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Driving Home For Christmas

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I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten and the children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow!”

Well, Alfred didn't. Not at the moment, not when he had to wait for this flight to get in.

He glanced around the airport, watching people hurrying to and fro. All of them were laden with bags and presents, grinning widely. Some looked stressed, others relieved that tomorrow it would all be over. Those that came from the planes were busy bundling up as they moved, anxious to keep the cold out when they stepped into the Canadian air. Anyone coming in from outside instantly began tugging off hats and scarves, their faces red from the wind.

Alfred snuggled deeper into his parka, scowling at the floor. He hated it here and wished he'd never allowed Matthew to talk him into coming up to Canada. His brother had moved there a few years ago for college and usually came back to America for Christmas. But, this year, he wanted to spend his first Christmas with his new boyfriend – some French guy called Francis. So he'd begged Alfred to understand but Alfred had moaned and whined till Matthew invited him to spend Christmas with them, too.

Because of Alfred's intrusion of their cosy Christmas, Francis had invited an old friend to join them. Alfred supposed that he would be asked to keep the guy company while Mattie and Francis had time alone. However, when he had turned up at the start of the week, there was no-one there. And Francis was hardly shy with his affections to Matthew. For three days, he had had to watch them fawn over each other and tell himself he wasn't jealous of what his brother had.

Then, to make matters worse, he had been woken early on Christmas Eve and asked to go to the airport to pick up the extra person who was flying in from London. Alfred had whined and protested that it was Francis's responsibility: Matthew had told him that he wouldn't get any dinner if he didn't go since Francis was the one to be doing the cooking. Reluctantly, Alfred had zipped up his parka, grabbed Matthew's car keys and taken the sign Francis had made for him. The name on it was Arthur Kirkland.

It had been snowing lightly as he left but it had become heavier as he got closer to the airport. A glance out of the window confirmed that it was constantly falling now, the wind driving it at a forty-five degree angle. If he hadn't already seen that the plane had landed, he would have assumed they weren't going to make it. As it was, he was wondering if Matthew's car would cope – he knew it had winter tyres but he was rather sceptical about how good they actually were.

Whoever this guy was, though, he was really late and Alfred just wanted to give up and go home. Surely the guy could get a cab? Mattie may be living in outside of Toronto but he was sure a cab would take him there. But would he get dinner if he arrived back without him? It was quite a conundrum.

Someone clearing their throat made Alfred blink and drag himself from his thoughts. Looking up, he found a young man around his age, dishevelled blond hair sticking up all over the place. His eyebrows were, frankly, a mess but his nose was small and straight. Alfred would not really have considered him anywhere near attractive had it not been for those amazing green eyes. Even tired, they seemed to shine.

“Uh... yeah?” said Alfred, hesitantly, entranced by the man's gaze.

The man sighed. “I'm Arthur Kirkland.” His accent was definitely English – Alfred had watched enough British TV to know it.

“Huh? Oh. Oh! Hi!” cried Alfred, dropping the arm holding the sign up. “I'm Mattie's brother. Uh, y'know, Franny's boyfriend. I mean, his boyfriend's brother.”

“Tsk. Francis promised me he'd pick me up himself,” Arthur grumbled, dipping his hand into the pocket of his trench-coat. Alfred gave his clothes a once over, noting his new boots and his knitted scarf. He didn't think the coat would keep Arthur warm, though. It was lucky the car had heating. Pulling out a cell phone, Arthur began to aggressively type into it.

“Uh. Should we get going?”

Arthur looked up briefly, barely giving Alfred a glance before he returned to his phone. “Yes. I suppose we should.”

“Right... Well... This way, dude.”

Alfred led Arthur to the door, the Brit pulling his suitcase along behind him. As soon as they passed through the automatic doors and into the snow, Alfred pulled his hands from his pockets to flick his hood up in an effort; the cold bit at his exposed skin as snow fell upon him. It was coming down heavily and there was already a few inches on the sidewalks. The road itself was covered in slush as people continued driving to and fro.

“Holy shit,” his companion gasped. Alfred turned to see Arthur frantically pulling on a pair of leather gloves.

“Cold, huh?” Again, he looked Arthur up and down. “You should probably have put something warmer on.

Scowling, Arthur glared up at him, ceasing his movements despite his shivering. “I'm perfectly fine, thank you. This isn't so bad.”

“Uh huh. You should probably put a hat on.”

“Yes, thank you. I know how to keep myself warm.” From another pocket, he pulled out a dark green hat, also knitted. “Unlike you, clearly,” Arthur added as he turned his hat around. “You apparently think running around in trainers is a good idea.” He pointed at Alfred's pair of Nikes before pulling his hat on, revealing a little robin darned on the front of the hat.

How rude! Alfred glowered at the man. “It wasn't this bad when I started out,” he told him.

The Brit scoffed. “Oh, come now. What Canadian goes out without proper footwear?”

“I'm American!” Alfred snapped. “And Mattie never said anything about snow!”

“Well, even if you are American, what idiot thinks it's a good idea to wear trainers in Canada at Christmas?”

Alfred bristled at that. “Oh, shut up!” he snapped. “Have you finished being a wuss?”

Arthur's eyes narrowed. “I'm ready,” he snarled, though he tugged his hat down again.

“You should pull that down more,” Alfred said, smiling at Arthur smugly. “It'll cover your hideous eyebrows.”

“How dare-?!” Arthur began but Alfred ignored him, striding off as best he could without slipping in the slush. When he reached Matthew's beige Ford Mondeo, he popped the trunk and waited for Arthur to catch up. The shorter man was glowering at Alfred when he turned around but Alfred shrugged a shoulder and jerked his head at the car. Arthur hastily (yet carefully) stowed his luggage and Alfred slammed it shut, almost taking Arthur's fingers off. Arthur was distracted by the colour, his lip curling with disgust. “This is a horrid colour.”

“It'll match you, then,” Alfred told him. “And this is Mattie's – I'm totally telling him what you said.” Leaving Arthur to fend for himself, he began to wipe the snow off the windows; the inch-thick layer had been quick to build up and Alfred worried he'd be stuck with a douchebag in the car if a blizzard picked up. Alfred shot a glare at the man who had settled himself into the car without helping, huddling into his coat.

Finally clear, Alfred slipped into the driver's seat. He paused to breathe on his bare hands; they were red and stinging. Briefly, he wished he'd brought his gloves. Then he remembered the asshole beside him and began to sort himself out so they could go and they could avoid each other for the rest of the night. So he buckled himself in, started the engine, wiped the windows with the wipers, put on the heater...

“Any time you're ready,” Arthur growled.

Alfred scowled again and, without replying, began to back out of his spot. He took a surreptitious deep breath: all he had to do was survive the car ride and then they'd be out of each other's hair and have other people to talk to...


Unfortunately, the snow decided to turn into a full-blown blizzard. Alfred had to squint to see the road and he wasn't entirely sure he was still going along the right one. It didn't help that the sun had set and it was now pitch black. Not to mention the fact that the slush on the road was rapidly becoming a thin layer of snow.

“We should have stayed at the airport till the snow stopped,” Arthur grumbled. He was huddled in his coat, frowning at the view.

“Not helping,” Alfred said through gritted teeth. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, peering forward. There was a bend in the road somewhere ahead and he didn't want to miss it and end up in a ditch. Spotting it, he turned the wheel: the car seemed to slide too far forward before it turned completely. Panicked, Alfred hit the brake, breathing heavily.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Arthur exclaimed. Glancing over, Alfred saw that he was clutching at the door handle, eyes wide.

“It's not my fault!” Alfred snapped. “Winter fucking tyres, my ass!”

“Well, don't just sit there!” snarled Arthur. “The car's fine – move before we get stuck here!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alfred hit the accelerator and, after the wheels spun for a minute, they moved off.

But the weather was getting worse and he wasn't entirely sure where they were any more. He kept going, hoping he'd find the right road to turn off onto. However, Alfred was beginning to think he'd missed the turning to Matthew's little town. They were in the middle of nowhere now and he couldn't see any lights whatsoever. By the time the car came to a halt, Alfred had lost all hope of getting dinner any time soon. He let off the accelerator and then tried again but, despite the whining noise, the wheels just spun.

“Fuck,” he said. Half-expecting Arthur to say something, he turned to find him watching the American. Words caught in Alfred's throat but he gave a little cough and managed to say, “Stay here.”

Forcing the door open, Alfred climbed out – and immediately sank through several inches of snow. No-one else seemed to be around and he cursed his luck. Especially when he saw that the wheels were very much stuck in the snow – it looked as though they had driven a pothole and the car had sunk through the soft snow.

Shivering violently, Alfred tried to trudge to the trunk of the car. He only succeeded in falling over, his hands instantly frozen by the snow. Cursing, he extracted himself and, instead of trying to find the snow shovel his brother probably kept in the trunk, he dropped back into the driver's seat and wrenched the door closed.

“You let all the heat out, you twat!” Arthur snapped.

Alfred whipped around. “Well, I don't see you fucking helping me!”

“You told me to stay put!”

“You could've still helped!”

Arthur looked as though he was going to argue more before he shook his head, rubbing at his arms. “Well, what are we going to do now, genius?”

“I... I don't know. Guess I'll call Mattie, see if he's got, I dunno, skis or something.” With that, Alfred pulled out his phone and unlocked it, reaching up to flip on the light. Then he stared, shocked. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

“What? What is it?!”

“I've got no signal.”

“Oh, of course,” Arthur snarled. “Mister Hero's useless, hm? Leave this to me.” And he dug into his pocket to remove his own phone. When he unlocked his, he froze.

“Oh, God,” groaned Alfred. “Don't tell me...”

“No signal...”

“Well, fuck. Looks like we're stuck here till help comes.”

They stared at each other before quickly looking away and out of their windows as if they could somehow spot aid approaching. There was silence as Alfred glanced down at the heater. If they kept the engine on, they'd run the battery down. Should he turn it off? But then there'd be no heat...

“If we'd just stayed at the airport...” he heard Arthur mumble.

“Why didn't you say something if you thought we should stay?!” Alfred snapped, twisting to glare at the man. Never in his life had anyone pissed him off so much in so little time. Why did he have to be stuck with the prick?

“I thought you knew what you were doing!” Arthur retorted, glaring back at him. He leaned forward and poked Alfred in the chest. “Why else would you be there? I thought Francis would send someone capable of driving home.”

Alfred batted Arthur's hand away. “Fuck off. It's not my fault! They bribed me to come with food.”

“Ah, the usual American way of thinking with their fat stomachs.”

“I'm not fucking fat, fucking Limey!”

“Oh, wow, that hurts,” said Arthur in a monotone. “Your insults are devastating.”

“Fuck off!” Alfred repeated. “You're not much smarter – who wears a trench-coat in the snow?!”

“It was mild in England. Besides, at least I have gloves – look at your hands!” Arthur grabbed one of Alfred's wrists and pulled his arm up to show the American his red skin.

“Back off! I'm fine,” Alfred snarled, pulling his arm away.

“Oh, yes, that's why you're shivering. You're soaked from going outside – how was that a good idea?!”

“You're such a little bitch!” Alfred yelled, growing more aggravated. His heart was beating rapidly and he knew his body was getting ready for a fight. “Look at your hat and scarf – you should tell your grandma it looks shit on you.”

Arthur smacked the seatbelt button and let the belt whip past his ear as he lunged across the car to grab Alfred's jacket and draw him closer. “What the fuck did you just say?! I made these myself!”

“Ah, so you're not just a little bitch, you're a talentless little bitch, too!”

“Excuse you! At least I'm not some hill-billy with no experience of snow!” Arthur shook Alfred who growled and grabbed Arthur's collar, pulling him closer so they were nose to nose. “Let me go!”

You let go!” Alfred growled.

They stared at each other, both their eyes narrowed and both of them panting heavily. Then, suddenly, they both moved at once, tilting their head and pressing forwards, eyes closing. Their lips touched briefly but, before they pulled away, Alfred pressed forward, forcing his tongue into Arthur's mouth. Arthur's tongue seemed to be trying to force Alfred's back for a second before he gave in and groaned as Alfred mapped out Arthur's warm mouth.

When they broke apart for air, Alfred stared into Arthur's dark eyes. They were mesmerising and, instead of questioning what had just happened, he cupped Arthur's face with both hands and pulled him into another kiss. This one was just as heated as the first and Alfred was soon pulling Arthur towards him, craving more contact. Arthur obliged, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and clambering across the car and onto Alfred's lap.

Eventually, they had to breathe again and Alfred panted, keeping his arms around Arthur. The Brit stared down at him for a second before speaking, his voice low and husky and doing funny things to Alfred's chest. “This is Matthew's car?”

“Huh? Yeah?”

“Good,” said Arthur. Without warning, he twisted his body and leaned over; Alfred hurriedly moved his hands to Arthur's hips to keep him balanced. For some reason, Arthur pulled open the glove compartment and started searching before pulling back, his hands full. Alfred frowned at the items – a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confused. “How'd you know they were there? Why are they there?”

“Well, I figured Francis probably uses this car, too. In more ways than one...” Arthur rolled his eyes but put the useful items onto the passenger's seat. “But I think we can use them later. Right now, I'd rather concentrate on getting a little more room to move...” Before Alfred could brace himself, Arthur grabbed the chair adjuster and pushed Alfred back, the American falling back till he was leaning at an awkward angle. Then Arthur pushed the seat back as well, giving them both more leg room.

Breath stolen, Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Someone's eager.”

Arthur growled and launched himself on top of Alfred, pinning him to the seat. He quickly latched onto Alfred's neck, giving him a determined hickey. Alfred groaned and that seemed to be the signal for Arthur to pull away. Moving to Alfred's ear, Arthur whispered, “I haven't had sex in months.”

“Really?” Alfred couldn't help asking, voice weak. “Who was the last one?”

“Not that that's the right thing to be talking about right now but the last guy was in Portugal. A whole week of the most amazing night life.” Arthur winked. “I hope you can meet my rather high expectations.”

“Oh, I definitely can,” Alfred told him, determined not to be outdone by some holiday fling in a tiny country. “You're going to be seeing Christmas stars tonight.”

Groaning in exasperation, Arthur shook his head. “I shouldn't let you speak; it makes me want to punch you.”

“Same.”

“Then shall we just move on? We should probably remove our shoes – it'll be easier to get the rest off each other later.”

After some wriggling around – which made Alfred half-hard – both of them managed to pull their shoes and socks off. Alfred winced as he realised how wet his were: Arthur wrinkled his nose as Alfred threw them into the back seat. Rolling his eyes, Alfred grabbed Arthur's face and pulled him down for another deep kiss. His hands slipped around to hold the back of Arthur's head in position, tongues dancing, Alfred's fingers brushing through Arthur's messy locks. Arthur clung to his shoulders, seemingly content for the moment.

Deciding to be the one to get the ball rolling, Alfred ran his hands down to Arthur's neck and over his shoulders, moving them down Arthur's chest until he reached the buttons of his coat. Fumbling a little from his frozen fingers, it took a little while for him to get them all undone, kissing Arthur all the while. Whenever Alfred stopped moving his lips to concentrate on the buttons, Arthur would bite his lip and force his tongue into Alfred's mouth so that they had to battle for dominance once more. Alfred always won but he was beginning to think Arthur was letting him; he was such an amazing kisser, Alfred could feel himself melting when Arthur was in control.

Finally, he was able to push Arthur's coat off him: it fell to the floor, ignored. Arthur promptly began to unzip Alfred's parka, ever so slowly. Alfred, meanwhile, ran his hands over Arthur's soft sweater, a dark red colour, perhaps as Christmassy as Arthur had allowed for the trip over. He couldn't wait to take it off but he had a scarf and gloves to contend with first. From waist to neck, he let his hands roam; Arthur moaned as he got the parka opened and pushed it back. Both of them broke apart to get rid of the parka and Arthur paused, frowning.

“Wait. Is that...? You're only wearing a t-shirt! What the fuck?! Aren't you cold?!”

“Well, if we keep going, I'm sure I'll be fine,” Alfred replied with a cheeky wink.

“But- Have you never seen snow? Why would you-?”

“Hey!” Alfred cried, raising his hands in surrender. “I figured I'd be in warm places all day. I didn't expect to be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“Honestly!” Arthur sighed before taking a good look at the top. Alfred, forgetting what he had hurriedly put on, glanced down, too. Before he'd come up to Canada, he had bought a whole load of geeky Christmas t-shirts. The one he was currently wearing had Darth Vader with a Santa hat. Underneath the picture were the words, I find your lack of cheer disturbing. Alfred blushed. Luckily, Arthur only gave a snort of laughter. “Let's get this off you, too, hm?”

He wasted no time in putting his hands up Alfred's shirt, the leather rubbing against Alfred in a strangely satisfying way. Once he'd gotten the shirt up to Alfred's head, Alfred raised his arms to help him take it off. As the American threw it away, Arthur's hands returned to his chest, running over his muscles.

“My God,” he breathed, looking impressed. Alfred grinned widely: he loved people who loved his muscles. “How did you get these?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “I exercise. Also, I work part-time in a garage while I'm doing mechanical engineering at college. I'm basically lifting heavy things constantly.” He squeezed Arthur's hips. “And some not-so-heavy things. Seriously, do you eat?”

“Worried about me, are you?” Arthur asked, smirking. That expression made Alfred blush, his breath stolen once more. Wow, did Arthur look sexy. “I don't have as much time as I'd like for cooking so I only cook things that are quick to prepare,” Arthur explained. After a pause, he added, “Mostly microwave dinners.”

“I don't think that's good-”

“Are you Francis in disguise?” demanded Arthur, sighing. “Look, you have a really delicious looking chest and I really want to lick it or bite it or both so can we stop with the talking?”

“Hm,” said Alfred, eyeing the man. “Only if you give me a kiss first.” He reached up and, grabbing Arthur's scarf, pulled him down into one, a lot gentler than the previous ones. Arthur gripped his arms tightly before deepening the kiss. Alfred busied himself with removing Arthur's scarf before his eyes fluttered shut at the, frankly, mind-blowing kiss.

Pulling away, Arthur leaned over and kissed Alfred's neck. Alfred's breath caught, the anticipation killing him. Arthur didn't disappoint: he bit down where he had kissed, sucking on it gently before licking at it. He continued to leave love bites all along Alfred's collarbone before delving as far down as he could in the limited space. When he had to give up, his hands went to the Captain America shield belt. Alfred grabbed his wrists to stop him.

“Hold on. It's my turn.” And he pulled Arthur's sweater up and over his head. Underneath was a black, long-sleeved top upon which was written in white, Bah humbug. “Wow,” said Alfred, raising an eyebrow. “Very into the Christmas spirit, arentcha?”

“Oh, just shut up and get it off me,” sighed Arthur, rolling his eyes. Alfred obliged, tugging it up over his head. That left him with only his gloves and pants on. Reaching for Arthur's hand, Alfred was surprised when the Brit pulled away. “No, no. Take off our trousers first.”

“Why do I haveta?”

“If you don't want to do this...”

The threat was weak but effective: Alfred grumbled to himself but obediently unbuckled their belts (not that Arthur needed one, seeing as his jeans were so tight) and tugged down their zippers. With their pants unfastened, they both had to awkwardly twist and balance to kick them off. Several times, one or the other of them kicked the door and Arthur leant against the horn once, startling them both. By the time they had finished and returned to their original position of Arthur on Alfred's lap, they were both panting. They stared at each other.

“We never speak about how awkward that was,” Arthur ordered.

“Fine by me.”

Now that Arthur was completely naked (apart from those gloves), Alfred ran his eyes over his lean body. He imagined that he'd be dwarfed by a hug from Alfred, fitting snugly in his arms. His skin was pale in the dim light; clearly he didn't get out much. Alfred found himself licking his lips in anticipation and, deciding not to wait any longer, he grabbed Arthur's ass and pulled him close, their cocks rubbing against each other.

Both of them groaned with pleasure.

Arthur set his hands on Alfred's shoulders, reminding Alfred about the gloves. “Are you going to take them off?” he demanded.

“When the time's right,” Arthur replied before running his hands down Alfred's chest. “God, what I wouldn't give to be able to wake up to this every day...”

“Is that an invitation?” Alfred questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“God, no. I can't stand you, whatsoever.” Grinning, Arthur leaned in and gave Alfred a peck on the nose. “I just want to wake up next to a body this toned. At the very least, every once in a while.”

“Huh. Well, might still happen.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Psh, no,” Alfred replied, laughing loudly. “I can't stand ya either.”

“Hm.” Arthur pressed himself against Alfred, making the American gasp. Before he could get his breath back, it was stolen once more as Arthur licked and sucked on his ear. At the same time, Arthur moved his hands down to Alfred's nipples, the rough texture of the gloves exciting Alfred more than he ever wanted to admit. He barely had time to register them being there before Arthur was tweaking his nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Alfred let out a long groan.

His groan must have been some sort of signal to Arthur who reached down and gripped Alfred's dick. Slowly, he began to drag his hand up and down, the material of the glove adding to the friction. Alfred's breath caught in his throat and he gave a little cry of pleasure. Who knew a leather glove was this sexy? He was definitely getting some when he got home...

Continuing at a steady pace, Arthur began to nibble along Alfred's jaw. His other hand kept twisting Alfred's nipples, alternating between them at random intervals. Heat built in Alfred's stomach and a drop of pre-cum escaped, making Arthur's glove slide better. Arthur seemed to notice and stopped everything, straightening and smirking down at Alfred.

Keeping eye contact, Arthur brought a hand to his mouth, took the bottom of the glove in his teeth and slowly worked it off. Alfred's gaze flickered between Arthur's eyes and his hand, watching intently. At one point, he realised he was holding his breath, the anticipation getting to him. Finally, Arthur had pulled off the glove and he threw it away. The other hand, the one that had been giving Alfred a handjob, was then brought to Arthur's mouth. Instead of taking it off, he started to suck on the fingers, one by one: Alfred felt his dick throb. Was he able to taste Alfred on the glove? Just as painstakingly slowly as before, Arthur pulled off the other glove and, suddenly, he was naked.

Alfred couldn't stop himself – he grabbed Arthur hips and dragged him forward again, grinding against him. Arthur moaned; it was music to Alfred's ears. They rocked together several times before Alfred's mind turned to Arthur's hole and his wish to be inside him. He reached for the lube, grasped it – and was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his wrist.

Blinking, Alfred watched as Arthur took the bottle and opened it. “What're you doing?” he asked, his voice husky.

“It'll be too awkward for you to prepare me,” Arthur replied as he poured some of it onto his fingers. “So just sit still and don't do anything.”

Before he could reply, Arthur knelt up, spreading his legs as far as he could without falling, and reached back. Alfred could only stare at Arthur's face, transfixed as Arthur slipped a finger inside himself. The Brit's face scrunched up, his nose wrinkling in a rather cute way. He almost chuckled at his expression. Instead, he glanced down to get a look at what Arthur was doing and realised Arthur's member was right in front of his face. Peeking at Arthur, he noted the Brit's closed eyes. A mischievous grin spread across Alfred's face as he watched his partner. Just as Arthur took on a pained expression, Alfred jerked his head forward and took all of Arthur in his mouth. There was a cry from above him and Arthur's free hand clutched at his hair as he doubled over.

“Holy. Fucking. Christ!” Arthur exclaimed, panting.

Humming in response – and making Arthur groan – Alfred began to bob backwards and forwards, trying to make sure his movements didn't make Arthur fall over. His hands, resting on Arthur's thighs, moved upwards till he was holding Arthur still. Trailing his tongue along the underside of Arthur's cock, he got to the tip and licked at the slit. There was another groan and a sudden cry and Alfred wondered if Arthur was still opening himself up.

The sudden realisation that Arthur was fucking himself with his own fingers and his prick down Alfred's throat made his own throb with need. He knew he should wait, though – Arthur would be ready at some point – but he couldn't resist pulling a hand away from Arthur's hip and reaching down to tend to himself. Of course, he made sure to go slow and didn't squeeze, trying to hold back as much as possible.

Suddenly, Arthur's grip tightened on his hair – Alfred moaned – and he was forcefully pulled away. “Fuck! You need to stop, love. Else I'll come,” Arthur panted

“Maybe I want ya to come,” Alfred replied, grinning up at Arthur. The other stared down, face completely flushed, sweat dripping from his hair. His eyes were darkened with lust and he looked absolutely delectable. Alfred wondered if Arthur would object if he started biting him.

“Well, I think I'd rather you came first.” With a wince, and a keening noise, Arthur pulled his fingers from his ass and grabbed the strip of condoms. He hurriedly ripped one off – Alfred getting more excited as he watched – and opened it with his teeth. Quickly, he set it on the tip of Alfred's cock. Then he paused, looking at Alfred with wide, almost innocent, eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips twitching with what would undoubtedly be a smirk.

Biting his lip to avoid snapping at the man, Alfred nodded. Just as slowly as the rest of his actions, Arthur rolled the condom down his length, squeezing a little as he went. Alfred clutched at Arthur, gripping his hips tight. Finished with the protection, Arthur poured out some more lube and sped up a little as he pumped Alfred's cock, slathering the slick substance liberally.

Once he was done, Arthur gazed at Alfred who stared back, eyes lidded. “Well,” said Arthur, his deep voice sending tingles up Alfred's spine. “I do believe we're ready.”

“Yup,” Alfred replied and, before Arthur decided to tease him further, he lifted Arthur up. The Englishman seemed to understand Alfred's intent for he reached down to hold Alfred steady as the American began to lower him down.

His dick prodded at Arthur's ass until the aim was corrected and Alfred felt himself pressing against the hole. By that point, Arthur was using Alfred's shoulders to balance and he carefully pushed himself down. Alfred's breath caught as he went lower and lower, Alfred steadying him, his member slowly being enveloped by a tight heat. It seemed to go on forever, slowly continuing until he was completely inside, Alfred panting from the heat around him.

Above him, Arthur was taking deep breaths, biting his lip as his face twisted in pain. His arms and legs trembled as he clung to Alfred, his legs squeezing at Alfred's waist. Wanting to distract himself from the intense desire to start thrusting and to distract Arthur from the pain, Alfred ran his hands around to Arthur's back and pushed him down so they were chest to chest. Before Arthur could protest, Alfred gave him a sloppy kiss; Arthur bit his lip as they pulled away to breathe.

“Fucking hell,” Alfred muttered as his eyes flickered between Arthur's flushed cheeks and his wet lips. “Fucking hell.”

“Huh,” Arthur managed, still panting.

“You're really fucking tight.”

“That's... That's because you're so damned big.”

Alfred grinned. “You love it, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur sat up as straight as he could. “I wouldn't go tossing around the word 'love' like that – but, yes, I do enjoy it. I think it's time to enjoy it more, don't you?” And, with another of those smirks, Arthur pushed himself upwards. Alfred tried not to whimper as he felt himself slipping free: he wanted him to stay put, to feel that warmth flexing around him. Arthur stopped when only the tip of his cock was inside him – and promptly slammed himself down.

Jesus,” Alfred breathed as Arthur groaned, his grip on Alfred's shoulders tightening as his head fell back.

“Je- Christ. Fuck,” Arthur answered him, letting his head flop back down.

“D'ya need some help there, babe?” Alfred asked, rather cheekily. It was more to make Arthur move again since it looked as though he was prepared to wait several minutes to gather himself. Alfred couldn't have that – he desperately needed more.

His teasing produced the desired effect: Arthur glared at him and pushed himself up again, just as slowly as before. Then he dropped down, both of them moaning. He didn't stop, though, beginning to get quicker and quicker the longer he kept moving. Alfred hung on, watching him: gazing at his heaving chest as he panted; his hair getting stuck to his forehead from the sweat; the way his back arched when he dropped down particularly hard; those lust-filled gems staring back at him.

When Arthur started to shift, changing the angle, Alfred suddenly realised that he was trying to hit his prostate. Deciding it would be difficult for Arthur to that on his own in the cramped conditions, he tightened the grip he still had on Arthur's hips and began to thrust up to meet him. Arthur gasped at that, his hands slipping from Alfred's shoulders to cradle his neck. Alfred ignored him as he turned and twisted until, finally, Arthur gave a short scream – he'd found it.

Grinning wickedly, Alfred made sure to aim at that spot and thrust into him repeatedly. A stream of cries, gasps, screams and shouts came from Arthur's mouth till he was almost constantly screaming in pleasure. Pleased that it was him making Arthur react like that and not some Portuguese guy, Alfred smiled smugly as he watched the man atop him writhe and arch, the pressure building in his stomach as he watched the erotic sight and Arthur enveloped him so completely. Arthur's member was leaking pre-cum by now and Alfred stared at it, wishing he was flexible enough to lick it up.

Suddenly, Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand from his hip. Confused, Alfred turned it so they could link their fingers together. Arthur gasped out the word, “Idiot!” and shook his hand so Alfred let go. Grabbing it once again, he guided him down to Arthur's cock and, understanding, Alfred gripped that instead. Arthur allowed himself to fall forward, wrapping his arms around Alfred's shoulders. “So close,” he whispered into Alfred's ear, causing the American to shudder.

Thoughts muddled, it took a little while to realise how close he was as well. Alfred nodded, hoping Arthur understood as he wasn't sure he could speak. Slowly, he began to stroke Arthur in time with his now quite sloppy thrusts. It was quite difficult to move in the confined space but he was able to hit Arthur's sweet spot entirely on his own.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur murmured in his ear. “Yes. Oh God, yes.” Alfred, having missed his prostate a couple of times, succeeded once more, eliciting a cry from Arthur. “There! Oh, yes, there. Please. Fuck, Al, yes!”

The encouragement from Arthur was making Alfred's blood boil, a sort of primal satisfaction stealing over him, a contentment with making his sexual partner so happy. His thrusts sped up, his hand sped up and, suddenly, with a scream, Arthur came, his cum covering Alfred's hand and hitting their chests. Arthur clenched around Alfred who was still thrusting into him and the added pressure made Alfred cry out himself, continuing to move as he came. At one point, he thought he called out Arthur's name (or part of it, at least) and he would have been embarrassed if he wasn't trying so hard to stay conscious: he didn't think he had felt such bliss before.

Finally, he found he could stop moving and he went limp, Arthur collapsed on top of him. He didn't bother pulling out but did find the energy to wrap his arms around Arthur and pull him close as they caught their breaths. His lazy gaze swept over the car, the light illuminating the worn seats. Outside, the snow continued to fall, darkness and grey and white merging together. A piece of tartan caught his eye and he remembered the blanket Matthew kept in the back-seat. Reaching out, he pulled it over them: Arthur looked up at him with a grateful smile as Alfred tucked them in.


Around an hour later, they were still in the same position, Arthur breathing deeply as he slept. Alfred was struggling to stay awake in case something happened – like the battery draining or a rescue reaching them. However, having had nothing to do for quite some time, he was beginning to doze, watching the snow continue to fall and listening to the distant buzzing sound which was coming closer...

Gasping, Alfred sat up and listened more closely. Yes, it was still approaching, getting louder all the while. He knew that sound: when he and Matthew had come to Canada for holidays when they were younger, they had had the chance of using snowmobiles. If he remembered rightly, Matthew had said he and Francis had gotten a couple to use during the days the snow was really bad.

Glancing down at Arthur, his eyes widened: if they were caught naked like this...

“Shit,” he whispered, shaking Arthur rather roughly. The man stirred, scowling at Alfred's chest before straightening and pulling away from Alfred. He immediately mourned the loss before reminding himself that Arthur was a jerk and he shouldn't be upset about it.

“What is it?” Arthur grumbled.

“There's people coming!” Alfred exclaimed. “Listen!” They quietened so they could both here the approaching snowmobiles. “It could be Mattie!”

Arthur blinked tiredly at him before his own eyes grew large. “Shit!” he cried and scrambled onto the passenger seat, grabbing the abandoned (and open) bottle of lube and the leftover condoms. He threw them into the glove compartment before grabbing his briefs and pants. Alfred started scrambling for his clothes, too. The noise continued to increase in volume as they hurriedly dressed themselves and each other (Arthur found Alfred's shirt instead of his own and pulled it over Alfred's head in their hurry). Alfred only paused to wipe his hand on the blanket before chucking it in the back.

Before he could get his sneakers back on, however, the noise cut off. Both he and Arthur froze, the Brit now wrapped up in his coat and scarf, his gloves in hand. They listened to the scrunching of snow underfoot as someone approached and a hand appeared at the driver's window, wiping the snow away.

“Al!” came Matthew's voice. “Are you okay?!”

“Yeah! We're fine!” Alfred grabbed his sneakers and grimaced; they were still soaked through. “Uh, just a bit wet. Please tell me you at least brought boots or something.”

“We brought warm jackets, gloves, scarves and hats, too,” Matthew replied, his red hat barely visible through the window. “I'm going to clear the snow away so you can get out.”

“You could just open the window and we can climb out,” Arthur commented.

“Oh. Yeah!” Alfred clicked the button to roll down the window. “Hey, Mattie! We'll just get out this way! Pass me in my boots.”

Matthew popped up from below, so wrapped up that Alfred could only see his eyes, hidden behind his smudged glasses. “What? Are you going to fit through that?”

“I will,” said Arthur, leaning over Alfred. “Hi,” he added, sticking out his hand with a pleasant smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Though I wish it had been at home like we planned for. How on Earth did you put up with Alfred?”

“Hey!” cried Alfred, glaring at the two of them.

“How did Alfred put up with Sourcils?” asked Francis, appearing behind Matthew. He was bundled up as well; Alfred tried not to laugh at the large jacket which dwarfed the thin man's frame.

“Shut it, Frog,” snarled Arthur, glaring at him.

“Okay, look,” said Matthew, raising his hands. “Let's just get you out of here. Who's going first?”

“I will. Hang on.” Arthur patted down his pockets, presumably to make sure he had his wallet and cell. However, that wasn't his only intention: as soon as Matthew straightened to talk to Francis, Arthur leaned over to speak into Alfred's ear. “Did you enjoy your early Christmas present, then?” he murmured, smirking at him as if he had planned it all along.

Alfred stiffened, glad his cock didn't do so as well – that would be hard to explain to his brother. As Arthur clambered over him, sending another sly look in his direction, he hoped he'd get more presents from Arthur over the course of the holiday...