colored hair. Then, he lifted his right arm and shook his shoulder lightly. That was a gesture of accepting defeat.
Coolly, England touched his hand with his left, letting only the pads of his fingertips absorb the heat. He had planned to move America's hand onto his respective lap, rise from the bed, and strongly suggest that he should leave before he took away his boat. But instead he was shocked when the teenager held that hand, completely enveloping it so that there was a sandwich of warmth on England's border.
England now turned to face him: America was staring straight at him – dead serious. England, despite how much he wanted him to have that kind of face and to think logistically about his actions, would never admit that when he did read the atmosphere, England would become uneasy and he, his own self, would not be able to react to the American.
So when America loomed closer, it was an obvious reaction for England to retreat back a bit. After seeing that chess move though, America completely invaded England to…
Sniff my hair? As England had guessed from America's suction, the country was sniffing the muffin-colored hair right behinds his ears.
Fish and Chips. Well-well-done. And that's why the kitchen smelled… But America also smelled something else. Memories told him that it was the unique scent of Arthur Kirkland.
Lost in that thought, his lips absentmindedly brushed against the other's skin, causing the afflicted to shout, "What the bloody hell are you doing!-?"
The shorter man had backed away shocked, face flushed, expression confused, mouth agape, heartbeat racing, and just stared at the American.
"W-Well?" he finally managed, though cursed at the stammering. "Are you going to explain yourself, Alfred?" He called him by his human name to remind him of their political positions; Arthur ruled as the Great British Empire and Alfred of America was just another colony under his wing.
Alfred, once more serious-faced, stared back at him with a smile that Arthur could have sworn was a smirk for a twisted plan. And not just any American plan, but one that would work.
When Arthur blinked, Alfred suddenly had a playful one, as if the intent was never there. To add to the ploy, he said, "I wanted some of your cooking!"
He faintly imagined the new colony in front of him who had pretended to love his home cooking. Very carefully, he reposed the question, "What…do you mean by that?"
Alfred invaded his bubble again, the feeling of his breath keeping Arthur frozen in place. "I want to know how you taste," and he licked the outline of his jaw. His maneuvers were so chilling that by the time Alfred's slick tongue reached Arthur's chin, the man was completely and utterly dazed.
Alfred retreated back just enough to dotingly gaze at his 'parent' country. That lost look in his eyes as if he was just a newborn nation with no allies in the world and so wide he could clearly see his entire outline of emerald irises, mouth hanging loosely completely at a loss for words. No one should see that face of England, of Arthur Kirkland. No one but the self-proclaimed favorite colony.
Alfred then, smirking, slid a gentle finger or two down Arthur's thought so carefully the pads were only grazing his skin. He felt the moan of arousal vibrating in his throat. He was trying hard to hide it, Alfred knew. To keep the satisfaction of being 'bothered' from the rebellious colony.
Alfred trailed butterfly kisses down his neck and noticed how his figure straightened, leaning ever so slightly into his lips. But when he touched the cotton fabric of his collar though, Arthur immediately grabbed his hand, almost slapping it, and then removed it from his clothing, his eyes small and challenging.
"I'll put such a large tariff on this act, it'll make your head spin." Alfred's face didn't change at all causing the smaller man to panic and add, "It'll be nothing to sneeze at, I assure you." Alfred was moved…but only to be closer as he started to unbutton the other's shirt again.
Arthur wanted to be farther, yet his body refused. Words were his only ally now.
"You'll have to start paying immediately…" By the time the Englishman had weakly uttered his request, Alfred had finished his ministrations and looked up at him. Limitless sky-blue eyes connected with infinite grass-green ones in a star-striking moment.
I love you. Arthur barely moved his lips to mouth such words, but without a doubt that's what he wanted to say.
"Here's the down-payment then," and Alfred took him by command.
He kissed his lips, pulled at his hair, and touched everything he could before parting for breath. But Arthur wouldn't let him stop. He tugged at his tie – A tie? This teen really was a man. – and dragged him down, back into those English-accented lips for another breathless kiss.
When Alfred separated from him again, he felt woozy. The American wasn't too good at holding his breath; he hadn't been about deep water his entire life, save for today when he crossed the sea. But as he stared at the smaller man's body, he knew he was drowning in something crazy.
I love you. He mouthed the words back to his charge, firmer, but still confused with it all.
The shirt was discarded as well as his own in record time as Alfred traced his tongue over Arthur's lithe body. The chest, the toned stomach, and his lips before kissing him again. Arthur didn't protest. In fact, had Alfred cared if he wanted it too or not, there was a bulge forming in the Brit's pants. Alfred glanced down towards it and in the corner of his eye he could recall a look of fear in the other's.
Alfred poked the bulge where he imagined the tip to be; the groan of pleasure from the Englishman was enough of a confirmation. It was only then that Alfred remembered how hard HE was. He was aroused by this whole idea of course, but just hearing the groggy tunes spill from his parent country's mouth made his 'situation' harder to control. The breeches he had on weren't anywhere near loose enough. So he discarded them with ease and gulped as Arthur looked up at him, just waiting.
Alfred grunted as his hardness began to fill his undergarments too. It was insanity!
Suddenly, he felt soft familiar hands on his face slowly bringing him down to Arthur's in a small, sweet, possibly loving kiss. And when they parted, he no longer hesitated.
He threw off his shorts, Arthur's pants and his as well at the same time. He yanked out Arthur's bedside drawer and grabbed the lubrication he knew damn well was there, smothered himself with it and drove his manhood into the other. They screamed out loud, pausing to take deep breaths of preparation for the great journey ahead.
The hardest part was over. It was all downhill from there.
Alfred thrust and Arthur took it in a paced rhythm as if they had practiced this for years in their minds, and maybe they did. They said no coherent words as Alfred's thrusts became more intense and Arthur's opening became more constricted. There were only groans and moans and whatever they had imagined the other saying those lonely nights in bed; they were certainly thinking, repeating the fantasies in their heads as they lived them out then and there.
"A-Arthur!" Alfred groaned out, surprised at the husky sound of his voice. "I'm going to go a little faster…a-alright?"
Arthur didn't respond for a long while, and Alfred was tempted to pound him into oblivion without warning.
"It's…It's fine by me! Just do it, I don't mi-!" His voice hitched as Alfred wasted no time accelerating into him, thrusting in at an inhuman rate, like a large industrial machine, spewing steam yet still so close to overheating.
With his back-arched and eyes wide with surprise and pleasure, Alfred took in the sight like sweet tea. A sparkle flashed in his sky-blue eyes as he stopped thrusting to balance himself with his left hand and grabbed the Brit's weeping member with his right. Arthur gasped in response and looked sharply down in that area. Using great flexibility he never knew he had, Alfred breathed onto the tip before taking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue at it. Arthur's mouth opened and closed but no words escaped.
He thrust and pumped and licked all at once and Arthur threw his head back, rocking side to side, his mouth agape with a scream building in his throat. If Alfred had another mouth he'd love to kiss him senseless there too.
Just when he thought it was over and he'd went over the edge, Alfred slowed only to push back in even stronger than before, causing him to shudder and gasp. It made him so close, so aggravatingly close and he had to beg for relief.
"Please! PLEASE!" There were tears in both their eyes. "Give it to me! Let me have it already! God, just- aaaaah! DO IT!"
He let go of the head and his member and slammed into him with demonic speed until he really finally-
"AAAAAALFRED!" he choked out, and the sound of him screaming out his name was enough to make him climax too. But he pounded into him a couple more time shamelessly and came hard into him just to cover it up.
Arthur smiled as he felt the liquid spray inside of him and his little colony collapsed beside him.
Alfred grinned, staying inside of the other for the moment, and touched his pool of seed that spilt onto his chest. He licked it innocently from his finger and remarked how bitter it was…yet sweet. Perhaps it was an acquired taste that he had to learn to love. He glanced over to England, Arthur, him.
They didn't say anything about it.
The next day, in 1778, the Tea Act was promptly repealed.
~~~(The London Tea Party_END)~~~
A/N – Cliffhanger~ XD This is supposed to be a one-shot, but I've freaking run out of ideas on how this should end. Really. I'll let you guys know when it comes to me by posting up the second chapter later, and then fusing it with the first the next day so that it really will be a one-shot. XP
A/N – XD Shut uuuuuuuuup. Ignore the inconsistencies, I really just wanted to finish it. And, I really want to take this time to thank Miss Macabre Grey for this. After I'd finished reading her "Tails of the Sea" story, I went back to read her "The Questionable Vowel" and "Taxi Drive" story, and then, for the heck of it, went to read her "It just wasn't political" story, thought of writing the end to MY story, and quickly went off to read THREE MORE of her one-shots before finishing this one! XD All in one night, what the hell. So THANK YOU Grey for the inspiration!
Haha! I finished it! My first fanfiction on Hetalia EVER! It's finished! It's porn without plot BUT IT'S FINISHED! XD
Okay guys, thanks for everything! I'll combine this into a single chappy one-shot later, alright?
Update 1-11-11 Done.
Review if you like, please and thank yous!
PS – O.O I also think this is my first lemon. *shifty eyes* I think I should BEG for reviews then. ^^;