...And the lingerie is Martina's ⼠idk if anyone remembers (cause I didn't), but I drew this thing fuckin. 12 years ago. That's the setting they're in here, kind of :3
HAPPY START OF BRARG WEEK 2024, BRARG NATION~~ Starting off strong this year, I think! I inked all the entries traditionally this year, with minor digital touch-ups. As usual, the otp is the best encouragement for practicing and putting in actual effort in art for me lol
âYanks arrived, sir,â murmured the messenger, slipping out of the tent as soon as he entered. Frowning, the Englishman finished his tea and stood woodenly to follow through the canvas flap and address his horrendously tardy guests.
However, England was not expecting his senses to be assaulted with the eighteenth century embodiment of Adonis.Â
Confidence defined the self-righteous roll of his walk and left Arthur furious and aroused at once. In the beige army trousers (a size too small from generous American rations no doubt) the fabric hugged the curves of Alfredâs hips and upper thighs.
The ground crunched beneath brown, tightly laced service shoes. Fresh, like the rest of Americaâs uniform.
The soft smirk settled above Americaâs square, smooth jaw only made the Englishmanâs blood boil higher, and the round frames of Texas caught the light to hide Alfredâs twinkling blue eyes.Â
It had been a year since theyâd seen one another in person, and Arthur thought himself too worn to experience anything carnally desperate.
And yet.
Saliva collected in Arthurâs mouth and he struggled to maintain the vicious gaze at the oncomerâs face, fighting his eyesâ desire to travel back to the sinful rotation of the slim hips and strong legs. If his knees felt weak before heâd left his tentâŚ
The American stopped a few feet from his former caretaker, seeming to revel in their height contrast. A fresh bomber jacket highlighted the broad shoulders and strained at the young manâs bicep when he pushed up his glasses and offered a leather gloved hand to England.
âThe heroes have arrived,â beamed Alfred F. Jones, set of pearly teeth near blinding the host country.
Arthur, surrounded by captains and staff, accepted the large hand and returned the firm greeting. âSo glad you and your men found the time to join us,â the English lord spoke graciously, barely-detectable jeer curling his lips.
Either the young nation didnât hear the sarcasm or chose to ignore it.Â
Knowing him, one was as likely as the other.
âNo problem!â
â
The Englishman pressed both hands into Alfredâs sternum, bending him back before grasping his waist and joining their groins.Â
Alfredâs cheek warmed, and Arthur wanted to pepper the sweat beading on his perfect hairline with his lips. It was just out of his reach, however, but he vowed to do so without being on his toes.
Alfred moved before he could, ducking his head into Arthurâs neck and biting a line along his jaw. Knees suddenly weak and belly warm with butterflies Arthur tilted his head back, grasping at the ass of the man devouring his neck, wanting more.
âBite it like you mean it,â Arthur complained. His ask was answered and the sensitive skin below his ear was ravaged by foreign teeth and tongue, warm and hot like a sauna.
The Englishman scrambled for purchase on Alfredâs soft hips, imagining the way America's discarded pants had hugged the dense bones beneath his hands. He squeezed and Alfred gasped against him, momentarily stalling his oral journey down Arthurâs neck.
âThese damn buttonsâŚâ groused America, fingers struggling to open the tiny buttons latching Arthurâs shirt closed. His eyebrows met into a crinkle over his nose, pout not dissimilar to a child with their hand caught in the sweets jar. Arthur sighed and pushed the clumsy hands aside, undoing the soft, starched shirt himself with deft movements.
âItâs a wonder youâre dressed at allâŚâ England teased, gingerly skimming over the tender skin that had recently healed over a shrapnel wound on his side. It would hold, he decided.
Arthurâs body was sore, always was these days, but it wasnât difficult to push past the discomfort if he could be properly sated for the first time in months.Â
Although heâd have to be delicate with his ribs.
(America was already smoothing his hands up Englandâs hips, mouth busy nibbling on his shoulder, then squeezed around his upper waist in a movement that left Arthurâs cock instantly hard, painfully trapped in his pants.)
Or not, ribs be damned.Â
In a moment his shirt was off and whipped over the back of a chair and again their bodies met, starting on one anotherâs pants.Â
They stepped over Alfred's jacket, tossed haplessly on the floor, and the leather creaked in protest, dust collected from the dry outdoors pluming into air and irritating their noses.
Pants off Arthur pressed his nose into the space between Alfredâs neck and shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and something like firewood. Beneath his cheek the Englishman felt the strength, the sturdiness like an immovable pillar, and gripped the thick biceps with internal reverence.Â
Arthur hid his appreciative smile of surprise when he was effortlessly picked off the groud and pressed against the tentâs wooden post. Their pants were off, and neither had bothered unlacing their shoes.Â
The dirt floor wasnât much joy on bare feet, besides.
âOof,â grunted the Englishman, wood digging into his back as he slid down the length of it. He didnât mind terribly, however, when Alfred dropped to his knees and looked up, smiling up like a dope. Still. âThereâre more worthwhile ways to get a friction burn, lad.â
Arthur groaned, head falling back against the poll as his length was engulfed by warm, wet heat.
Lips curling into a smile around his mouthful, America bobbed his head, drawing his tongue along the skin. One hand strayed from where he kept Englandâs hips in place to wipe away the wetness behind his glasses, then moved to wrap around the base of the English shaft to fondle his balls.
His efforts were rewarded with more moans and America produced a mewl of his own when a hand grasped the sensitive strand of hair and tugged, bringing his lips closer to the bed of hair and the tip of Arthurâs cock to the back of his throat.
Alfred tasted precum and attended to his mission with renewed purpose.
âAlfred,â England panted, head still back and hands scrambling over his head, face and shoulders for purchase. âAlfred,â he repeated, âI-Iâm, move or Iâll- agck!â
That was all the warning Alfred received before his mouth filled with his partnerâs release.
Salty, Alfred decided, with a hint of earl grey.
The Englishmanâs vision went white and fuzzy as stars danced before his eyes. His limbs hummed with pleasure, skin tingling, and everything was right and perfect with the world.
Alfred sat back on his heels and spat the come into a handkerchief, then used a fresh corner to wipe something white from the side of his mouth.Â
When Arthur finally looked down it was to a smug face and messy hair. âI did good?â asked the blue-eyed soldier, pride glowing on his face and eyes waiting for further approval.
Arthur breathed out, willing his breath to return to normal, and leaned down to press a kiss onto the tip of Alfredâs nose, licking a missed smear of cum off the cupidâs bow. Now accessible, the green-eyed man pecked Alfred's hairline, satisfied. âThe technique could use some practice,â Arthur hummed, putting the ladâs hair back into order.
Alfred looked momentarily affronted and England soothed, âOverall performance was⌠well executed.â
Those teeth suddenly grinned, and Arthur looked down at Alfredâs own unattended arousal. âYou ainât seen the half of it,â Alfred came back from his jacket pocket with a tube of petroleum jelly.
âLetâs see what youâve got, yank,â Arthur smirked.
