13 February 2012 - 10:44 AM

Writing this on paper in class. Fun :D

This is part of a doujin/fancomic that I've been working on.

Prompt:

13th: Worlds Beyond
Fic or art must be alternate universe, alternate reality, or crossover. Gakuen and Fantasia, despite being canon AUs, do qualify for this theme. Alternate reality refers to exploring a deviation from canon. In Hetalia, this may also be called alternate history. Crossovers are pretty self-explanatory; it just needs to feature characters or settings from another canon. Fusion fic/art (i.e. drawing the characters in clothing from another canon) is welcome here as well.

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Mention of child abuse

AU-verse: Cardtalia

Never Let Go

Alfred, King of Spades, sat on the balcony of his chambers, breathing the salty-sweet air of their port capital, Stipe-London. London, as it was usually called, smelled of bread and trash in the lower class housing stations, but up here, in his palace, it smelled of the sea.

And roses.

A knock came on his door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Arthur." Alfred blinked. Arthur, his Queen, his beautiful Queen of Spades, wanted to see him? After the mess he had caused with the other's family?

"Come in." The door opened and in came the Queen of Spades.

Unlike Alfred, Arthur had pale, but healthy skin. The noble-by-birth, self-proclaimed gentleman had rarely been allowed outside if there was no flamboyant social that needed to be attended. His eyes caught Alfred's attention every time.

Right now, there was no Kohl around the bright green orbs that always reminded Alfred of parafruit, a lovely green fruit that was like a guava, but tasted like tropical fruit and the fruit of a cactus combined. It was his favourite.

He missed Columbia.

"Alfred," Arthur said, closing the door behind him, as well as closing the latch behind him, locking the King and Queen in the King's chambers.

Alfred blinked. Never, in the years that he had been here, had Arthur come to his room.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" He entered his actual chambers, turning to close the doors to his balcony.

"No, nothing is wrong," the older man insisted, holding his hands up in physical negation of his husband's question. His dress, Alfred noticed, was only his vest, dress shirt, trousers, and shoes. His cloak was gone, as well as his regularly worn hat.

"When why are you here? Are you going to to yell at me for what happened?" Alfred went to his dressing cabinet and wardrobe to take off his coat, placing his pocket watch in its special case, locking it.

"Perhaps," Arthur answered, sitting on Alfred's bed.

Alfred sighed.

"Yes, I shouldn't have gotten involved at all with your family and I should've just stayed quiet like you told me to." Alfred turned away and began to take off his vest, slipping the smooth, circular buttons through the small slits, before he proceeded to do the same to his shirt.

"Yes, you should have."

Alfred wanted to cry now. He was a horrible archer, a horrible King, and he ruined – destroyed – any chance that Arthur had at fixing his relationship with his older brothers.

He loosened his tie roughly and yanked it over his head. He slammed his fist, the tie in its grip, hard onto the dresser, forcing the wood to give slightly, but being wood of a coniferous tree, it only splintered some, and there was now a dent in the lovely dresser.

"I know, damn it! I fuck everythin' up!" He could hear himself slip deeper into his Columbian accent, which he noticed became very dominant when he was angry.

"Honestly, I'm-a fixin' ta leave 'cause I keep rooning ever'thin' fer ya. I hate it!" He hated how he was starting to sound unintelligible. Now, he thought, closing his eyes, Arthur would scold him over, not just fucking up his family reunion, but also not being able to get the idiotic, farm boy out of himself.

"I just..." He felt his face begin to come wet, tears pouring down his cheeks. He could feel the world tip up and he swore that the urge to vomit was about to make the possibility a reality. He hit the ground with his knees and then the palms of his hands, keeping himself from smashing his head against the stone floor. He heard the clicking of Arthur's shoes and the movement of the mattress.

"Don't ya come near me!" Alfred cried out, his voice breaking and making his throat hurt. He'd fallen in love with his Queen... and he couldn't... His sobs made him sound like a child, and he knew this.

Arthur hated him. He only liked the roses that he made. The beautiful blue roses that enticed the other so. The cursed thing that he had specially bred for the Queen he'd fallen in love with.

His heart...

He wanted to claw it out.

A touch to his back and he cringed. It was like being under Daddy's belt again, but the softness of small Arthur's hand, the soft swish of fabric as the other knelt down beside him, burned him far more than the sting of leather and the screaming and insulting yells of the large Areus.

"When..." Arthur spoke softly.

"When you read me that poem." Alfred shook in pure terror as he felt lips touch his forehead. He shook more so as Arthur moved him, turned him by the right shoulder, his back towards the dresser, and kissed his lips.

He swore that his heart stopped.

"You read that... I was so frightened." Arthur kissed him again, ignoring the fear that was so apparent in his eyes. It had to be.

Arthur pinned him to the dresser, wrapping his arms around

"When I have locked your slender body
Close in my arms, and tenderly
Pour out to you the words of love that
Well up from my ecstasy..." Alfred shuddered as Arthur began to kiss his cheeks and his neck.

"You free your supple form in silence..." Alfred whispered, remembering that night. The night that he told Arthur that he loved him.

"From the tightening grip I take,
And a distrustful smile, my darling,
Is all the answer that you make." Arthur finished the second of the five verses, smiling sadly. He'd pulled away, frightened.

"I was terrified, Alfred." A kiss.

"And I didn't want you to know... about what I went through when I was in love with someone before. I didn't want to be exposed to that weakness-" a kiss "-that risk of being hurt again." Tears were going down his face now as he began to practically attempt to consume the other, crushing his lips against Alfred's and pressing his torso against his, spreading the fabric of the King's shirt apart and pressing his skin, exposed as he had opened his vest and shirt when he was on the bed.

Both men trembled at the raw feeling. Alfred squirmed.

"N-n-no... You don't love me." Alfred turned away from the other.

"I do..." Arthur kissed the other, desperation in his eyes. It made Alfred want to wipe away the tears and ravish his body.

He pressed his lips to Arthur's, feeling the hot breath of his Queen mix with his.

Arthur welcomed the action and Alfred took advantage.

God, he begged. Please, if this is a dream...

Let me die in my sleep.

Alfred stood, bringing Arthur with him up as well and dragging the other to his large, lonely bed.

Arthur gasped as Alfred practically threw him onto the bed. The room was full of sounds, skins sliding and slapping when touching and the sound of fabric being yanked off by frantic hands.

Arthur moaned loudly, dragging his fingernails across Alfred's back, nails making long scratch marks on the beautiful tan male, as Alfred bit and suckled on almost every centimetre of pale, beautiful skin that was before him.

"Alfred..." Arthur reached up, kissing his husband again. Alfred looked down at the beautiful fruit green of his love's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Do you have another poem for me?"

Alfred smiled happily, obligingly. He lifted Arthur's leg, rubbing small circles on the limb.

"Escape me?
Never –" Alfred bit down on the tender flesh on the inside of Arthur's thigh. A small keen spurred him on.

"Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth," Alfred pressed his lubricated fingers to Arthur's anus, shivering as Arthur spread his legs a bit wider and seemed to welcome the intrusion as Alfred began to spread them.

"I'm not your first," Alfred stated, love still in his voice. Arthur's eyes were bright with tears.

"I wish that it was you."

Alfred smiled, but paused his movements as Arthur reached up, wiping his face. When he pulled his hand away, it was wet.

"Why are you crying, poppet?" Alfred brought the hand back and kissed it, licking off the tears.

"You love me."

Arthur kissed his love again and then laid down.

"Make love to me."

Alfred pulled out his fingers and put his erect penis by the other's entrance. He paused and began to push in slowly, resisting with all of his will to just begin thrusting as he heard Arthur hiss in pain.

"Are you okay?" he asked, holding still.

"Y-yes." Arthur breathed in and out steadily, deeply, to remain calm. Alfred kissed the hair on the other's head, his forehead, cheekbones, cheeks, lips.

"Okay, Alfred. I'm ready."

Alfred pulled out slowly and then pushed back in. Arthur gasped and shook, clinging to his husband.

"Oh, fuck!"

Alfred paused.

"Arthur-"

"More!"

Alfred continued to move in and out, push and pull, and he relished in the moans and kisses that Arthur gave him. The wet, sloppy noises that Alfred had always imagined; the moans, cries, kisses, the hardness of Arthur's dick between their bodies... He could die right now.

Reaching between their bodies when he felt very close, Alfred began to pump Arthur's cock, watching the other writhe beneath him, bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Arthur came first, Alfred quickly following. It was not those stories that Alfred had been told, those couples that always come together and reach the special state of mind just to drag it out.

But it made him think of something he had heard once.

You lift me, and I'll lift you, and we'll ascend together.

"Alfred!"

"Arthur!"

They cuddled together after their sex.

The love was mutual.

And the poet held his love in his arms.

Never letting go.

13 February 2012 – 9:55 PM

:)