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Post by Hipster America on Oct 13, 2012 9:19:55 GMT -5
Disoriented from the sudden change of plans, America glanced up at Britain, frowning a bit. "Don' wanna." He whispered, poking the Brit's nose once to accent his point. He didn't want to leave the warmth that was Francis. Besides, he was already aroused in such a way that made it painfully aware that he wanted only France in that moment, and nothing else would do. "Leave me alone, dude... I'm having fun and you can't stop me, old frog~" He sang-song, stumbling around the man and back into Francis' arms, pathetically whining under his breath. "Francis... Britain's trying to take me away... Be my hero, please?" Snuggling up tight against the Frenchman, he scowled at Britain, scrunching up his nose childishly. Britain didn't have any right at all to steal him from his Frenchie. "He's so mean... And stuck up... Stupid frog..."
"Tell me..." No longer interested in the old Brit, Alfred focused as well as he could on Francis, remembering that some special surprise was awaiting him, since France had been so intent on bringing him over here. "What's the special, important thing that you need to tell me, mmm?" Lazily resting his head on the Frenchman's shoulder, he sighed quietly. Why was this man so damn comfortable? It made him feel at ease, though the drink would have first made this possible, so he couldn't completely blame it on the man. That boring old Brit needs to go away... I've got talking to do with this beautiful man, don't I? He's much more interesting than that 'brother' of mine, Britain.
"You're so warm..." He repeated suddenly with a large grin, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and hugging him a bit. After a moment, he let his arms fall once more to his side, content in resting on the man's shoulder, pressing his body against the Frenchman's. "Now... Where were we?"
He obviously had forgotten about Arthur, merely running a single finger up and down France's bold chest. Shyly, he glanced up in a flirtatious manner, still grinning largely at the prospect of hanging out with such a handsome man.
"Oh, right... Kiss me?"
Personally, his mind wondered how pissed Britain would get if he, right in front of him, kissed the Frenchman. He hoped for the best outcome, which was Britain's anger, though he wasn't sure what the man might respond with. The prospect of such a thing was so... Interestingly delicious. Enough to convince his lips upwards and against the man's.
Bliss? He doubt he ever knew bliss before in his life - not when Britain would sing those soft bedtime lullabies back when he was just a kid... Not when he first tried a hamburger, given to him by a German in his country. Not even after falling in love with those hamburgers and fries from McDonald's. No. This was much, much different. Even just pressing his soft lips against such a... Beautiful's man's lips, was amazing. Sure, he had kissed plenty of regular 'humans' in his lifetime. He was - after all - the most sexy of nations.
This, however, had to have topped it all.
Pressing his lips even more firmly against the Frenchman's, he let out a small, pathetic grunt, urging the man to respond to the kiss, wanting to make it last, make it passionate, make it... Annoy the hell out of Britain.
Yes, that sounded like fun, too.
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Post by Monaco on Oct 13, 2012 10:51:35 GMT -5
Monaco overlooked the bar unsure what she should think about what was going on. Of course Francis had his fun like always, which she didn’t mind at all, but America’s behaviour was alarmingly unusual. But that was none of her buisness anyway.
She got herself a glass of the best red wine the barman could offer her and consorted with Spain. „‘Ola!“ , she greeted him again and smiled as she took a seat beside him, slightly swaying her glass. „You don’t look amused at all, mon ami.“ , she assessed neutraly while she took a sip of her wine, wondering at the same time if it was the right way to start a conversation. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure of it being a mistake to say what she first could think of.
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Romano
Junior Member
Tch.. idiotas..
Posts: 65
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Post by Romano on Oct 13, 2012 11:40:09 GMT -5
[Pfft, finally hopping in here xP ]
"Veeee~! Ludwig!" The Italian exclaimed, rather loudly, as he caught sight of the blond German outside of the classroom. Germany may have been able to have a short amount of silence, but it wouldn't last forever. Especially considering Feliciano barely left his side. Approaching the tall German, his bright, peppy, usual smile plastered onto his face, he greeted his friend with a kiss on both cheeks, knowing the Germanic nation surely wouldn't mind as he had to be used to Italy's ways of greeting and/or just going about life.
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Post by Hipster Cuba on Oct 13, 2012 11:57:45 GMT -5
After his invigorating work out, he took a shower in the gym and changed back into his school uniform feeling pumped up and refreshed. He quickly runs his fingers through his hair then smiles in the mirror and winks at himself. Mein Gott, you are fucking AWESOME! Hair looking in disarray, shirt half buttoned, showing his iron cross hanging on a silver chain from his neck. Vat to do now, I am getting rather bored of dis place. He sighs a bit and heads in the direction of the classrooms.
Once in the building he notices various annoyances and kicks a few of them out of his way. Vhat you little shites, do you vant to mess vith the AWESOME PRUSSIA? His pink eyes glare and he laughs as the smaller countries cower and move aside. Fuck this IS going to be boring, but again, not going to find a fucking date for this damn festival dis vay am I?
Further walking down the hall he sees a familiar face and laughs to himself. Mein Gott, look at him, like he's got a stick up his ass. VEST! He yells. Your troubles are over, mein freund, for the AWESOME which is I, PRUSSIA, is HERE!
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 13, 2012 15:26:56 GMT -5
What happened next was a slow whirl of events which both humbled and further inflamed France's desires. When he was finally alone with Alfred in the warm, dim corner of the bar, the American became uncharacteristically lusty. Those strong firm hands groped about France's body, his sensual lips were parted and drawing close, and his chiseled frame was pressed against his. He was softly, sexily singing in a low, southern drawl. Oh, Americans!
A heavenly sensation began to wash over France; wrapped in Alfred's muscled arms, his affection for the man blossomed into a hot red rose. Yes. He would ask Alfred to the ball, and! Perhaps! Perhaps! He would ask more of the American. But all in good time. At the moment, the two of them were so close to one another that France marveled; how odd that they did not fall into each other, meld together, disappear into each others' essence!
"What I was going to say... mon cher... was..."
But his words failed and fell away. Alfred had pressed his gin-sweetened lips against France's, and it was as if a sea of passion, dammed up by France's own flimsy sense of restraint, came crashing through his body. He reacted fiercely and immediately; he cradled America's head in his hands, deepening their kiss with a kind of desperate violence. He pressed his lips upon his, slid his tongue lightly over Alfred's tender lips, and tasted what was surely heaven.
But perhaps most predictably, France was ripped down from paradise like some fallen angel. He was sharply torn away from Alfred's lips and found himself gazing into familiar green depths. His heart froze solidly in his chest while wonderfully terrible memories went hurtling through his confused brain.
"Britain...!" he croaked. For a moment, he had forgotten about the Englishman, but now, accosted by that unforgiving gaze...! He could not speak a while, drowning in his own sense of shame, though he was not sure why. Isn't this what he wanted? To earn Britain's burning jealousy? But now that he had achieved his goal, France felt remarkably foolish. "Britain, I... "
He meant to apologize, but the words caught in his throat, and Alfred had brushed away his brother with the sort of brazen nonchalance typical of Americans. They were kissing again, and mon Dieu, it was good. Their kiss was a dance of warm, massaging tongues, a tangle of sweet lips, and the piano fingers of lusty touch. Alfred had become aroused; the evidence of such was pressing hard and hot against France's left thigh. Francis felt his mouth water.
But... the guilt! It gnawed at his heart like an relentless beast!
Reluctantly, he pushed Alfred gently away.
"Mon cher," he panted, his lips fairly bruised from Alfred's powerful kisses, "I will tell you een private. Let us... let us go back to ze dorms now, mm? Stay weeth moi tonight. We will 'ave a few more drinks et... get more acquainted. Et... Britain..." he turned his gaze upon the Englishman, "you are drunk. I will take you 'ome now. I... I'll call us all a cab, non?"
(FRUKUSFRUKUSFRUKUSFRUKUS *nosebleed* XD )
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 13, 2012 21:04:46 GMT -5
The Brit heard it all. Oh how he wanted to interject, at all those words, but his restraint got the frog to say all that he needed. "H-Hands off my brother you perverted fuck!" Arthur finally exclaimed, shoving himself through the two and using his half-assed, half drunk strength to get the Frenchmen off his stool. "There will be no fucking sleep overs between you two, i-if its the LAST goddamn thing I do on this Earth! The kid is wasted! Hands off the drunk, frog!" Finally in the middle cozily, he turned with a concerned, pink tinted face. "Alfred F Jones... You need to go home. Get the hell out of here, before you make a scene." The history of America's drinking was a dark one. His life was bleak and grey, colored in with fake crayons that showed color to all else but the man himself. Of course, he had only heard this from Al himself, those nights when he'd call up sobbing. All he wanted to be was a good big brother, but for once Arthur wanted this night to be about him.
((oMG FRUKUS IS LIKE THE BEUNGSDIFNDAUIGBKDSNGUFDNSJ <33333 PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEAAAAASE))
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 14, 2012 1:00:17 GMT -5
(Mon cheeeeer! Don't forget ze rules about powerplaying! I don't mind England getting between France and America right now since it makes things interesting, but you can't write tearing two people apart or shoving yourself between them if they haven't agreed to such. You have to make sure to give other people choice in what to RP. So instead of "Arthur tore them apart" it would be more like "Arthur TRIED pulling the two apart." That way we can choose to go along with it or not. Oui? For once, France was moved with compassion for the Englishman; his short, slender frame was quivering and swaying with rage, and he had wedged himself between Francis and Alfred. This was not the first time that England had become violently protective over his protege; in fact, the phenomenon flashed colorfully before him like a vivid memory. Britain had always cared and cooed over America, sang lullabies to him at night, troubled over him whenever he fell ill, brush his golden locks whenever the boy inevitably got bubble-gum stuck in his hair. It was only natural then that he would want to protect the man now, even though Alfred was in no need of protection and most certainly did not want it.
Alfred was eying Britain with youthful annoyance, and it was all France could do not to cradle England comfortingly in his arms."Mon ami, our Alfred is all grown up now," he said, weighing his words carefully. He went to place one warm hand over Britain's shoulder, all the while smiling his most charmingly potent smile. "You must allow 'im to make 'is own decisions, non? 'E es not a baby. 'E is... a man." Then he added, somewhat wistfully and before he could censor himself, "A deliciously 'andsome man." He caught Alfred's eyes again, and was immediately swept into a whirlwind of desire. It was true that, in his heart, he was still desperately in love with England. Even now, with the Englishman standing before him, his heart twinged and twisted and tore itself in two; it was gloriously painful to see those flashing green, wrathful eyes! But! There comes a time when a man must put away ridiculous fantasies, when he must put away his fruitless desires. Why wrestle with England for centuries to come when America, easily the most attractive country in the world, was before him warm and wild and willing?
He would have America in his bed before the end of the evening; this he could swear. Nothing would stand in his way, not even his old flame England.
Tossing his hair coolly, Francis appraised Alfred from over England's wild mop of hair. Yes. He would tell him now, England be damned! He did not care of the entire bar heard! Yes! What perfection! What romance! To declare his feelings before a gathered crowd!"Alfred, mon cher!" he exclaimed, falling dramatically to one knee and pressing both hands to his heaving chest. His heart pounded with that wonderfully familiar sense of romantic anticipation. "Alfred! Ever since zat day when you saved moi from Germany's iron clutches, I 'ave been enchanted weeth you. I 'ave waited et wondered when I would 'ave ze chance to properly thank ze 'ero I 'ave 'arbored en mon 'eart for decades. Alfred! Mon bright angel! Do come weeth moi to ze Fall Ball! Et... " He produced a single red rose from his waistcoat pocket, offering it sweetly to the American."Et say zat you will be mine... always."
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Romano
Junior Member
Tch.. idiotas..
Posts: 65
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Post by Romano on Oct 14, 2012 10:02:07 GMT -5
Just as he was about to start rambling on about pasta and the like to his tall German friend, a familiar voice sounded in his ears. He turned to the source, tilting his head slightly in confusion before a smile once again found it's way to the Italian's lips.
"Veee, hey Prussia~!" Feliciano nearly yelled, bubbly as ever. "Did you want to hear my pasta story too?" He questioned, probably the most happy and oblivious person on the entire planet, excluding Spain.
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Post by Hipster Cuba on Oct 14, 2012 12:03:12 GMT -5
Squinting just a bit, he smiles when he hears a cute and familiar voice and the sweet face of Italy and approaches him and West who still looked like a guard on duty than a mere student, he shook his head smirking a bit. Ah, Italy, it's so good to see you here, and I see you found my stuffy brother, ja? kekekekekeke He pats Italy sweetly on his head.
So, you vas about to tell stories of pasta, I the Awesome Prussia would love to hear this too. He can't help but feel a little excited inside as his stomach does little flips, why is this man so cute? Just then a sound of tiny flapping wings is heard and he feels a little pressure on his shoulder. Ah, Gilbird you sneaky devil, vhere have you been? He then turns his attention back to Italy and smiles, his pink eyes glistening.
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Romano
Junior Member
Tch.. idiotas..
Posts: 65
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Post by Romano on Oct 14, 2012 12:52:15 GMT -5
He grinned a bit, of course still a childish one, but a grin nonetheless. "Well, this morning, Lovi and I were making pasta because why not have it for breakfast, right~? We had to get more pasta down from the cupboard though because we ran out in our little jar.. but it was high up for some reason, so when fratello tried to grab it, everything else, like pots and pans came down on the floor, and one even hit Lovi in the head!" He rambled, voice gaining intensity as his story went on. Though perhaps the German brothers didn't really care about this cute little story of the morning's mishaps, they seemed to be listening anyway, as they always did, to keep Italy entertained at least for a little while.
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Post by Hipster America on Oct 14, 2012 14:28:27 GMT -5
Startled into focusing on the Frenchman as he dropped to one knee, Alfred studied him in his drunken state, feeling a slight heat light on his cheeks. The statement was clear enough, even having a strange buzzing sensation in his mind, and he quickly understood the scenario, and just what had happened.
He had been asked to the Fall Ball...
... By none other than the Frenchman himself.
Lips parting in a startled, silent gasp, the American swallowed tightly, trying to get his sluggish tongue to cooperate with his slow thoughts. "Dude... You're..." What was the word he was looking for? Crazy? Stupid? Idiotic? ... No, none of those fit it well enough. After all, while it took someone either drunk off his or her ass or crazy to ask America to the ball in front of his older brother, there was more to this. The man has commented about saving the French... But that was a while back, and the American hadn't really cared for the man to pay back - it had been just a heroic act of bravery. Not something of love or affection; though if he said he had never lusted over the man, he would have been lying. There was many a time he had ventured into fantasies and other... Acts... To pleasure his hungry need for such a beautiful man...
But! There were things to think about. The man had declared love to him in front of a crowd, but hadn't he done that many times before, with almost every nation in the world? (Excluding, of course, some of the micronations, like Sealand)... But it was just the ball, right? What was there to worry about, if the man was just making a cute scene to ask him to the ball? It wasn't horrible, since it was just a date, not a huge relationship...
"To hell with it..." He muttered under his breath, taking the rose with a flourish, smiling broadly at France. Admittedly, the liquor was making him even more bold and boastful. "Yes, I'll go with you to the ball... And yes, I'll be yours. Now, dude, if you don't mind... I actually am feeling a bit sick..."
Trailing off, the man stumbled a bit, heading back to the bar and ordering yet another shot of gin. After draining several in a row, the man grinned drunkenly, waving the rose given to him by France as if it were a war trophy, all before losing consciousness due to over-consumption of alcohol in an almost-comedic way.
... Damn... I remember why I never drink...
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 14, 2012 16:16:40 GMT -5
He stepped back. All efforts were lost. He was being blatantly ignored. As if he meant jack shit. Arthur took a deep breath. "A-and... to hell with it." For what use was it to fight back? No one was going to listen to the Brit. And Francis seemed to be... relevantly serious. Maybe... this was to be the better for them. Heavy steps let him out the door. A trail of salty drops from his cheeks trailed the floor. "Going home..." Arthur Kirkland muttered from his lips. Any effort put in to the halting of the union? Of course! But... I thought he'd ask... me? In all his buried hatred was the deepest infatuation a man could ever feel for another. An attraction that couldn't ever be broken by stupid older brothers, or by fate, or by even some almightily God. In his mind, his name was Arthur Bonnefoy. "I have a heep of notes anyway..."
((//backs away for gorgeous frus))
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 14, 2012 20:57:35 GMT -5
As expected, France's declaration of adoration did not go unnoticed. Alfred was drunk, swaying on his feet, his gaze unfocused and glassy, but something went soft and gentle in his eyes when France made his feelings known. Something passed between them, a thin thread of connection, and France suddenly felt more fettered to America than ever before. This moment would prove significant for them both, that much was certain, and even as Alfred accepted, even as Arthur departed the bar scene with his head hung low, even as France retired to the other end of the bar to contemplate his new conquest, he could not take his eyes off Alfred.The American emboldened by drink, became even more brazen and bold than ever before. He waved his arms about and shouted in his charmingly barbaric manner, guzzling alcohol with wild abandon and finally slumping over the bar, terribly inebriated.
France chuckled to himself; he had begun to drink wine, savoring the deep red aroma of his pinot noir, and Alfred's drunken antics were beautifully amusing. He had watched a while, turning over events in his mind and lamenting certain losses in his heart. (Arthur! Oh, Arthur!) But when Alfred lost consciousness, Francis rose, dusted himself off unsteadily, then approached America to put his arms unabashedly around him from behind. He whispered into his ear.
"Mon cher, come weeth moi. Ze day es young. You et moi 'ave... business. Non?"
With some luck and an extraordinary amount of effort, France helped America stumble away from the bar, into a cab, and to France's private dorm room. Here, having lain Alfred on his canopy bed, draped with gossamer curtains that scintillated like stars and satin sheets the color of a summer sky, France vacillated between his options. The gorgeous nation was unconscious in his bed. He could lie down with him and wait for Alfred to stir, then finally consummate their newly-forged relationship, or...
"Mon Dieu, Britain... Why did you leave zat way?"
He could search for Britain, the source of the dull, nagging ache in his heart. Britain, the man he loved first and who he would always love, the man who was most likely just steps away in his dorm room down the hall. His heart throbbed at seeing him again.
Non. Alfred was who he wanted now. He would wait--yes! He would wait for his lover to awaken.
He lay down next to Alfred, relishing the man's enveloping warmth, and wrapped his arms around the America's waist. His Adonis. His perfect work of art-- Alfred F. Jones. (Permission given to drag Alfred's unconscious body to MON BED. HONHON.)
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 15, 2012 14:38:04 GMT -5
Hours passed... Yes, many hours. Many hours in his head at least. The questions filling his head kept his mind going round the clock, his Calculus notes looking like a sea of squiggly lines and the luminated blur of his cellphone unclear. What were they doing? What was happening? Is Alfred okay? Did Francis forget me? Can I ever be Mr. Bonnefoy? His denial stage had been over for many many years. Arthur slumped in his bed, and rubbed his tired eyes. Reaching with a weak arm and little effort he snatched his cellphone, mindlessly looking at the time. 11:02 Sat Sept 29 Yes... That's it. I'll just wait. He'll come around... Someday... Arthur's own depression tired him, and he fell asleep moments later... Beside his own pool of salty tears. Just a few... Just enough.
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Post by Hipster America on Oct 16, 2012 9:00:35 GMT -5
(Pfft. xD Of course you have that permission! xD Also, this is a little short, but I didn't want to postpone it any longer! I have school, now~)
What's... Going on? I... Those gunshots... Where am I? Water? I hear waves... A beach? Maybe... I... Francis? Is... Dude, what?
Looking more than a bit disturbed in his slumber, the man nuzzled up closer to France, gripping in the man's shirt. Opening his eyes sluggishly, the alcohol had finally worn off after sleeping it off a couple of hours, and he woke up with a nasty hangover, the light pierced into his brain and the horrid headache he experienced jerked him awake. Groaning, he glanced up at France, startling a bit. "Ummph!" Obviously concerned about what had happened, he scanned through his mind quickly, relaxing a bit at having not remembered any sort of sexual activity with the man. Or at least, not yet. "You really did ask me to the ball..." Stretching out, he smiled faintly, shielding his eyes with one hand, burying his face against the man's chest.
It was nice, he had to admit. He never thought he'd be asked - despite Francis' compliments, he wasn't ever really noticed for those strengths. Even his... Ah, 'brother', saw him as a clumsy oaf of a man. He didn't mind it, but this was certainly a nice change in heart for France. Relaxing, the man glanced up at France, squinting his eyes and smiling gently. "I'm glad... That you decided on that... It means a lot to someone like me. 'Cause, you know, I'm the hero... Also, don't talk too loud." Having that said, he relaxed and gazed up tiredly, trying to focus on whatever the Frenchie decided to do. If they decided to... Have some fun, he was quite willing.
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