We'll Meet Again Chapter 4, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic | FanFiction
We'll Meet Again has ratings and 5 reviews. Mari said: I'm so glad I'm finally getting around to reading George's work because this was amazing! The. We'll Meet Again - USUK Full credit to George Devalier on kd8mq.info who is highly boastful and says everytime "HORROR MOVIES ARE THE BEST!!!. This is art regarding 'We'll Meet Again' by George DeValier. I highly recommend him for well-written stories about some of the best pairings around.
Alfred's were wide, pleading. It took all Arthur's strength to tear his away. He turned, almost knocking the chair over in his haste, and rushed from the room. He tried desperately to hold himself together as he passed groups of patrons drinking and talking and laughing. His hands clenched into fists and his eyes stung. Finally he pushed open the back door, hurried up the stairs and through his living area into his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him.
Leaning back against it, he covered his face with his hands and promptly burst into tears. This was absurd, he told himself. He should be relieved to be rid of that annoying American, to get his life back, to not have to deal with this uncertainty and confusion. But all he could feel was a cold, empty hole where his heart used to be.
The idea that he would never see Alfred again left him breathless. The thought that he… but no, he couldn't think that. Arthur tore off his apron and tie, threw them angrily to the ground before unscrewing the bottle of rum. He took a deep gulp, unheeding of the burning in his throat.
All he wanted was oblivion. He swallowed, breathed deeply, and drank again as the hot tears streamed over his cheeks. He wiped them away impatiently. And Arthur had known all along that he would, but the reality of it knocked him nearly senseless. After gulping down a few more mouthfuls of rum, Arthur gasped for breath and headed for his bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and never come up.
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But he stopped in his tracks as the door opened behind him. Arthur froze mid-step, feeling his stomach twist and his neck burn. He had forgotten to lock both doors. The door behind him clicked shut and he felt a warm presence at his back. He couldn't turn around.
Alfred's voice was rough and uncertain. I don't want that to be the way we say goodbye. He tried to wipe his tears without making it obvious, but felt Alfred grasp his arm gently but firmly.
Arthur forced himself to turn and look at Alfred. The touch sent a shuddering strike across Arthur's skin. Arthur shook his head, paused, then nodded.
No, I just… I…" Arthur took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and helplessly let it all come out. What if he had this all wrong He leant down and kissed Arthur's eyelids gently. Arthur shivered at the touch, his skin tingling at Alfred's warm breath against him. But I couldn't help it. From the second I saw you, all I wanted was to make you smile.
When Arthur looked up into those smiling blue eyes, he suddenly realised how terrified he was that Alfred wouldn't. He abruptly stopped, panicked, and tried to push Alfred away, but was stunned when Alfred reacted strongly, devouring Arthur's mouth as he enclosed his waist with strong arms. Arthur felt such a strong jolt of desire that he was shocked, but when he realised Alfred was responding, everything he had denied feeling came flooding out.
He was terrified of Alfred leaving. He was terrified of Alfred forgetting him. He was terrified that maybe he had not meant to Alfred what Alfred had meant to him. He was simply terrified. Arthur tried to forget the terrifying thoughts by losing himself in Alfred, and he cried out in surprise when Alfred frantically lifted him with strong arms. Arthur's head started spinning. He wrapped his legs around Alfred and, their lips still joined, Alfred carried him to the bed, where they fell down together.
And Arthur finally accepted that this was what he had wanted all along. Alfred… "Alfred… Alfred…" Arthur gasped, clutching onto Alfred's shoulders; placing kisses on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his ears. Arthur's breath caught from the amazement of touching Alfred like this: Arthur's defences melted away completely.
It struck Arthur that they were both very, very aroused. Alfred was kissing him. Alfred was touching him. All this time, Arthur hadn't dared dream it. They yelled, they drank, they fought occasionally, they drank, they flirted with the local girls, and they drank some more. Then they did it all over again.
To begin with it was a vaguely interesting break in the same tedious old routine. By the end of the second night, Arthur had had enough. To be honest, they were not all bad.
They generally tried to be well behaved, they poured a lot of money into his pub, and after all, they were allies fighting a common enemy. Truth be told, they weren't starting to drive Arthur mad at all. Everything about the American irritated Arthur.
The absurd bomber jacket he lived in.
The way he never combed his bloody hair. And the arrogance… Arthur had not been the least bit surprised to learn he was a fighter pilot. Thought the whole bloody British Isle owed him their freedom and allegiance.
Arthur gritted his teeth and snatched the glass. And kindly refrain from calling me your buddy. He barely went through a bottle a year before the war. Since the Americans turned up, he went through a carton a night. He was obviously used to getting his way with that grin… but it bloody well wasn't going to work with Arthur. Let someone else pour the drinks for a while. Take a load off. Alfred seemed able to stretch every word into seven syllables. Arthur suppressed his irritation, pushed the glass across the bar, and attempted to be polite.
He had a reputation as a gentleman to uphold, after all. That's an insult to a man, that is. The arrogance was unfathomable. Arthur felt the tiniest stab of guilt, and could not stop himself adding, "Maybe another time.
I look forward to having that drink with ya. Arthur let out a deep breath. He turned and placed the bourbon back on the shelf, took a cloth from beneath the bar, and began wiping the bar top vigorously. Arthur had never dealt with something like this before.
Customers asked him for drinks, he served them. None of them ever asked him to join them — hell, most of them barely spared a word for him. Yet this American pilot had bothered him every night for a week: Arthur could not understand it. Of course, a tiny, hopeful part of his brain held the smallest suspicion - but no.
Arthur had spent too long suppressing that secret part of himself. The reason he had no close friends, the reason his brothers hated him; the reason he cut himself off from society, the reason even his country's armed services refused to accept him. He had learnt from his past mistakes, and knew better than to see his own secret wishes and desires where actually there was nothing.
But then, what was it about this bloody Yank? Why did he keep asking Arthur to drink with him? Why did he keep looking over at Arthur behind the bar and waving? Why did he have to grin like that? And why the bloody hell did it affect Arthur so much when he did? Arthur risked a glance over at the pilot's table. He always sat at the same one, by the second front window, with that other fellow who looked so much like him that Arthur wondered if they were brothers.
Sure enough, Alfred was looking right at him. Arthur quickly looked down. He ran a hand over his heated forehead and felt it burning red. Throwing the cloth down, Arthur stormed over to the other side of the busy pub. Surely there must be some empty glasses to pick up. An elderly regular nodded to him as he passed.
Don't even know why we need them here, it's not as though our boys can't take on the Jerry's without them! His eyes flashed fleetingly towards Alfred's table before he quickly turned to serve the table of rowdy soldiers.
A few hours later, with the place thankfully somewhat quieter, Arthur finally had a chance to wipe down the vacant tables and collect empty glasses.
He did have a few staff, but they only worked occasionally, and Arthur barely even knew their names. He preferred to do most of the work here himself. This was his pub, after all. It wasn't much, but it was his entire life; it was everything he knew.
The long bar that ran across the room, the old wooden tables and chairs that had never been replaced. The huge fireplace and its ornate mantelpiece. We'll Meet Again, a completed USUK story with thirteen chapters about how love can appear when you least expect it and can overpower loneliness. Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, a completed GerIta story with eighteen chapters about how love is blind, is stronger than hate, and can last longer than war.
Lily of the Lamplight, a PruAus story still in progress with a final chapter count of eighteen chapters about selflessness, survival, and love changing you for the better. My Echo, an unrequited SwissAus story still in progress with a final chapter count of six chapters about how true love - even when unreturned - is selfless. It has been terminated. Jealousy, a RoChu story still in progress with a final chapter count of six chapters about how love can destroy as well as save, madness, and control.
It does not appear on his Fanfiction webpage anymore.
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Something to Remember You By, a TurkEgypt story still in progress with a final chapter count of three chapters about losing yourself along with the loss of true love. The Mapleverse The Mapleverse is a series of alternate universe stories that take place in modern times, in a Canadian town. La Patisserie de la Rose, a completed Franada story that is very fluffy, full of friendship, and about seening something in someone that no one else - not even themselves- can.