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[Fanfiction] Act Natural 3/5

Title: Act Natural [Chapter 3/5]
Genre: Romance/Comedy
Pairing(s): US/UK, implied GerIta & Spamano
Rating/Warnings: Overall NC-17 for an abundance of fantasized sex.
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, porn novelist extraordinaire, is suffering from writer's block. His new muse shows up on his doorstep with an American accent, a mega-watt smile and a tool belt. [written for the kink meme]


---

Arthur had recovered from his second fall, though he still carried the mental scars from embarrassing himself so far beyond his imagination (which was substantial, he'd once construed a way for six men to have sex with one another simultaneously) that it was difficult to even comprehend how Alfred could still think well of him. But Arthur was nothing if not persistent and he would be damned if he let a silly little thing like dying brain cells and eternal shame keep him from sabotaging another one of his appliances so his sexy, gay repairman could once again walk his gorgeous arse all over Arthur's house.

And, oh god, if he could get the American to work shirtless, he was sure he could die happy. He'd gotten a glimpse the other day and although he'd spent much of that afternoon either ensconced in fantasy or in a dead faint, the image of Alfred's naked body was burned into Arthur's mind like the sun itself had been behind the unveiling of that magnificent body.

Which was actually what spawned his newest plan. It was the middle of August, hot and humid out, and the mere thought of going outside into that heat made Arthur uncomfortably warm.

So he broke his air conditioner.

“How did you manage that?” Alfred asked when Arthur let him in the doorway.

It took a while for Arthur to manage an answer because he was fairly absorbed in watching the hypnotizing sway of Alfred's arse as he walked into the house. Arthur hadn't even shut the door yet, his fingers going slack on the handle as he watched the sweat that had gathered in the small of Alfred's back cling to his shirt, the lines of it across his shoulders staining the fabric of his blue shirt a darker shade. But the American turned around and Arthur snapped out of it, shut the door and cleared his throat.

“I'm not quite sure. It's a window unit,” he explained. His house was old and he hadn't gotten around to updating everything yet. As a result, some of his appliances were older than he was.

“Well, lead the way,” Alfred said with a grin.

Arthur smiled and did just that. He'd broken the thing early that morning, opened all the windows in an attempt to heat his house up as quickly as possible and then suffered through it himself as he baked three batches of scones to add the heat of the oven to his now stifling house. By the time Alfred had showed up Arthur had had to change twice, finally giving up on looking the proper writer and settling on an old short sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans he'd rolled up to just below his knees. There was a constant line of sweat beneath his fringe and he felt that uncomfortable stickiness at the back of his neck that refused to go away no matter how often he swiped a hand at it.

But it was worth it. Oh, it was fucking worth it. Alfred hadn't even gotten to work and he was already running the back of his arm across his forehead.

“This is it,” Arthur said, trying to sound miserable and failing. He gave Alfred an embarrassed smile.

The American looked at it for a long moment, idly bringing his arm up to try and swipe his shirt sleeve against his forehead. He frowned, eyes still taking in Arthur's broken air conditioner, then hummed and grabbed the hem of his shirt. He brought it up to wipe at his face, giving Arthur a close up view of his toned stomach, the sharp angle of his hips as they curved from torso to thigh, his adorably sexy navel and that damnable line of soft blond hair that led straight into his jeans.

Alfred dropped his shirt. “What did you do, take a bat to it?”

Arthur's mouth quirked up in a dimwitted smile as he tried to pull his thoughts together after that little show. “Yeah,” he murmured, still caught up in the aftereffects of that tantalizing view of muscle.

Alfred gave him a funny look.

Arthur enjoyed that funny look for a second before his mind replayed the last few moments for him. “I mean-,” he corrected himself, shaking his head abruptly as he felt heat blossom in his cheeks. “No, of course not!”

“Uh-huh,” Alfred said, turning back to the air conditioner. “Well, it looks like it's been through hell, it might take a while to fix.”

Lovely. Absolutely brilliant. Arthur gave himself a mental pat on the back, before he nodded and bit his lip. “Also...” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” Alfred looked up, swiping his sleeve against his cheek. Arthur could see the sweat beading on his forehead, could hear his breathing getting heavier from the heat.

“Uh,” Arthur said, distracted. He'd been about to say something important, he just couldn't remember what it was. Fuck. “Nevermind,” he said lamely and left the room to go grab his laptop.

He brought it back to the living room, where the broken air conditioner was located, explaining that it was the coolest place in the house as an excuse to sit in the same room as Alfred. He set his computer on his coffee table, knowing full well that the heat it radiated would surely make him overheat if he sat it on his lap for an extended period of time. He opened up the document that contained his novel, reread the last couple of paragraphs and glanced up at his repairman, waiting for inspiration to flow from the American's sweaty, hard-working body and into Arthur's waiting fingertips.

It didn't take long.

Alfred was in the process of removing the entire unit from Arthur's window and the muscles of his arms stood out against the afternoon light that shone in through the window as he lifted the heavy peace of equipment up and gently set in on the floor. He heaved a breath out and ran his arm across his forehead in an attempt to clear some of the sweat away, but his arm was almost as damp as his face and he only managed to muss up his fringe, strands of blonde hair sticking to wet skin roughly in the direction that he'd dragged his arm.

The American's glasses began to slide down his nose and he raised a hand to push them back up before switching positions and bending down to look at the front panel of the air conditioner. Arthur could hear metallic sounds of various parts being wiggled and pushed, taken off and set on the ground, but that was only background noise. Arthur was beginning to develop a serious attachment to Alfred's tool belt, an incredibly appreciative attachment, because the thing was ever present when the man came over and it always, always tugged the American's pants down further than their looseness did already.

Today his tool belt hung heavy on one side and as Alfred straightened from his crouch to sit on his heels, the right side of his jeans gave way to allow the small, gentle curve of his backside to peak just above the hem. The American grabbed something from his belt, bent back over, and his shirt rode up a bit, clinging to heated skin as he stretched over the top to see the backside of the air conditioner. Those two dimples on either side of his spine glistened from the sweat left behind by his shirt and Arthur licked his lips as he followed the line of Alfred's back up to his shoulders as they tensed from his work.

He let his eyes trail back down, spending a long moment on that strip of bared skin just above the hem of his jeans before taking in the glorious sight of Alfred's denim-clad arse. The tool belt lent an interesting contrast to the blue of the denim, a dark brown slash sloping downward over curves, tilted to one side and framing strong hips.

Arthur felt his own breathing start to deepen and he turned his attention to his computer screen, fingers already flying over the keys as prose flowed through his mind, providing him with descriptions upon endlessly sexy descriptions of the repairman working so hard a mere five feet away. He was just getting to the build up of this particular story, the set up and plot (what little it had, anyway) already finished during Alfred's previous excursions into fixing Arthur's various appliances. And he was just getting to the good parts, by which Arthur meant smut, when he heard Alfred let out a huff of frustration.

Arthur hid his smile behind his computer screen. He'd been waiting for that ever since Alfred walked through the door. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy.

“Hey, Mr. Kirkland?” Alfred called. Arthur got his expression under control, typed out one more adjective for describing that line of muscle that descended from hip to sex, and looked up.

“Call me Arthur,” he said.

“Okay,” Alfred said, shrugging. “It's like, oppressively hot in here, Arthur. I don't even know how you're still wearing pants.”

By which Arthur was sure the man meant Why aren't you in shorts. But it didn't matter, the comment went straight to Arthur's cock. Literally, it took all the blood that might have gathered in his cheeks and sent it straight south, and he was so glad the computer was sitting on his lap right now, you don't even know. And as a certain part of his anatomy began to rise, his mind began an abrupt and rapid descent into the gutter.

Why yes, Arthur could say politely. It is rather hot for trousers, would you mind taking care of that for me? And then Alfred would grin that stupid, oblivious grin at him and do just that, sliding the denim down his legs slowly, fingers trailing against heat dampened skin. When the jeans were at his ankles, the American would tug them off, chuck them unceremoniously on the ground and return to Arthur's legs, hands sliding up to curve rough palms against the backs of his calves as he slowly worked Arthur's legs apart. When there was enough room, Alfred would kneel in between them and Arthur's breath would come out in a harsh exhale as he bent over and licked at him through the thin material of his boxers.

Arthur blinked and refocused on the American in front of him. Holy shit. The man hadn't even done anything yet and Arthur was already at risk of losing himself in fantasy.

“Would you mind if I took off my shirt?” Alfred asked, a slight dusting of pink spreading across his nose and cheeks. “I'm practically dying in here.”

Arthur watched him and marveled at how fantastically endearing that blush was. Here he was, writing an erotic novel to the image of Alfred doing all sorts of naughty things to him, had actually passed out from the thought of giving the man a blowjob, and the American was blushing at the thought of taking off his shirt.

There was just something so charming about the idea of a sex god being chaste; it curled Arthur's toes and made him want to just cuddle the man here and now, lick heart shaped imprints down his spine and then pay tribute to each and every one of his fingers, professional relationship bedamned.

“I don't mind,” Arthur told Alfred, suppressing the urge to cackle victoriously, to kick his heels against the floor in giddy excitement, because although it was what he really wanted to do at the moment, it would surely tip Alfred off.

Instead, Arthur glanced back down to his computer, tapped a few keys idly and looked back up, hoping he wasn't being too obvious as he watched Alfred. The American raised his hands up to grab at the back of his collar, tugging the dampened material up and over his head. Arthur's eyes dropped to the sculpted torso that was slowly being unveiled and licked his lips while Alfred's shirt still blocked his view of the Englishman and he could get away with it.

Then the shirt was off and Alfred tossed it over the back of the nearest chair. Arthur resisted the urge to pick it up and fold it, and merely enjoyed the view as Alfred stretched and shook his head, as if preparing himself for some great feat of strength. God, Arthur hoped so. If Alfred did any sort of heavy lifting right now, Arthur could watch the muscles in his arms flex without the hindrance of a shirt, he could see that stomach tighten as the American held his breath, then take his exhausted and satisfied exhale at the end as something entirely different than what it actually was.

He could imagine the man being exhausted from holding Arthur up against the wall as he attempted to suck his tongue out of his mouth, their lower halves moving with and against one another as they worked themselves into a frenzy. And when Alfred's strength finally gave out – or his ability to focus on holding Arthur up while simultaneously frotting himself into oblivion, whichever came first – he would let Arthur fall against the wall, pant into his neck and lick a trail slowly up Arthur's neck.

Arthur's fingers tap-tapped away on his keyboard as his mind barraged him with images. Alfred pressing Arthur into the nearest flat surface and running heated fingertips down his sensitive sides, tugging Arthur's own jeans down to his ankles before shoving his hand down his boxers to grasp at Arthur's hardened cock. Which was unfair, really, because Alfred still had his trousers on. Arthur would sit up, hook his fingers into the belt loops, touch the damp leather of that fucking glorious tool belt as he slid it off Alfred's hips altogether. His jeans would follow easily after that, being held up by nothing more than a loose hem, and the denim would slide inch by delightful inch down tanned hips, curving over those damnable slopes of bone that led to that path of muscle, curving sharply down to frame what was sure to be an impressive cock.

He could picture it now, flushed and hard, peeking out of the top of Alfred's boxers as his jeans slid down his legs. Arthur would pull that last piece of clothing down slowly, baring the American with precision and no small amount of appreciation. Eyes drinking in the toned thighs on either side, that patch of hair just above Alfred's sex that was darker than the hair on his head and just begging for Arthur to bury his nose in, to take in the American's scent before worshiping his entire body with lips and tongue and the overwhelming need to map the entire expanse of Alfred's skin.

And when he was finished for the time being – because he didn't think he'd ever get enough of Alfred to actually be completely satisfied - he would tug the American by the back of his neck, aim that panting grin at his own wanting mouth and kiss the shit out of him as he lay back and let Alfred take him. And – holy fuck - he wanted so bad to feel Alfred's heat on him, in him, moving with him, anything that would bring them closer.

Arthur's tapping slowed to a stop and he let out a shaky exhale, glancing up to find that Alfred was once again bent over the air conditioner, pounding resolutely at something, pieces lying everywhere around him. His back was beaded with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to the back of his neck, his jeans sitting slightly askew on the straight line of his hips.

Arthur was beginning to overheat. It had little to do with the actual stifling heat of the sauna that was now his house and everything to do with the fact that he was having trouble focusing on anything besides sexing all over Alfred.

And apparently he was so horny he was mangling English. Like an American. Oh, god.

Arthur carefully shut his computer, then set it aside as he stood. Alfred turned slightly, eyebrow raised in question as he pushed up his glasses, continued the motion and ran a hand idly through his damp hair. It made the strands stick up in odd places, but instead of looking ridiculous it just looked fucking hot.

Did the man honestly not realize how sexy he was? Without even trying?

“If you'll excuse me,” Arthur managed to get out, tearing his eyes away from the heavenly sight of shirtless Alfred in front of him with what he would forever refer to as a Herculean level of willpower.

And goddamn if the American wouldn't make a damn attractive ancient Greek demigod.

With that delightful thought, Arthur went straight to the toilet and shut the door, threw the lock and let himself sink onto the closed seat. He had a brief struggle with himself regarding the ethics of having a wank while his repairman – who would no doubt have a starring role in this particular fantasy – worked in the very next room. He let his head fall back and the image of Alfred in one of those damn greek togas invaded his mind, pure white cloth draped over his broad shoulders and dipping down just enough to show most of one pectoral, belted at the waist and delightfully short, showing off powerful calves and strong thighs.

The part of Arthur's brain that had been actively arguing against jerking off abruptly fell quiet. Arthur didn't blame it. The idea of Alfred of a demigod was pretty damn hot.

And Arthur could imagine how easy it would be to shed the American of the cloth wrapped around him. If it was anything like that damn Halloween costume he'd been forced to wear the year he'd lost that bet, it would be so loose as to be almost scandalous and therefore incredibly, incredibly easy to remove. He could slide the one sleeve off a tanned shoulder, watch as that starched fabric moved over smooth skin and muscle as it bunched up at the American's waist. And then, with great delight, Arthur would pull the rope that belted the toga to his waist and watch as the entirety of the American's body was bared for him to admire.

Arthur gave one last glance to the door to make sure he'd thrown the lock and dropped his hands to the button and zip of his trousers. Swallowing thickly, he shoved the denim down his hips with his boxers and took hold of his erection, already flushed and leaking as a result of that damn toga fantasy. Arthur gave his cock one slow, firm pull and let his mind drift back to that image as his forefinger slid over the slit, teased that spot just under the cockhead, and Arthur lost his breath for a second.

Alfred would come to him then, bend over him and trail rough fingertips down his chest, hook his fingers in the hem of Arthur's shirt and tug it up and over his torso. Arthur mimicked the movement with his free hand, bringing his shirt up far enough that he could plant his palm flat against the skin just above his navel, flex his fingers and drag them down until they met the hand that was beginning to pump his cock with increasing speed. The American's hand might brush against his own, but he'd let Arthur continue to jerk himself off, biting his lip and twisting his head as his hips rose into his own hand, knowing that even with his eyes closed, Alfred would be looking at him, watching him bring himself to completion.

“Yer doin' so good, babe,” the American would say in that goddamn sexy accent of his, leaving out his 'g's and mispronouncing his vowels and ohmygod he didn't care how poorly the man spoke English if he'd just do it in that voice.

Arthur slid lower on the seat as his free hand made a wide path around his arousal, tracing the hint of muscle in his thigh before curving back and dipping beneath his balls, lifting and rolling them briefly before going lower. His fingers felt at his entrance, smoothed over the dry skin before coming back up to his mouth, where he sucked on them until he could barely breath. He traced his wet fingers lightly down his chest before shoving his jeans further down his legs and bringing his fingers back to his entrance.

“You want it?” Alfred would whisper.

“Oh god, yes,” Arthur whispered into the still air.

But Alfred wouldn't take him, not when he was enjoying the show so much, and Arthur's breath hitched as he imagined the American's fingers circling his entrance once, twice, and then pushing slowly in as Arthur continued to jerk himself off. His hand twisted as it slid harshly down his shaft, fingers spreading to drift across his balls before moving back to his cock, spreading the precum that was leaking out as his fingers flitted over his cockhead, rubbed at his slit and then slid back down. And Alfred's fingers were seeking, spreading him wide and pushing in deep as he searched for Arthur's prostate.

When those fingers found it, Arthur let out an abrupt gasp that ended in a drawn out moan he barely managed to muffle by biting his lip raw. His head twisted to the side and his hand sped up as he imagined Alfred bending over him once more, dragging his tongue up Arthur's chest from navel to nipple, laving attention on one side, then the other, as the American's fingers continued to play with that spot inside him. As his other hand brushed barely-there touches against the hand that was jerking Arthur off, Alfred would whisper encouragements to him. Almost there, or You look so fucking amazing when you're spread out and begging to come like this.

“Uh-uhm,” Arthur murmured, letting his mouth fall open in a pant, breathing ragged as he felt himself nearing his peak. “Please, Alfred, please,” he begged the image in his head, the phantom touch on his cock.

His hand moved faster, his back arched and when his mind supplied him with the image of Alfred flushed with arousal and smirking above him, sweat making his hair stick to his skin as his glasses slid slowly down to the tip of his nose – Arthur came.

x o x

It took a couple of long minutes, filled with heavy breathing and a languid sort of relaxed sprawl across his toilet seat as Arthur rode out the glow of his orgasm, before he noticed that someone was pounding on the door.

Another moment and he realized a voice was accompanying it.

“...seriously, did you fall again? You should probably get that looked at; you've done it twice now and it's not healthy! Arthur? You can't just scream like that and go all silent on me! I know I don't know you very well but if you're dead than you can't pay me for fixing your stuff!”

Arthur stared at the door. Screamed? Had he... Oh no.

“Arthur? Seriously, if you can hear me just say something.”

Arthur looked at himself and cursed internally as he stood, almost tripped over the jeans still wrapped around his knees and finally made it to the sink, where he washed the evidence of his indiscretion off as best he could. Then he pulled up his jeans and hurriedly went to the door, swinging it open and cutting of the American's worried conversation with himself about the merits of emergency buttons on necklaces for the elderly.

“I'm not old,” Arthur said.

Alfred grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was still shirtless, arms raised up as he balanced his forearms on either side of the doorway in an interested lean that had him so close to the Englishman that he could feel the man's heat. And if Arthur hadn't gotten off just five minutes ago, he imagined his dick might have been overly excited to see the American leaning so close and done something embarrassing like come in his trousers.

“If you say so,” Alfred said and pushed himself off the doorframe and away from Arthur. “I'm done looking at your unit, but I tried turning it on and I think it's pretty much done for.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, frowning.

“I can order you a new one,” Alfred said, bringing out a tape measure. “Should have it within a day or so.”

Arthur frowned at the thought of not having air conditioning for another few days, but brightened considerably when he realize what this implied. “So will you be installing it for me?” he asked, following his repairman into the living room and hoping he didn't sound too blatantly pleased with the prospect of having the American in his house again.

“Yeah,” Alfred said easily, measuring his unit. “It's not too hard to do it yourself, but I don't know if you could lift it. No offense.”

Arthur almost denied this. He'd never been good at admitting weaknesses or faults (of which he had very few, mind you, it was just the principal of the thing), but he didn't want to argue this particular point. He could probably suffer through installing the damn thing himself, but why bother when he could have a perfectly fit and gorgeous American do it for him? He didn't even need to break anything this time.

“Great,” Arthur said instead. “When will I know how long it will be?” he asked then, trying to phrase the question, When can I see you again? in a way that sounded mostly normal. It mainly just sounded awkward to him.

Alfred must not have noticed.

“Someone will call you when it's in,” the American explained, turning so that he was standing profile to Arthur and running a hand through his hair once more. “And it won't take too long to set up,” he finished with a grin, holding the tape measure out in a deliberate gesture before pushing the button that allowed it to snap back into its casing. Arthur jerked at the noise and Alfred grinned.

“Do you have another window unit that you want me to bring down here?” Alfred asked as he gathered his tools and cleaned up anything he'd misplaced. He reached for his shirt and Arthur must have made some sort of noise because he stopped with his arms halfway through the sleeves and turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“No,” Arthur said, trying to act like he hadn't cried out at the ensuing loss of Alfred's bare chest. “I'll just keep my windows open and hope for the best.”

Alfred frowned as he pulled his shirt over his head and down over his abdomen. Arthur lamented internally.

“You gonna be all right?” Alfred asked, cocking his hip to the side. “It's pretty hot this time of year and you've been fainting left and right.”

Arthur didn't know how to explain to the man that it wasn't because of the heat, but because of his sad, glorious tendency to get lost in fantasies when the American was around. His mind was wired for porn and Alfred had been made to inspire him, he couldn't exactly help himself.

“I think I'll be fine,” he said, hoping his blush wasn't too obvious. “If I feel faint, I'll make sure to lie down.” No need to explain that if he was experiencing a fantasy that might render him unconscious again, he would likely already be lying down. Contrary to his actions today, Arthur didn't usually masturbate on the toilet.

“Okay,” Alfred said, shrugging. He picked up his tool box and smiled as he ran his arm against his forehead one last time before heading toward the door. “I won't lie, I can't wait to get into my air conditioned truck. I swear, it's hotter in here than it is outside. Maybe you should just lie around in your backyard with nothing on. That would cool you down, haha.”

Arthur choked on his spit.

“See you in a couple days, Arthur,” Alfred called as he went through the door. When the latch clicked shut, Arthur slumped into the nearest chair, closed his eyes and just breathed.

The idea of lounging naked in his backyard, though. That was kind of hot. Especially if Alfred was his neighbor, spying on him from his window and jerking himself off to the image of Arthur in the buff. The Englishman opened his eyes and squinted them in thought before moving to his laptop and bringing up a new document.



Demigod porn, Y/Y?

Despite this being part 3/5, we're only halfway done. :3

Comments

( 19 comments — Leave a comment )
fmavatard
Dec. 21st, 2010 09:03 pm (UTC)
...England's imagination is brilliant. So...so brilliant. I'm reminded of B Gata H Kei. X'D Or something else with a horny schoolgirl. Like, "Oh no, I tripped and my boobs landed on your face, I'm so sorry." X'D

I still love it. A ton. Like...forever. I can't wait for tomorrow.

Also, Demigod!pron? Yes. Absolutely just yes.
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:43 pm (UTC)
Haha, I don't watch many horny schoolgirl animes so I'll have to take your word for it. XD
fmavatard
Dec. 22nd, 2010 11:32 pm (UTC)
Well neither do I. B Gata H Kei was the exception. X'D Plus there's just the stereotype, ya know?
kasumicc
Dec. 21st, 2010 10:11 pm (UTC)
To your question: YES, A THOUSAND TIMES YES XD

Arthur's imagination will never stop surprising me xD But who can blame him, I'm already drooling just by reading those descriptions of Alfred XDD Poor, poor desperate Arthur...
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:44 pm (UTC)
Haha, thank you! ♥
fii_tamae
Dec. 21st, 2010 10:14 pm (UTC)
This is so brilliant, i adore how you've written Alfred and Arthur. This just so believable and real, not to mention your descriptions. You've managed to avoid falling into the fanfic style of writing. XD
I can't wait for the next parts.
(also looking forward to some Alfred/Arthur that takes part outside of Arties head? ^_^
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:45 pm (UTC)
Thank you. I'm glad that you like my style. :3
hyper_euphoria
Dec. 21st, 2010 10:36 pm (UTC)
Demigod porn, Y/Y?
Y.

*death by nosebleed at England's awesome, awesome imagination*. JEEEZ! your writing style is STEAMING HOT. WOW. Seriously-- i-i... can't get enough. ♥
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:46 pm (UTC)
Thanks! :3 ♥
bluebirdsover
Dec. 21st, 2010 11:48 pm (UTC)
Ohhhhh, I love this so much. Alfred and Arthur are both so in-character, and the descriptions of Alfred were absolutely nosebleed-worthy. I officially love Arthur's imagination. ♥

Have I mentioned how much I love pervert!Arthur?
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:49 pm (UTC)
Pervert!Arthur is love. ♥ Glad you like his imagination. XD
arameta
Dec. 22nd, 2010 01:07 am (UTC)
*drools on keyboard*
-is at a lost for words-
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:49 pm (UTC)
:3 ♥ ♥ ♥
lovelylurker
Dec. 22nd, 2010 02:41 am (UTC)
Reading the end on the kink!meme and then re-reading this-






made this chapter 100 times funnier.
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:50 pm (UTC)
Haha! Arthur's not as sneaky as he thinks. ;)
phiradesu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 04:41 am (UTC)
I think I suffered a massive array of fangirl nosebleed. And to think I though Francis was the GOD of porn. Move over Frenchie!
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:51 pm (UTC)
Yeah, Francis has got nothin' on Arthur. XD
midori_lover
Dec. 22nd, 2010 06:27 am (UTC)
HNGGGGGGH ARTHUR'S SEXUAL FANTASIES. HNGGGGGGH ALFRED AS A DEMIGOD. JUST HNGGGGGHHH.

I can't get enough of this deliciously hot fic nggggh :">.

also Y to that question. Definitely Y.
monobuu
Dec. 22nd, 2010 09:51 pm (UTC)
Haha, thanks! ♥
( 19 comments — Leave a comment )