Tithonus by Mist Over Water

Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya
AmericaxArthur
Rated high T/low M; rather explicit descriptions about the aftermath of sex? I don't know what to rate it, but you've been warned.

For the OTP in #Contestalia on deviantART

Part I

Alfred F. Jones ordered a screaming orgasm for the man at the opposite end of the bar; hoping that it would be foreshadowing how his night was going to end. The bartender could barely hear him over the thumping that ricocheted throughout the building, where many—being an understatement—danced, illuminated by the pulsating and moving lights. When the order was finally placed, the man behind the bar got to mixing the Irish Cream, Vodka and Kahlua into a cocktail before giving it to the gentleman who looked far too well dressed for a nightclub. The two men talk before his target for the night looks his way as their waiter points. Alfred tried to play it cool under the watchful gaze, but the caterpillars settling above his eyes sent subconscious shivers down his spine.

Alfred soon found himself sipping a 'sex on my face', courtesy of the man with the eyebrows.

Men and women made themselves known to Alfred's prey, but he always brushed them off; all the while, ogling each other with interested eyes, mentally undressing one another. It was difficult for Alfred as the man's attire in no way showed off his form. It excited him in some ways, if one of them ever made their way to the other, then he would be unknowing of what lay beneath those layers of fabric; he would unwrap him like a child at Christmas, before the same would be done to himself—clothed in the usual shirt and, what he had dubbed, 'smart; trousers (with his usual bomber jacket back in the car), his adorned choices refused to give the other man so much as a glimpse of his muscular arms and chest. The older looking man took the final sip of his cocktail before licking the remnants of the concoction away, using only the tip of his tongue; flicking it over the top lip and closing his eyes. Alfred was somewhat taken aback from the show of confidence, and deduces him as a deity of sensuality. A God of seduction.

The man stood, Alfred's vision never strayed from him, never even wavering for a second. A smirk appeared upon Alfred's face, noticing the way in which the shorter male swayed his hips as he walked to his end of the bar. They were face to face for several long seconds before the man with the eyebrows reached out a hand, "Arthur Kirkland." The English accent felt like an aphrodisiac to Alfred; and it did not help that the bright green eyes are staring straight into his should—into the very fibre of his being. A sly smile adorning his soft face, which appears to be a pleasing hybrid of feminine and masculine. The man was short and thin, but Alfred momentarily wondered if he was hiding muscular features underneath the almost 'nerdy' clothing he wears that he works so well, or if the skin beneath would feel soft beneath his callous fingers. The blond hair seemed to be in a tidy mess, and with the light coming from behind him, he almost seemed like an angel; the hair forming an almost halo over him.

With these observations, Alfred thought that it was understandable that he took the fingers in his own hand, bowed his head and kisses the knuckles of Arthur. "Alfred F. Jones." And the slightly salty skin absorbed his introduction. He looked back up, letting go of the smaller hand, "Can I buy you a drink?" He wanted to know how the vodka tastes on the man's thin lips, and as if reading his thoughts, they curved back into a smirk, a playful glinting in the eyes making him seem as if he was twelve; he leant against the bar and with half lidded eyes said in a playfully flirtatious manner:

"Do you usually buy random men drinks?"

Alfred laughed, asking the bartender for a beer, and exchanging it for a few dollars, before replying to Arthur, "Only the best looking in the room. Anyway, I coulda asked the same thing. 'Sex on my face'?" He shakes his head and flashes the best Hollywood smile he can muster, getting as close to the man as he can, "Tryin' to hint somethin'?" With those eyebrows raised, Alfred knows what the man was implying; that he was the one to start it. "So I guess I should admit that I was hinting that we could finish the night with a bang—"

He was cut off as Arthur laughs at him, a laugh that was in no way, shape or form held back, "You've got some balls. Who do you think you are? You barely know me."

Alfred nods, taking a sip from his bottle and turns his attention to Arthur. "Fine. You're English, how did you end up in the good ol' US of A?" He listened intently, but just barely. As his lips had some kind of magnetic pull to his eyes; he barely held himself back to pull the man into a tentative embrace and pushing their lips together. Through imagining what the two would be able to do later that night, he managed to pick up that he was twenty-three, a recently discovered homosexual and had moved to America from England a year ago to pursue his dream of being an editor of a magazine. Alfred asked if he was single; his brain and sexual organs want to scream happily when it was revealed that he was, and the American was asked to tell about himself. He told that he was twenty-one, gay ("duh") and did not reveal his occupation. Alfred told that he was just out of a relationship as his boyfriend moved back to the Russia to do whatever he wanted to do, he did not care. He was bothered about as much as he desperately wanted to get laid that night; which he revealed to the wood of the bar, much to Arthur's amusement.

Kirkland smirked, watching the man mourn his dry spell, "I could help you," he began, softening his voice and turning his index finger around the cowlick atop the American's head. "But I only allow special men to take me home with them. Good looking men. Men with big hearts, among… Other things. Men who know what to do with what he's got. Who treats me right, and most of all." He paused, giving enough time for Alfred to look up in wonder, before moving closer and whispering in his with lips brushing over skin, "And they have to be particularly amazing with their mouth."

"Oh?"

"Kissing, especially. They have to know what they are doing; be able to seduce me with just the feel of our lips being pressed together, leave me absolutely breathless when we pull away after having invading each other's mouths." He was practically purring at this point, and just barely managed to contain his gasp as Alfred pulled him close; a mischievous glint in his eye showing that he was accepting the challenge. Closing his eyes gently, he rid of the gap between their faces; at first it was an innocent first kiss, but when they pulled away, the two looked each other over; taking in how the other looked, blue meeting green.

The two practically smashed their faces together thereafter, parting their lips slightly, and allowed their tongues to meet somewhere in between the two wet caverns. Arthur placed his hands on the American's waist, and digs his fingernails in lightly; Alfred stopped stroking the smaller man's tongue to prod around the mouth before him, feeling the soft ridges of the roof of his mouth and the insides of his cheeks, trying his hardest to draw out a moan from the Briton. It only happened when he sucked on the intruding appendage, attempting to copy his movements. They went back to tentatively stroking each of the muscles, pulling back barely half an inch to take a breath before continuing where they left off.

As soon as Alfred's hand rested on Arthur's backside, they knew how the night will end.

Part II

Looking back on his story, Alfred realises that the night was a blur.

They had barely made it back to Arthur's apartment, rutting against one another, gasping and just needing that friction. They ended up on any flat surface that was within their reach; the dining room, the kitchen work surfaces, the sofa before finally falling onto the bed; Arthur silently thanked himself for only recently stocking up on lubricant. The night was fall of gasps, flesh and wanton moans. They were equal; taking turns being on their knees, being on their back, being pressed against the wall. Whilst one was recovering, they would take turns servicing the other with hands and mouths. A thick musk of sex and sweat covering the room, and no doubt seeping into the rest of the living space.

Arthur was surprised that the man had no off button, taking it for him to pass out for Alfred to finally just stop and wake up the next morning covered in bodily fluids and the liquid from the bottle that lay empty on the bedside cabinet after such excessive use; strong arms wrapped around him, and the strong chest on which he used as a pillow. He watched the slight form of abs rise and fall with each breath, seemingly wrapped around a thin layer of fat; the skin had been broken multiple times throughout the young man's life, he deciphered from the scars that littered the chest before him.

The bed groaned beneath him as he stood and made his way to the kitchen as quietly as possible, the night before had been too good to miss out on again. Admittedly, he was never good at one night stands, and despite the way he talked about the subject, love and sex was something that he found difficult to separate. It was for the very reason that Alfred had woken up to the same scent as his one-night lover had woken up to, with the added poignancy of eggs, sausages, bacon, beans and toast. It took the American a little while to realise that he was not at home; sitting up in bed, the material dipped at the extra weight of a person.

"Good morning," Arthur said, smiling and placing the tray on the American's lap, "I've got some towels ready for you. I don't know about you but I rather dislike walking around with the remains of the night before still on me." He watched the morning light hit the face before him just perfectly to show off each stray hair on his face, and the strong outline of his jaw; drawing every ounce of courage he could find, he moved closer to Alfred, and kissed him on the lips, drawing a line from his lips and down his neck. "Maybe I can join you and we can have a morning session?"

"I- I don't have time for breakfast," He tried to pull away and get as far away from the face trying to kiss him as he could, pushing the tray back into the British mans' hands, "But I'll take you up on the shower. You know… By myself." Arthur nodded, and took the cooking out of the room, as he left telling his bed mate where the bathroom and the towels were before turning the water on and stepping under the steady stream. The water felt more than good over his aching limbs; the aches that tell what they had done the night before, and being able to wash the semen from his chest and legs and… Pretty much everywhere else felt almost remarkable. Admittedly, it had been a while since he had woken up in someone else's bed. There was a good reason too, and with a start, he froze in cleaning his hair to try and think what happened, any conversation that they may have had.

Had he told the Brit…?

It was around the time that thought crossed his mind; Arthur was sitting in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and trying to think of a way to ask for the American's phone number. The previous night was barely a blur, but he could remember some of the touches, some of the times they had made love—fucked?—and whilst it was true he had not had many sexual partners it probably was one of the best times he had had, it was almost as if Alfred knew everything about him, everything that made him go insane with lust. A ringing sound brought him from his thoughts, and he looked down to the black pair of trousers that had been thrown down in the heat of the moment; picking them up, he looked through each of the pockets before finding the Apple iPhone. The name on the screen reading 'The Boss', at first he considered ignoring the call, but seeing as it was nearing eleven in the morning, he answered. "Ar—"

"America? Where are you? You were supposed to be here two hours ago!" Arthur was about to continue with his introduction, but Alfred's boss seemed not to take a breath before he continued to say, "I know you are still upset, but you need to be with the rest of the nations to see the England representative—"

"This isn't Alfred, sir. This is Arthur. Can I take a message?" He furrowed his brow, feeling anger beginning to take over his veins; was the man he met the previous night lying about his name? America was generally considered a feminine name to say the least, but he did not think anything less of the man for what his parents had named him. After a quick apology and a message for Alfred—America?—to call him back as soon as possible, the phone was hung up. The silence did nothing to drown out the questions racing about in Arthur's head as he looked down to the device in his hand, and with a heavy heart, he opens the contacts and presses 'add new contact'; pressing the numbers of his phone and hesitating when it came down to the name. Instead of opting for Arthur Kirkland, he decided to go for 'Last Night's Shag', grimacing that maybe he would look at it later on and wonder who it was. After receiving a phone call, he could save it to his own mobile telephone, and—Arthur paused. Why was he thinking this way? He had barely known the man for twelve hours, and yet… Something about him screamed that they had known each other for a lifetime.

When Alfred got back from his shower, adorned in only a towel draping around his waist, they did not talk. Instead, the rest of the morning is spent in silence, with just the message being relayed breaking that. Arthur never found out if it was his own anger or Alfred's awkwardness of the situation which caused it.

Part III

Life had gotten almost back to normal after that night; Arthur continued to work in his office, he continued being single, and he continued with his mundane routine, never letting it go out of place. It was not like he sometimes waited by his phone, or answered whenever it would ring with his heart pounding with anticipation, no. Definitely not. He was a gentleman, and gentleman did not lost their composure over stupid men who seemed like they could have been the one, who knew how to give mind-blowing sex, and who ultimately lied about their name. He groaned, sitting at the bar this mess had begun in, ignoring the talking about him. Ignoring the music and the putrid stench of sweat and alcohol.

However, he could not ignore the feel of the American's strong hand on his shoulder. "'Last Night's Shag'?" Alfred—America?—asked, taking a seat beside Arthur, placing a bottle of beer on the wooden bar top. The British man tensed as Alfred—Ameri-? Oh, damn it, he did not even know what to call the damned man nowadays—snaked an arm around his waist, and moved closer, ensuring that his nose was on the others ear. He noticed the slight swaying in his seating, and the strong stench of the beverage that he had been drinking. He probably had had a lot more than just the one drink. "I thought your name was Arthur? Y'shoulda told me I was screamin' the wrong name…"

Arthur grunted, wanting to move away but not finding it in himself to will his muscles to do so. Instead he shivered at the hot breath going over his skin, "I could say the same to you. But now is not the time to be talking about it." And it seemed not even a second after he had uttered these words that the American had grabbed him by his arm and pulled him into the restroom. Pushing the shorter male against the wall Whatever-He-Was-Called pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck and leaning forward to push their faces together. Arthur tried to push away, but the man before him was an exhibition of unfathomable strength it seemed as he refused to move even an inch. "What's your name?"

Whatever-He-Was-Called turned his head; beginning an assault on the pale neck that Arthur had put on display when trying to force the American off of him. He kissed and nipped and licked each piece of the flesh, trying to pass on the lust that was pumping through his veins—accompanied by the alcohol, of course. "Alfred, I told you, baby." His hands began to join; instantly jumping to the other mans behind to push their crotches together. Although it was supposed to be sexual, he decided not to begin any activities until the other replaced the anger in his expression with one that was flustered. One that was hot and ready to go. In an attempt to initiate this transition, he began to massage the flesh and the muscle beneath his fingertips, alas, he never got the reaction he was looking for.

"Why did your boss call you 'America'?" Arthur grabbed Whatever-He-Was-Called's face, and pulled it upwards to look at him, "I don't mind. It's a feminine name, but I think you have enough room in your looks for that. I won't judge, just tell me the truth." His heart dropped at the furrowing of the brows displayed by Alfred (?), and the slackened grip on his backside—which he definitely was not enjoying. "Are you America or Alfred?" He asked again, but after a short while of silence, just the two assessing the look in the one another's eyes, the American stood and turned around without warning. Arthur groaned in annoyance, reaching out to grab the hand that had been harassing him moments prior, "Answer me!"

Arthur never expected to be hit as Alfred turned around, "Get off me!" He yelled, and although the strike was not particularly hard, the shock was enough to make him stumble back to the wall, holding his face where the other hand had been. "What if I don't wanna tell you! You wouldn't put your name in my phone, instead you call yaself 'Last Night's Shag'! What kind of person does that!?" The two stared at each other, and although the music from the other room was leaking through to where they were, the silence between them seemed to scream louder than any other noise that they heard, and for a moment, Arthur began to question any motive that the two of them could get to know each other better, and any thought of a relationship that the two had a potential to be a couple.

Without another word, Alfred turned and left. When Arthur went back to the bar, he did not see the American again.

"You have one new message, received today at ten seventeen AM."

"Arthur, I'm so sorry! Fuck. I dunno what made me do it, I was angry and… I've got a confession to make. I'll tell you now. Through this method, so I don't have to worry about how you'd react until you feel comfortable enough to see me. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit ya, man. But… I guess I owe you answers. My name… God. How do I say this? It's both. It's America and Alfred. My official name… It's. Oh God, Arthur, you're gonna think I'm lyin' but I'm not! I'm tellin' the God's honest truth. I'm… the… I'm the United States of America!

"I'm two-hundred and thirty six years old. My birthday is July fourth. I'm the embodiment of a country. I am a country. I stand for the land mass, and the people that inhabit it. I know this might freak you out. That's why we got told not to tell any humans. But honestly… I felt such a connection with you, Artie. Which… Is strange considering you're not one of mine… But, I'd like to meet with you. Go for coffee and talk about if ya wanna give us a go. I'll… Text ya my address. Come and see me. Thanks, and sorry for droppin' this on ya… Last Night's Shag."

Note—Part I was actually written for a kink meme fill, but after I realised it didn't fit with the request, I decided to use it for my own idea.
The OTP Contest—This pretty much sums up everything I love in a pairing. Forbidden love, a relationship that is doomed to fail, and hot men. There isn't much country/human fics, so we need to get more out there!
Tithonus—Tithonus fell in love with a Goddess, and so to ensure they could get married he asked for immortality. This blessing turned out to be a curse as he was not given immortal youth, therefore he grew older, but he never died. Fun fact!: He got turned into a cricket to solve this. Great going Ancient Greeks.
Screaming orgasm and sex on my face—Are actual drinks. I one day will try them. Maybe.