Alfred had frozen to the spot, mind blank, and had stared horrified at Ivan and his seemingly innocent face until Arthur had finally appeared from the depths of his house, a little worse for wear with the glint of perspiration on his brow, and stiffly told Ivan to have a pleasant afternoon and to get the sod off his property.
Arthur had been even more unbearable than normal that day, with terse words and ready to snap at anything Alfred said, especially when he asked questions relating to why Ivan was there, what happened and if he was okay. Alfred had often wondered with a heavy heart if he had interrupted something that day, or missed something important, but by the time the Second World War reared its ugly head these idle thoughts were placed away and near forgotten, lulled asleep by the fact that Arthur worked willingly and almost happily with Alfred like they used to during the Colonial years. Yet now with the Cold War full in swing that little box had been unconsciously reopened and all the unpleasant thoughts spilled out. A Pandora’s box of sickening images and mockeries of their friendship.
Arthur pushed forcefully up against the wall of his office, sweater-shirt combo long discarded on the floor, his body beckoning, encouraging, and moaning under the large cold hands roaming freely over the valleys and hills of his fragile skin. Of lazy Russian words praising into Arthur’s ear, his lips kissing Arthur’s neck as his smaller hands scrabble impatiently to loosen Ivan’s thick coat and scarf to reach and caress the ever winter under neither. Of English words murmuring promises of warmth, satisfaction, and unity which turned into foul obscenities as trousers and pants are pulled away, until both of them are naked and hard and needy, teeth sinking into Ivan’s neck unforgivably as Ivan invades Arthur easily one slick finger at a time.
Alfred’s hands fisted up upon the table, knuckles turning white from the pressure, nails digging unrelentingly into his skin and drawing blood, but it wasn’t enough to turn him away from this as his mind reached further into the boxes poisoned depths.
Ivan is three fingers deep inside Arthur now, all crooked and pointing in all the right ways, making Arthur pant, beg, demand sharply for something more, something bigger and better if Ivan is man enough, as he writhes and rides the fingers pushing them in and out again spitefully, green eyes half closed in ecstasy. Ivan laughs at this and tells him he is happy to do so ‘Comrade’ and Alfred punches the desk as the fingers are taken away from Arthur and replaced with a heavy needy cock, causing Arthur breath to hitch and dig his nails into Ivan’s back. Ivan pushes in and pulls away slowly, and Arthur grinds as best as he can from his position against the wall trying to top from the bottom and get more, trying to become a conqueror again. Alfred wishes this wasn’t so, wishes that Arthur wasn’t reciprocating to this betrayal of their friendship of their alliance, but was rather forced into it. Ivan laughs again, nuzzles Arthur and angles himself differently all the time whispering Russian, making Arthur emit a guttural primeval sound which makes Alfred feel all sorts of angry and hurt at the same time…..
The phone rings snapping Alfred out of his dark reverie. He stares dumbly at the calling creature until its cries quieten.
‘I’m being stupid,’ Alfred stated to the empty room, ‘He has sided with me, not that damn commie bastard.’ He stood from his chair and moved slowly to the door, away from the phone all the while wiping the ghastly red blood off of his knuckles.
‘It’s not his fault he’s now a Labour government anyway, its democracy what the people want not him, like myself a good democratic country, not a Communist. These are just stupid rumours anyway, and Arthur,’ the name stuck uncomfortably in his throat ‘hates him anyway. I am being silly, he won’t betray me’.
Still these little justifications did little to quell the ghostly sounds of imagined conspiracies and Alfred decided that he should keep a closer eye on Arthur just in case that Ivan tried anything, or the other way round.
Re: England/Russia - FILLED prt2.
Arthur had been even more unbearable than normal that day, with terse words and ready to snap at anything Alfred said, especially when he asked questions relating to why Ivan was there, what happened and if he was okay. Alfred had often wondered with a heavy heart if he had interrupted something that day, or missed something important, but by the time the Second World War reared its ugly head these idle thoughts were placed away and near forgotten, lulled asleep by the fact that Arthur worked willingly and almost happily with Alfred like they used to during the Colonial years. Yet now with the Cold War full in swing that little box had been unconsciously reopened and all the unpleasant thoughts spilled out. A Pandora’s box of sickening images and mockeries of their friendship.
Arthur pushed forcefully up against the wall of his office, sweater-shirt combo long discarded on the floor, his body beckoning, encouraging, and moaning under the large cold hands roaming freely over the valleys and hills of his fragile skin. Of lazy Russian words praising into Arthur’s ear, his lips kissing Arthur’s neck as his smaller hands scrabble impatiently to loosen Ivan’s thick coat and scarf to reach and caress the ever winter under neither. Of English words murmuring promises of warmth, satisfaction, and unity which turned into foul obscenities as trousers and pants are pulled away, until both of them are naked and hard and needy, teeth sinking into Ivan’s neck unforgivably as Ivan invades Arthur easily one slick finger at a time.
Alfred’s hands fisted up upon the table, knuckles turning white from the pressure, nails digging unrelentingly into his skin and drawing blood, but it wasn’t enough to turn him away from this as his mind reached further into the boxes poisoned depths.
Ivan is three fingers deep inside Arthur now, all crooked and pointing in all the right ways, making Arthur pant, beg, demand sharply for something more, something bigger and better if Ivan is man enough, as he writhes and rides the fingers pushing them in and out again spitefully, green eyes half closed in ecstasy. Ivan laughs at this and tells him he is happy to do so ‘Comrade’ and Alfred punches the desk as the fingers are taken away from Arthur and replaced with a heavy needy cock, causing Arthur breath to hitch and dig his nails into Ivan’s back. Ivan pushes in and pulls away slowly, and Arthur grinds as best as he can from his position against the wall trying to top from the bottom and get more, trying to become a conqueror again. Alfred wishes this wasn’t so, wishes that Arthur wasn’t reciprocating to this betrayal of their friendship of their alliance, but was rather forced into it. Ivan laughs again, nuzzles Arthur and angles himself differently all the time whispering Russian, making Arthur emit a guttural primeval sound which makes Alfred feel all sorts of angry and hurt at the same time…..
The phone rings snapping Alfred out of his dark reverie. He stares dumbly at the calling creature until its cries quieten.
‘I’m being stupid,’ Alfred stated to the empty room, ‘He has sided with me, not that damn commie bastard.’ He stood from his chair and moved slowly to the door, away from the phone all the while wiping the ghastly red blood off of his knuckles.
‘It’s not his fault he’s now a Labour government anyway, its democracy what the people want not him, like myself a good democratic country, not a Communist. These are just stupid rumours anyway, and Arthur,’ the name stuck uncomfortably in his throat ‘hates him anyway. I am being silly, he won’t betray me’.
Still these little justifications did little to quell the ghostly sounds of imagined conspiracies and Alfred decided that he should keep a closer eye on Arthur just in case that Ivan tried anything, or the other way round.