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hetalia2009-08-02 10:53 pm
fuzzy-san.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-08-02 10:53 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfic! Again...
Title: German's sexy. You're sexy. I haven't had enough sexy lately.
Characters/Pairings: Feliciano/everyonething, Arthur/Ludwig
Rating: PG-13, to be safe. Vague mentions of sex throughout, nothing explicit.
Summary: A couple of pseudo-anarchists get together in Berlin.
Warnings: OOC, AU, anachronisms, fail!history, and mentions of sex.
A/N: Comments represent your love!
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Part seven
Part eight
He’s actually a little disappointed that Feliciano left, because the man could stand to know what Ludwig puts up with on a regular basis. Still, Feliciano may yet have heard them, Arthur is loud enough – how-many-years fronting a band really gives you strong lungs, he reflects when his mind comes back to him, head still ringing with pleasure and noise. Yes, Arthur is a screamer. Damned proud of that. He thinks the only way they won’t have a noise complaint is if all the people that heard him tonight went deaf and then couldn’t tell the difference, which, given the volume of his voice, is entirely possible.
“So,” he murmurs, laying his forehead against Ludwig’s (and he sticks a little, slides a little, both of them slick with sweat). “D’you wanna do that again?”
“Again?” Ludwig smiles shakily. “That wasn’t enough for you?”
“Mate, I’ve been all but celibate for going on a year now. Normally I get laid like Feliciano gets laid.” He pauses. “Well, maybe not quite that much. Point is, I find myself in the bed of absolutely the sexiest man alive tonight, and you’re asking if one go wasn’t enough for me? Not that it wasn’t bloody fucking spectacular,” he adds. “But don’t you want to-?”
“Well,” Ludwig says, shifting a little under him, arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist. “I have been completely celibate for quite more than a year, so I understand. However, I’ve never had so many partners that to go so long without is a struggle for me.”
“Ah, but don’t you miss it?”
“You can’t miss what you’ve never had,” Ludwig smiles.
“Oh.” Fuck. “So you’re saying I just – oh. Sorry,” he says uneasily. This does explain a lot.
“Not at all.” Ludwig gives him a small kiss. “I would not have had any other.”
Heat floods through him at that, not the immediate consuming lust that pushed him to do this, but slower, more sweet and less bitter-hot. His smile is content to mirror Ludwig’s own. “Right then,” he says stupidly. “Good.” Arthur rolls halfway off him, cuddles close at Ludwig’s side but no longer lying directly on top. Ludwig keeps one arm around him, presses a kiss into his hair, onto his cheek. Arthur’s smile turns into a full grin. Having gotten laid, he doesn’t feel guilty this time about how completely and utterly happy he is, and he falls asleep against Ludwig’s shoulder still smiling.
He wakes up already giddy, kisses Ludwig until his eyes open. He feels like laughing, like everything is a little funny somehow, or – anyway he can’t stop smiling, even when Ludwig rolls on top of him and presses him into the mattress and Arthur groans through his teeth, Ludwig’s hands wandering over his skin. They have sex again, even though Arthur hurts – not just the usual morning-after ache but genuine pain (did he mention Ludwig was big?) – and Ludwig protests at the little whimpers he makes. Getting out of bed after that is far, far from either of their minds: in fact, even early-rising Ludwig lies abed until nearly eleven o’clock. They talk and kiss and doze and are perfectly, blissfully lazy all day, even after they rise.
It is this day they use as a blueprint for the ones to come: maybe none after quite match in terms of sheer lack of doing anything, but they all stay mellow and domestic, both of them quietly shocked that this is really happening, that they are really together. For that week, everything is quiet and still and bright.
There is never any one routine, but patterns do spring up in the way they spend their time together: they spend a whole week writing and making posters (with which even the semi-pacifistic Feliciano helps) and organizing the masses – protestor’s work. Or else they are too busy catching up and enjoying each other’s presence that all that falls to the wayside. A night like that may go something like this.
They fall into bed as soon as they get to Ludwig’s apartment, but they never quite get undressed. They keep getting distracted – Ludwig tickles Arthur accidentally as he lifts his shirt over his head, and then they are laughing and rolling and falling to the floor, Arthur not having any success in tickling Ludwig back. They stop when Arthur runs out of breath, squirming and wheezing but refusing to concede defeat, even if he can’t inhale for laughing – that ruins the mood, and by the time it comes back they are too busy talking, snuggled as close as they can get on Ludwig’s bed.
Arthur loses the thread of the conversation more than once, just enjoying the hum of Ludwig’s voice – it is definitely musical, he decides, a deep warm song in his ear. He cannot stop smiling.
The third time Ludwig asks him something and he can’t answer it (specifically, and what of that tour you were planning? and Arthur murmurs a happy, noncommittal yeah into Ludwig’s shoulder) he laughs and squeezes Arthur gently (arms heavy and comforting around him).
“Have I just been talking to myself?” he asks.
“Nah, go on. I’m listening.”
“If I’m boring you, there’s no need…”
“No. I like the sound of your voice. Talk about anything.” He pulls back just far enough to kiss Ludwig once (and then again, and then once more, third time’s the charm and he’ll need to kiss him three times as often as he normally might anyway to make up for all the time they’ve been apart). “Really. Anything. Speak German, if you like.”
“Would you like that?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he says again. “You should. German’s sexy. You’re sexy. I haven’t had enough sexy lately.”
Ludwig laughs and Arthur feels the vibrations of it in his chest. He snuggles closer. “All right. Hmm.” He thinks a moment. “What shall I tell you about.”
“Anything. Talk about the stock market, for all I care. Tell me something I already know. I won’t be able to tell the difference, anyway.”
“Something you already know?” and Arthur smiles, not understanding but liking the sound, the shape of the words. “You’re very handsome. Perhaps you don’t know that. You… hmm. Your eyes are green and your hair is-” he brings one hand to the back of Arthur’s neck, fingers just brushing the nape of his neck. “is green, this week. I’d like to see it blonde someday, before we’re old men. Will you dye it until it’s grey and deny me the opportunity?”
Here he stops, not really expecting an answer. Arthur kisses his neck. “Go on.”
“It’s just that you have such lovely green eyes,” he says in a rush, coloring some in the cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “But the green in your hair distracts from it. If you were blonde, your eyes would look greener. And you – you are so handsome, Arthur.” He gets braver as he goes on, knowing Arthur will not understand him no matter what he says. “And you. I am not often shy, not that I am brave, but I had not thought I would be so afraid to say that I am in love with you. I fear that if I say it, you –”
“Wait. Wait.” Arthur sits up halfway, looking at him with his eyebrows raised. “Say that part again.”
Ludwig goes red. “I fear that if I say it…”
“No. Before that.”
“I thought you couldn’t speak German,” Ludwig says uncomfortably.
“I can’t. I don’t. Just say that bit again.”
“I.” His lips draw together in a half-grimace. “I am in love with you.”
“And that’s. That’s ‘I love you,’ right?”
“Where did you learn German, Arthur?” Ludwig asks, not meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t. But everybody knows ich liebe dich. That’s like señorita.” Arthur kisses his forehead, eager and grinning. “But that’s not the point.” Kiss. “The point.” Kiss. “Is that you said you love me, right?”
“Yes,” Ludwig mumbles. “And I – I know that you-”
“I love you,” Arthur interrupts. “God. God, I can’t believe it but I was actually scared to say it because, you know, I’ve never actually felt – god it sounds cheesy and stupid but. I’ve never felt like this for anybody and I’m not the lovey type, but. But if you can say it then I can say it and I love you, Ludwig, so. There. It’s out.”
“Oh.”
Arthur kisses him again. “Don’t ‘oh’ me. I just spilled my guts. A little. Give me something better than that.”
“I… love you too.”
“That’s better.” He lies down again, rests his head where it was before on Ludwig’s chest. “That’s better than anything.”
A long, comfortable silence. Ludwig’s fingers slide up to Arthur’s neck again, thread with his hair.
“Will you ever leave it blonde?” he asks idly. Arthur sighs.
“I dunno. Maybe. Prob’ly not. Unless I get lazy or too broke to dye it. And I’ve been making enough lately to buy food, so no reason I can’t put color in my hair.”
“I would like to see it blonde.”
“Nah. It’s not a nice color like yours is. ‘S all dirty blonde and piss-yellow and it sticks up funny.” He smirks at Ludwig’s fond expression. “Really. At least if I dye it, it looks intentional.” Rather than gesture to his hair (spiky-messy, naturally), he tosses his head a little, not wanting to move his hands from where they rest (Ludwig’s chest and his side, respectively). “It just does this. I mean, I’d love to have hair like yours. ‘S silky and it lays flat. Wouldn’t mind that.”
“Like this?” Ludwig says, a little incredulously. “No. No, Arthur, my hair is too light. I look like a Nazi.”
He stares. Then, “Holy god,” he bursts out. “You really do.” He laughs. “Never noticed that.”
“You ought to grow your hair out a little,” Ludwig says, back on the point quickly, as is his nature. “Cut the green out. Your eyes…” He looks down, his cheeks going pink again. “You have very-” he shies away from ‘lovely’, though his mouth seems determined to form the word “-green eyes, Arthur. I think the color makes them less green, and. I should like to see your natural hair color someday,” he finishes.
“Yeah? I’ll cut it tomorrow, then. All of it off. And then grow it out blonde.”
“That’s rather drastic. But someday, perhaps.”
“I’ll do it,” Arthur insists. “You know I would. Bald’s sort of punk anyway, right?”
“Someday,” Ludwig says firmly, not quite managing not to smile.
They kiss, and Arthur lays his head on Ludwig’s shoulder again: he closes his eyes and exhales slowly, languorously.
“Will you sleep now?”
“Mh. No. Just resting.”
“Sleep,” Ludwig murmurs. “It’s late, anyway.”
“No. Stay up and talk to me. Five minutes more.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No,” he complains. “Come on, I didn’t even get any tonight, I’m not waiting ‘till morning to have a conversation.”
“I would not deny you anything, Arthur,” Ludwig smiles. “If it’s sex, then –”
“I just don’t see you enough. I don’t even wanna do it anymore. But I don’t want to sleep yet, either.”
“Say that with your eyes open.”
“Hey, you’re sleepy, too.” He nuzzles at the underside of Ludwig’s chin. “Mmm. And you’re warm and you smell good.”
Ludwig hums his approval. “Then what shall we talk about?”
“I dunno.” He brushes his lips against Ludwig’s skin as he talks, smiles when he feels him shiver. “I guess if we don’t have anything to talk about, I could just touch you for a while…”
“Mmm.” Ludwig turns his head into Arthur’s kiss, formerly idle hands now busying themselves sliding along his waist. The mood – a specific one, the one they had going before they got into tickling each other – comes back slow and friendly and easy. It takes ten minutes this time just to get Arthur on his back.
Ludwig has managed, by this point, to get his shirt off, is kissing at his stomach as he works at the zipper of his jeans (a major oversight for both of them – were they really going to just sleep fully clothed?). Ludwig takes his time, kissing him in less obvious places, pushing Arthur’s knees together to pull his pants down and then apart again.
He arches like a happy cat, following the progression of Ludwig’s mouth with his gaze, sighing and stroking his hair. Ludwig kisses at the inside of his thigh, and then down some, halfway to his knee before he stops again, glances up at Arthur.
“You have nice legs,” he says in German. “But then you are nice all over.”
“If you’re talking dirty, I want to know, at least,” Arthur murmurs back.
“I was complimenting you.”
Arthur smirks. “You like your guys skinny and unwashed?”
Ludwig laughs, kisses at his skin again. “You taste like you’ve had a shower recently enough.”
“Mmn. Yeah, I – once a month, need it or not,” he says, half joking and half too distracted to joke. “Hey, you
wanna move your mouth up a little?”
“Yes.” And he does, but much more than Arthur intended. He doesn’t complain, of course, when Ludwig kisses him on the lips next, but he hadn’t expected it. “I thought you didn’t want to anymore?”
“And I thought you weren’t gonna deny me anything.”
“Am I denying you now?”
Arthur has to admit he’s not even half-hard at this point, but damnit, he’s looked forward to this for weeks.
And then Ludwig kisses his cheek, and then his throat, and then presses him close, warm and sweet enough that it knocks the lust right out of him.
Good riddance, he thinks, hugging Ludwig around the waist.
They really ought to fall asleep right then and there – it is getting late, after all – but somehow, as sleepy as they both are, as comfortable and cozy and content, collectively, they don’t manage to shut up completely. They talk in murmurs, or inbetween kisses, but every time one lays his head on the other’s shoulder to sleep, they find something new to talk about just before they begin to drift off.
The sun begins to come up.
It takes them a long time to notice.
Arthur curses suddenly when he realizes how early it is, gesturing at the slowly-lighting window.
“We are going to sleep, mate.” He tugs Ludwig on top of himself as though rest has suddenly become an urgent matter.
“The sun’s barely up,” Ludwig sighs, his tone just the opposite of his words.
They have settled into a comfortable doze, when, half an hour after they’ve resolved to rest, Feliciano bursts in (singing, and even as a guy in a band Arthur thinks Feliciano sings far too much) with breakfast for them both, you two lovebirds need to get up, now, for Ludwig has work, after all, or doesn’t he? And so he does, and very soon he leaves, but neither of them regret staying up all night – this is the life they’ve chosen and the life they’ve made, and it is this life that makes Arthur sick and sad to think back on after it has died.
A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN. Give me comments!
Characters/Pairings: Feliciano/every
Rating: PG-13, to be safe. Vague mentions of sex throughout, nothing explicit.
Summary: A couple of pseudo-anarchists get together in Berlin.
Warnings: OOC, AU, anachronisms, fail!history, and mentions of sex.
A/N: Comments represent your love!
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Part seven
Part eight
He’s actually a little disappointed that Feliciano left, because the man could stand to know what Ludwig puts up with on a regular basis. Still, Feliciano may yet have heard them, Arthur is loud enough – how-many-years fronting a band really gives you strong lungs, he reflects when his mind comes back to him, head still ringing with pleasure and noise. Yes, Arthur is a screamer. Damned proud of that. He thinks the only way they won’t have a noise complaint is if all the people that heard him tonight went deaf and then couldn’t tell the difference, which, given the volume of his voice, is entirely possible.
“So,” he murmurs, laying his forehead against Ludwig’s (and he sticks a little, slides a little, both of them slick with sweat). “D’you wanna do that again?”
“Again?” Ludwig smiles shakily. “That wasn’t enough for you?”
“Mate, I’ve been all but celibate for going on a year now. Normally I get laid like Feliciano gets laid.” He pauses. “Well, maybe not quite that much. Point is, I find myself in the bed of absolutely the sexiest man alive tonight, and you’re asking if one go wasn’t enough for me? Not that it wasn’t bloody fucking spectacular,” he adds. “But don’t you want to-?”
“Well,” Ludwig says, shifting a little under him, arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist. “I have been completely celibate for quite more than a year, so I understand. However, I’ve never had so many partners that to go so long without is a struggle for me.”
“Ah, but don’t you miss it?”
“You can’t miss what you’ve never had,” Ludwig smiles.
“Oh.” Fuck. “So you’re saying I just – oh. Sorry,” he says uneasily. This does explain a lot.
“Not at all.” Ludwig gives him a small kiss. “I would not have had any other.”
Heat floods through him at that, not the immediate consuming lust that pushed him to do this, but slower, more sweet and less bitter-hot. His smile is content to mirror Ludwig’s own. “Right then,” he says stupidly. “Good.” Arthur rolls halfway off him, cuddles close at Ludwig’s side but no longer lying directly on top. Ludwig keeps one arm around him, presses a kiss into his hair, onto his cheek. Arthur’s smile turns into a full grin. Having gotten laid, he doesn’t feel guilty this time about how completely and utterly happy he is, and he falls asleep against Ludwig’s shoulder still smiling.
He wakes up already giddy, kisses Ludwig until his eyes open. He feels like laughing, like everything is a little funny somehow, or – anyway he can’t stop smiling, even when Ludwig rolls on top of him and presses him into the mattress and Arthur groans through his teeth, Ludwig’s hands wandering over his skin. They have sex again, even though Arthur hurts – not just the usual morning-after ache but genuine pain (did he mention Ludwig was big?) – and Ludwig protests at the little whimpers he makes. Getting out of bed after that is far, far from either of their minds: in fact, even early-rising Ludwig lies abed until nearly eleven o’clock. They talk and kiss and doze and are perfectly, blissfully lazy all day, even after they rise.
It is this day they use as a blueprint for the ones to come: maybe none after quite match in terms of sheer lack of doing anything, but they all stay mellow and domestic, both of them quietly shocked that this is really happening, that they are really together. For that week, everything is quiet and still and bright.
There is never any one routine, but patterns do spring up in the way they spend their time together: they spend a whole week writing and making posters (with which even the semi-pacifistic Feliciano helps) and organizing the masses – protestor’s work. Or else they are too busy catching up and enjoying each other’s presence that all that falls to the wayside. A night like that may go something like this.
They fall into bed as soon as they get to Ludwig’s apartment, but they never quite get undressed. They keep getting distracted – Ludwig tickles Arthur accidentally as he lifts his shirt over his head, and then they are laughing and rolling and falling to the floor, Arthur not having any success in tickling Ludwig back. They stop when Arthur runs out of breath, squirming and wheezing but refusing to concede defeat, even if he can’t inhale for laughing – that ruins the mood, and by the time it comes back they are too busy talking, snuggled as close as they can get on Ludwig’s bed.
Arthur loses the thread of the conversation more than once, just enjoying the hum of Ludwig’s voice – it is definitely musical, he decides, a deep warm song in his ear. He cannot stop smiling.
The third time Ludwig asks him something and he can’t answer it (specifically, and what of that tour you were planning? and Arthur murmurs a happy, noncommittal yeah into Ludwig’s shoulder) he laughs and squeezes Arthur gently (arms heavy and comforting around him).
“Have I just been talking to myself?” he asks.
“Nah, go on. I’m listening.”
“If I’m boring you, there’s no need…”
“No. I like the sound of your voice. Talk about anything.” He pulls back just far enough to kiss Ludwig once (and then again, and then once more, third time’s the charm and he’ll need to kiss him three times as often as he normally might anyway to make up for all the time they’ve been apart). “Really. Anything. Speak German, if you like.”
“Would you like that?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he says again. “You should. German’s sexy. You’re sexy. I haven’t had enough sexy lately.”
Ludwig laughs and Arthur feels the vibrations of it in his chest. He snuggles closer. “All right. Hmm.” He thinks a moment. “What shall I tell you about.”
“Anything. Talk about the stock market, for all I care. Tell me something I already know. I won’t be able to tell the difference, anyway.”
“Something you already know?” and Arthur smiles, not understanding but liking the sound, the shape of the words. “You’re very handsome. Perhaps you don’t know that. You… hmm. Your eyes are green and your hair is-” he brings one hand to the back of Arthur’s neck, fingers just brushing the nape of his neck. “is green, this week. I’d like to see it blonde someday, before we’re old men. Will you dye it until it’s grey and deny me the opportunity?”
Here he stops, not really expecting an answer. Arthur kisses his neck. “Go on.”
“It’s just that you have such lovely green eyes,” he says in a rush, coloring some in the cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “But the green in your hair distracts from it. If you were blonde, your eyes would look greener. And you – you are so handsome, Arthur.” He gets braver as he goes on, knowing Arthur will not understand him no matter what he says. “And you. I am not often shy, not that I am brave, but I had not thought I would be so afraid to say that I am in love with you. I fear that if I say it, you –”
“Wait. Wait.” Arthur sits up halfway, looking at him with his eyebrows raised. “Say that part again.”
Ludwig goes red. “I fear that if I say it…”
“No. Before that.”
“I thought you couldn’t speak German,” Ludwig says uncomfortably.
“I can’t. I don’t. Just say that bit again.”
“I.” His lips draw together in a half-grimace. “I am in love with you.”
“And that’s. That’s ‘I love you,’ right?”
“Where did you learn German, Arthur?” Ludwig asks, not meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t. But everybody knows ich liebe dich. That’s like señorita.” Arthur kisses his forehead, eager and grinning. “But that’s not the point.” Kiss. “The point.” Kiss. “Is that you said you love me, right?”
“Yes,” Ludwig mumbles. “And I – I know that you-”
“I love you,” Arthur interrupts. “God. God, I can’t believe it but I was actually scared to say it because, you know, I’ve never actually felt – god it sounds cheesy and stupid but. I’ve never felt like this for anybody and I’m not the lovey type, but. But if you can say it then I can say it and I love you, Ludwig, so. There. It’s out.”
“Oh.”
Arthur kisses him again. “Don’t ‘oh’ me. I just spilled my guts. A little. Give me something better than that.”
“I… love you too.”
“That’s better.” He lies down again, rests his head where it was before on Ludwig’s chest. “That’s better than anything.”
A long, comfortable silence. Ludwig’s fingers slide up to Arthur’s neck again, thread with his hair.
“Will you ever leave it blonde?” he asks idly. Arthur sighs.
“I dunno. Maybe. Prob’ly not. Unless I get lazy or too broke to dye it. And I’ve been making enough lately to buy food, so no reason I can’t put color in my hair.”
“I would like to see it blonde.”
“Nah. It’s not a nice color like yours is. ‘S all dirty blonde and piss-yellow and it sticks up funny.” He smirks at Ludwig’s fond expression. “Really. At least if I dye it, it looks intentional.” Rather than gesture to his hair (spiky-messy, naturally), he tosses his head a little, not wanting to move his hands from where they rest (Ludwig’s chest and his side, respectively). “It just does this. I mean, I’d love to have hair like yours. ‘S silky and it lays flat. Wouldn’t mind that.”
“Like this?” Ludwig says, a little incredulously. “No. No, Arthur, my hair is too light. I look like a Nazi.”
He stares. Then, “Holy god,” he bursts out. “You really do.” He laughs. “Never noticed that.”
“You ought to grow your hair out a little,” Ludwig says, back on the point quickly, as is his nature. “Cut the green out. Your eyes…” He looks down, his cheeks going pink again. “You have very-” he shies away from ‘lovely’, though his mouth seems determined to form the word “-green eyes, Arthur. I think the color makes them less green, and. I should like to see your natural hair color someday,” he finishes.
“Yeah? I’ll cut it tomorrow, then. All of it off. And then grow it out blonde.”
“That’s rather drastic. But someday, perhaps.”
“I’ll do it,” Arthur insists. “You know I would. Bald’s sort of punk anyway, right?”
“Someday,” Ludwig says firmly, not quite managing not to smile.
They kiss, and Arthur lays his head on Ludwig’s shoulder again: he closes his eyes and exhales slowly, languorously.
“Will you sleep now?”
“Mh. No. Just resting.”
“Sleep,” Ludwig murmurs. “It’s late, anyway.”
“No. Stay up and talk to me. Five minutes more.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No,” he complains. “Come on, I didn’t even get any tonight, I’m not waiting ‘till morning to have a conversation.”
“I would not deny you anything, Arthur,” Ludwig smiles. “If it’s sex, then –”
“I just don’t see you enough. I don’t even wanna do it anymore. But I don’t want to sleep yet, either.”
“Say that with your eyes open.”
“Hey, you’re sleepy, too.” He nuzzles at the underside of Ludwig’s chin. “Mmm. And you’re warm and you smell good.”
Ludwig hums his approval. “Then what shall we talk about?”
“I dunno.” He brushes his lips against Ludwig’s skin as he talks, smiles when he feels him shiver. “I guess if we don’t have anything to talk about, I could just touch you for a while…”
“Mmm.” Ludwig turns his head into Arthur’s kiss, formerly idle hands now busying themselves sliding along his waist. The mood – a specific one, the one they had going before they got into tickling each other – comes back slow and friendly and easy. It takes ten minutes this time just to get Arthur on his back.
Ludwig has managed, by this point, to get his shirt off, is kissing at his stomach as he works at the zipper of his jeans (a major oversight for both of them – were they really going to just sleep fully clothed?). Ludwig takes his time, kissing him in less obvious places, pushing Arthur’s knees together to pull his pants down and then apart again.
He arches like a happy cat, following the progression of Ludwig’s mouth with his gaze, sighing and stroking his hair. Ludwig kisses at the inside of his thigh, and then down some, halfway to his knee before he stops again, glances up at Arthur.
“You have nice legs,” he says in German. “But then you are nice all over.”
“If you’re talking dirty, I want to know, at least,” Arthur murmurs back.
“I was complimenting you.”
Arthur smirks. “You like your guys skinny and unwashed?”
Ludwig laughs, kisses at his skin again. “You taste like you’ve had a shower recently enough.”
“Mmn. Yeah, I – once a month, need it or not,” he says, half joking and half too distracted to joke. “Hey, you
wanna move your mouth up a little?”
“Yes.” And he does, but much more than Arthur intended. He doesn’t complain, of course, when Ludwig kisses him on the lips next, but he hadn’t expected it. “I thought you didn’t want to anymore?”
“And I thought you weren’t gonna deny me anything.”
“Am I denying you now?”
Arthur has to admit he’s not even half-hard at this point, but damnit, he’s looked forward to this for weeks.
And then Ludwig kisses his cheek, and then his throat, and then presses him close, warm and sweet enough that it knocks the lust right out of him.
Good riddance, he thinks, hugging Ludwig around the waist.
They really ought to fall asleep right then and there – it is getting late, after all – but somehow, as sleepy as they both are, as comfortable and cozy and content, collectively, they don’t manage to shut up completely. They talk in murmurs, or inbetween kisses, but every time one lays his head on the other’s shoulder to sleep, they find something new to talk about just before they begin to drift off.
The sun begins to come up.
It takes them a long time to notice.
Arthur curses suddenly when he realizes how early it is, gesturing at the slowly-lighting window.
“We are going to sleep, mate.” He tugs Ludwig on top of himself as though rest has suddenly become an urgent matter.
“The sun’s barely up,” Ludwig sighs, his tone just the opposite of his words.
They have settled into a comfortable doze, when, half an hour after they’ve resolved to rest, Feliciano bursts in (singing, and even as a guy in a band Arthur thinks Feliciano sings far too much) with breakfast for them both, you two lovebirds need to get up, now, for Ludwig has work, after all, or doesn’t he? And so he does, and very soon he leaves, but neither of them regret staying up all night – this is the life they’ve chosen and the life they’ve made, and it is this life that makes Arthur sick and sad to think back on after it has died.
A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN. Give me comments!
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