[Fanfic] Inconvenient Timing (1/1)

[flyingfortress.livejournal.com]

Title: Inconvenient Timing
Genre: Smut; humor; little bits of fluff
Pairing(s): US/UK
Rating: M
Warnings: Human names; sex; language.
Summary: Midnight in London has America and England busy with anything but sleeping. However, a horribly timed interruption causes frustrations of many varieties as America finds himself being blown off in the worst way possible.

Author’s Notes: My fingers and keyboard have lost their virginities! I feel like I lost mine too omg /// Oh goodness, the fail reeks. But, I felt like I ought to try my hand at writing our boys in action. I don’t think I’ll be doing it any time soon, haha. Or, at least, any further than what I’ve written.

 

Just something I started, and needed to finish. I needed a funny to perk me up, anyway. Balcony Beginnings is really starting to depress me, haha.

 

I hope you enjoy it. (: I know our boys did ~ /SHOT

 

--

 

The bedsheets were all but tangled, parts of them being gripped tightly by a British hand. Back arching against the bed, England shakingly gasped and gripped the cream colored sheets tighter, but another hand covered his, and his fingers hooked into their counterpart’s. A husky moan and he gripped America’s hand further, green eyes shutting as his head leaned back and revealed his neck. Taking his cue, America kissed and nibbled England’s Adam’s apple and that sensitive spot where his jawbone squared off, receiving a satisfying moan and a whisper of, “Ngh, A – Alfred; right there…”

 

His left hand traced the outlines and curves of the smaller body beneath him as he hovered above. His lips captured England’s in a deep kiss as his fingers teased the skin above his member, a motion that made goosebumps crawl on Arthur’s skin and made him buck his hips in reply. A small smirk formed on Alfred’s lips and he looked down at Arthur, who was panting and blushing in anticipation. “Geez, Artie, and here I was thinkin’ you’d be warn out already,” he commented with a playful smile. The pout on England’s face was so irresistibly cute; America kissed his nose in response.

 

“With the way you torture me like this,” England replied slowly, trying to get air into his empty lungs, “I’m as surprised as – aah~ – y-you are.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back as America’s lips hungrily kissed England’s torso and moved down towards his thighs. He bit his lip and had to move his free hand to have something to bite down on. His knuckles would do for the moment as America continued to mercilessly tease him.

 

England was the kind of person who was bipolar when it came to sex. Some nights, he loved it slow and sensual, as America was doing now, with exploring and whispers of sweet nothings and teasing galore. Other nights, he wanted it so quickly and so suddenly that, in total, he had ripped three of America’s shirts, four pairs of his pants, and even a pair of socks to get him to do it.

 

Of course, America was happy to oblige. Sex was fun and it felt great, not to mention it was one certain way for them to concretely seal their relationship. But England sometimes caught him at inconvenient times, like early in the morning, or when he was doing laundry, or even when he was filling out his paperwork, which was a shocking sight for Arthur to see.

 

Still, sometimes he craved America’s touch so badly that it didn’t matter if he was having a seizure, he would still jump the American and beg for physical contact. (He sincerely hoped he never would be turned on during America’s would-be seizure.)

 

America chuckled lowly, a noise England loved to hear. “Aw, c’mon, you know you love it.” His hand stroked one finger slowly up England’s hard member, and America indulged in the loud gasp and the way England almost writhed under his touch. “Slow is good sometimes, yeah?” he asked, his finger teasing the tip of England’s sex. Arthur only moaned in reply, his teeth nibbling on his lower lip hungrily. America gave him a sweet kiss and kissed down his jawline. “You can…” A kiss. “…get your…” Another kiss. “…revenge…” A few nibbles. “…on me later.”

 

“I’d bloody better,” England threatened, although his frustrated tone was faux. “Because this is - ” America had begun to move up England’s hardened length and he stopped mid-sentence before choking out a pleased, “ – heaven.” His breath came out in pants and moans that America loved to hear, and as he was stroked he leaned up and captured America’s mouth in a hot kiss, which he was more than eager to respond to.

 

Then something happened neither of them would have ever prepared for. It had happened to many people before them, and they wouldn’t be the last to suffer this abrupt pause. But it happened at one of the most inconvenient moments of their love-making that they would later curse it for ever happening.

 
So you gotta let me knooooow, should I stay or should I go?~

 

The two opened their eyes and their mouths parted, faces turning to see the rubrum cellphone on the nightstand vibrating and singing one of Arthur’s favorite songs. America stared down at England in complete disbelief, his jaw hanging and a brow quirked. No way did he have his cellphone on during this. He could turn the stupid thing off when they went to see Harry Potter but not when they were having sex? Clearly, Arthur needed to set his priorities straight.

 

Oh. That. Whoops. England gave a tiny, apologetic smile before reaching for the phone. America smacked his hand with a begging look, and England scowled slightly. A phone call was a phone call, and he had to answer it. It was only the proper thing to do, no matter how inconveniently timed. While catching his breath, England closed his eyes as he spoke. “Hello?” The conversation would be brief, of course, and whoever was calling must have had a good reason since it was midnight.

 

America couldn’t believe this was happening. Whoever it was calling, he swore he would ring their neck and throw them off the side of the Empire State building. He could vaguely hear a foreign tongue on the other line, which meant it wasn’t anyone of England or America’s people. Good. He didn’t like the idea of ringing the neck of one of his or Arthur’s people. But England’s face clearly displayed annoyance and he sighed, eyes rolling. America went to ask who it was, but he got his answer soon after.

 

“France,” England spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m going to hang up the phone if you don’t shut your frog mouth.” (Alfred would later learn that France had called and faked a telemarketing ad of sex toys and steak knives. The two combined made the so-called offer something frightening in America’s imagination, like Belarus had thought it up. The mental image only got worse.)

 

England remained silent, listening to France bargaining for him to stay on the line. Of course, America couldn’t hear any of it, so France could have been spouting off about anything. It could have been global warming, or what laundry detergent he used. Either way, it was horrible, time-consuming, and making him frustrated mentally and sexually.  Patience very quickly fading, America leaned over to his bored beau and whispered, “Just hang up already.” But England held a finger up to silence the younger country, his face still disapproving of the call but obviously intent on listening.

 

Oh no he didn’t. He was being blown off because of a call from France? No, he wasn’t just being ‘blown off’, he was being cock blocked and he was going to kick some serious French ass because of it. Alfred’s face hardened and he scowled at the phone, his imagination running rapid with all the ways to kill Francis.

 

“Fine,” England finally replied in exasperation, “but I don’t want any more of your ‘sexy toy and steak knife’ bollocks.”

 

Never before in his life had America been so turned on by the word ‘steak knife’. He eyed England up and down, his erection hardening at the figure in bed with him, and traced his hand up England’s thigh. He eyed Arthur like a wolf with its prey, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

 

Whatever France had replied with on the phone was lost. England gasped loudly and shivered at the touch, his body squirming. “Bloody-” With one shove, America was rolled to the other side of the bed and England mouthed dangerously, Not right now! His face turned bright red when he heard France’s question on the other end. “Y-yes, I’m fine,” Arthur murmured, his hand rubbing his suddenly sore neck. “No, I wasn’t slapping the monkey, you pervert!”

 

Alfred couldn’t believe this, any of it. First off, he was still being cock blocked. Second, he had been turned on by the word ‘steak knife’. Third, England’s slang for masturbation was hilarious, and even that was hot as Hell given the circumstances. Finally, he had just been pushed aside by his boyfriend! He stared, completely flabbergasted, as England sat on his side and propped himself up with his arm. Now he was getting comfy as he talked on the phone, and Alfred was left hard and un-sexed.

 

“I swear, if this isn’t business-related…” England sighed heavily and America remembered how a world conference was to be held soon. It was probably about that.

 

Well. Fuck world conferences! There was sex to be had and he could hardly give a rat’s ass about a meeting. America wasn’t in the mood to be put off because of France making up some BS excuse about why he couldn’t be there, which he probably was. He folded his arms over his bare chest and simply stared at England, who drummed his fingers against his hip. America looked at his curves and was determined to see an end to the call as soon as humanly possible, or else he would explode.

 

Or, he’d take a cold shower. Either or.

 

England glanced over his shoulder at America, and then returned to staring at the dresser as France rambled. He did a double-take, however, when he realized that his partner was just staring at him. He raised a brow and soon mouthed with a scowl, Stop that.

 

Make me, America mouthed in reply, his tongue sticking out shortly afterward.

 

England’s face heated up and he pouted. He had to deal with a rambling French bastard and a childish America all at once? Great. Don’t be stupid.

 
Then hang the hell up!

 

I can’t, and that was the end of it because England had to reply. “I’m not going to tell them. You can tell them yourself, you lazy bastard.” His patience was waning, and he rolled his emerald eyes. “I don’t care if you have Swine Flu; if you can call me at midnight and ask me to relay your message, then you can call the others and tell them yourself!” Another pause, and England grit his teeth. “So you’d spare them from getting the flu, but you won’t spare me? And – and, you can’t even get H1N1 through the phone!”

 

That was when the line was drawn. America was really beginning to lose his mind, and the idle banter was starting up piss him off. He was a simple guy who just wanted to spend the night with his boyfriend, and some bastard in mainland Europe was keeping him from what he wanted. Well, America was the Hero, and heroes didn’t stand for that!

 

He snatched the phone from England, who gave an offended ‘Hey!’ in response. He wanted nothing more than to continue making love to his boyfriend, and no world conference or strain of Swine Flu would stop him. He didn’t think of what he was going to say; it just came out in a hormone-driven, quick ramble. “God dammit, France; we’re having sex, call back tomorrow!”

 

And with that, he closed the phone and threw it out the door (which was open for some reason), ignoring the knocking on the wooden stairs it made as it presumably fell to the bottom step.

 

England’s face had paled and he slowly turned to America, who looked rather pleased with himself. Arthur’s jaw was agape, and he held a shaking finger to point at America, then to the door. “Y – you … you …” He snatched up his pillow and hit America square in his smug face, his visage beet red and his voice trembling with embarrassment. “You BLOODY GIT! You just told France we were havi— … m – making love! France, America! Do you realize just what you’ve done?!”

 

He could have cared less what he did or didn’t do. That pillow kind of hurt. “Why’d you have to hit me?” he mumbled. He remembered what England had said and shrugged, a happy smile on his face. “I got you off the phone so I could make love to you, duh!” It wasn’t often that America said ‘make love’, unless he was trying to be incredibly romantic. He usually said ‘let’s do it’ or ‘let’s have sex’ or even ‘bedtime’ (not to be confused with ‘time for bed’). But in this case, it was kind of a bribery to get England to not be upset at him.

 

And it worked, too, because the anger died and England huffed, moving so he lay on top of his bare lover. He rested his chin on America’s nicely toned chest, a blush still on his pouting face. “You need to learn to think before you speak,” he mumbled, his hand absent-mindedly tracing Alfred’s muscled arms.

 

“But you love me anyway.” America smiled and leaned forward, capturing England’s lips in a gentle kiss. They parted, and Alfred smiled angelically to England, a hand rising to stroke his cheek. “And I love you, too.”

 

The pink on England’s lips was to be expected. But Arthur smiled nevertheless and put his hand on top of America’s. “Of course I do, git,” he quietly responded.

 

America couldn’t have been happier. He had avoided being 100% cockblocked, had told France off, had won back England’s sexual favor, and had made him smile, all in one night. All was well in the world.

 

A devious smirk came to his face suddenly, and he put an arm around England’s back and turned so he lowered him onto the bed, hovering above him like before. He leaned so his lips ghosted against England’s ear. “Where were we?” he whispered, sending a visible shiver down England’s body. He smirked warmly and nibbled his earlobe, hearing his lover’s breath hitch. “That’s right,” he replied with a mischievous smile, “I said you can get your revenge on me later.” He looked at England’s blushing, quixotic face and a brow rose. “Now, what did you say in response?” he mused, tapping his chin. “I’ve seemed to forgotten~”

 

England could have barked at him to get it on, but he was feeling a bit playful now as well. He propped himself up temporarily and leaned so he gently bit down on America’s shoulder and sucked the skin. “I think,” he replied in a low hum, “I said it was heaven.”

 

America gave a quiet moan as England left his mark; the things that man could do with his mouth – kissing, giving hickeys, or even more – amazed America. Once England had left his signature on his beau, America looked at him with a smile. “That’s right,” he replied. Their lips mingled in a hot, sweet kiss for a few moments before America parted and offered him a gentle smile. “Heaven.”

 

He laid England back down and his mouth closed on England’s again, their old position taken back up, and their heat of the moment ascending once more into love-making euphoria. America could have sworn that he heard the phone vibrating from down the stairs, but he didn’t care, and he imagined England didn’t either. No call from any living soul could interrupt them now, and that’s just how America liked it.

 

--

 

It was to be expected.

 

America and England stared stony-faced at all the blushing, giggling, staring, or wolf-whistling countries in the room, all of which were watching the two of them. Some even leaned to their partner and said something, probably an idea for later in the night. America could feel his eyebrow twitching and he knew England was heating up like a fire; he felt his lover’s warmth even just standing next to them. The beans had been spilled. The cat was out of the bag (and on Greece’s sleeping head). The secret was out.

 

Everyone knew that the two countries had gotten some late last night.

 

It might have been instinct or common sense, but both Alfred and Arthur knew who had done it. Their heads both snapped to look at one person who was looking quite pleased with himself, a wine-glass in his hand and his finger dipping into the red liquid. He made a harmonious note with the glass’ rim, his blue eyes looking at America and England as he crossed his legs and smirked coyly. Revenge for being hung up on, they supposed.

 

“It was a miracle, Amérique! Your little tale last night healed my illness and ‘as allowed me to attend zhis conference.” France looked at England and winked. “L'Angleterre, my sincerest hopes you do not mind zhat I told everyone ‘ere about your and America’s late night odyssey.” An ensemble of giggles and more wolf whistles came in response. He looked to both the English-speaking Nations at the same time and leaned in, a brow raised.

 

“I must, ‘owever, ask the question we are all dying to know,” he spoke. The two lovers glanced at one another and then warily at France, who only smirked in response.

 

“Who came first?”