The Hand of the Empire

When she straightened herself, she quickly made way to her bedroom to place the sunscreen down and emerged from the room; neglecting to close the door behind her. Even so she observed the sour expression plastered on his face before making an almost mocking smile, “Why do you look like you’re spiting me constantly? I’m fairly sure I haven’t done anything too abrupt otherwise you would have said something.”

In the past, Lee Mei noted, her questioning wouldn’t be directly about his expression. Instead she would have to focus on pleasuring him and making sure he was satisfied. The Macanese would have overlooked this, and continued with her cheery exterior.

Though, the sharp-tongued woman had a point.

Lee Mei retreated to her quarters once more, only to reappear  and admonish the English nation, and to his confusion. A singular corner of his mouth twisted downwards,both brows arching at the Macanese in question. "Spiting you?" While often, yes, Arthur's expression would twist into something sour at the tiniest of provocations, in this modern age, it was more-so a force of habit than true discomfort. There was areason rather angry frown lines had creased permanently on his skin from the corners of his thin lips. 

Was she referring to their ... conversation from the night previous?  It then occurred to him that she was not used to his company--she was not attuned to his habits, which indeed included his behavior, prone to common bouts of needless angry somberness.  A spark of realization flickered in those emerald eyes, a heavy sigh heaving from Arthur's throat. The man shook his head slowly, thumb and forefinger returning to the very habitual dance of massaging at his temples, just above the bridge of his nose. 

Finally, the Englishman spoke, his voice soft and resigned. 

                                                  ❝The  STRENGTH                                                   of the η  α  т  ι  σ  η                                                   derives   from  the                                                   integrity     of     the                                                   h      o      m      e.❞                                                           ——C O N F U C I U S

                                             ◤                                        ◥

                                                       private, selective                                                        W A N G  Y A O.                                                              ✯✯✯✯✯                                                        m u l t i v e r s e                                                         m u l t i  - s h i p 

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WIP (((Dunno if I’ll ever finish this or not)))

Of course, she was going to blame the heat.

That comment didn’t help the situation either. “Ah—” That was definitely an innuendo… It was though right? With a huff, her shoulders slumped and she relaxed, pouting a bit from his words. If this man had the goal of riling her up, dammit, it’s working. It’ll be a very, very long night for the both them.

As he walks past her to situate himself on the couch, she closes the door and follows after him, but doesn’t quite sit down yet. Amelia simply scans the area with her eyes, trying to be as discreet as possible despite knowing he was watching her. She wanted everything to be perfect, to have him enjoy his stay here, and even the smallest spec of dust would probably end up throwing her off. “Hmm?” She heard him, but it took a second to process what he said. Looking back at him from behind the couch she scowled and rolled her eyes, going over to wrap her arms around him with a smile.

Tapping his lips, she pressed her own to his cheek before sighing happily. “I’m glad you’re here.” It was so nice having him physically here with her considering calls, text, emails, skype, and face time chats weren’t always enough, and the way she molding into him was just…. right. It was right.

Closing her eyes for a second she just wanted to focus on the feeling of hugging him like this, but when she felt the water from her hair beginning to soak up on the shoulders of her shirt, she giggled and kissed his cheek again before pulling away. “Mm, alright then. I’ll just blow dry my hair off, not sure if that’s an interesting enough activity to join, but…” She shrugs, making her way upstairs. Looking back at him she gives him her own mischievous grin. What was she thinking? That was a mystery all in itself.

Any mischievous notions dissolved quickly as he was soon in her embrace, and immediately, he relaxed. Slumped shoulders, the laugh lines protruding about the sides of his mouth softening, and  he let his eyelids fall closed. Without any conflict, he returned her warm embrace, fingertips stroking gentle at the back of her neck as he pressed his nose against her scalp, inhaling softly. Her wet locks smelled strongly of soap suds, and some sweet shampoo. In all honesty, he could have cared less how the little droplets that fell from her hair made his fingers damp, nor his face, for it was so seldom that this nation was allowed any moment of real serenity. While Arthur plaintively knew they would have all day for such silly things as cuddling, still, he was as entrapped in this singular moment as she. No business, no meetings, no disturbances. 

The moment he had stepped into her home, he had left England behind. The next few days would be the stage for Amelia and Arthur, only. 

"Mmm," he hummed in response, inwardly cursing that damn hair for pulling her away from that precious moment, "I could think of something." Yet, Arthur was absolutely captured by her as she sauntered up those steps, those thick brows arching in minor splendor at each seductive sway of those beautiful hips she had. Quickly, he found his mouth becoming dry, tongue darting out to sate his parched lips as his eyes narrowed, glimmering with promise. She was extending a very obvious invitation, and he was all-too-quick to accept. 

With a swift eagerness, the Englishman trotted up those steps after her, quickly catching her on her walk to the restroom, his fingertips taking the liberty of tracing the soft, wet skin from the crook of her neck to the sharp outline of her shoulders, gently tugging at her top to expose the flesh there. He pressed his mouth to the back of her ear, gracing the skin with slow, soft kisses, and a breathy chuckle blew from those daring lips. 

Hopefully, he didn’t find her reaction a bit over the top. Regardless, the Macanese shook her head and began going through her wardrobe, pressing a skirt against her hips with one arm and a tank-top. She frowned and sighed, this will have to do. A bit of a struggle later, she donned a pair of flat shoes that complimented her tank-top and began the rush of putting on a natural makeup look.

Both options were appealing, and yet the latte was his daily routine. 

After some heavy mulling, and a soft tumbling of curses from his lips, Arthur finally settled for black dress trousers, topped with a white button-down collar. While it was the most casual piece of his accessible wardrobe, it would be the best pair, considering the heat he was faced with. After nearly a minute of silent debate, he decided to forego the neck-tie. He'd have it off within the hour anyhow, he suspected. 

Once dressed appropriately (or, as much as he could manage), he abandoned the guest room, only to find that Lee Mei was as equally ready for their mid-afternoon outing. Save, Arthur found she quite out-shined him in her attire. Colourful, interestingly modest, yet smart--loose with the thought of the summer heat. Perhaps it took the nation quite a few moments to make eye-contact with his host, yet once he snapped back to attention, a flush rose upon his pale cheeks once again, and his expression seemed to twist into something more sour in retaliation. 

"Ah--yes. Thank you." 

Accepting the bottle, he flipped open the cap, squirting a sparing amount onto his open palm before pocketing it  in the crook of his arm. Gingerly, the creamy substance was spread up and down his neck, along his lanky forearms that his shirt did not cover, and down alongside the contours of his crooked nose. The Englishman wrinkled said nose in slight discomfort as the liquid clung to his skin thickly, but he knew it was necessary. How presentable could he be if he resembled a ripe tomato after a few hours of relentless sunshine?

             is to be

                                 vulnerable

                           and             I              would rather                     be 

                                                                   heartless               

Although Lee Mei was in a similar state of undress save for a lacy night gown that showed a bit more of her body than preferred. Save for the bashfulness, her eyes wandered from his face to his chest and noted the large scarring just above his heart. In fact; there were countless scars. The only person who’s scars she’s seen regularly were her Papa’s, but even he wasn’t as decorated as Arthur.

Her eyes softened with some sort of somber melancholy and pressed her right hand to his chest. Again, those warm amber eyes followed up his neck and met with his dazzling emeralds, “Did it hurt?” Damn her and her seemingly lack of self control around this man.

"My thanks," he quipped, the fingers massaging about his left eye sliding down to rub the aches against the bridge of his nose. "I'll be sure to dress lightly. Do you perhaps have--...." Arthur's words were sliced short, his voice trailing off to silence, and his eyes widening quite noticeably as Lee Mei's petite hand rested itself upon his chest, directly over his most notable scarring. Not only had it been a splitting of the pale skin, but it was laced with rather viscous and noticeable burn marks, the skin about its edges crumpled together and reddened with the pain of past events. Damn it all. While Arthur could indeed be a confident man who seethed pride for his nation and his people, one of the few matters he was not comfortable with was the scarrings upon his body. Often, they reminded him of bloody wars, ridiculous skirmishes, and traumatic slaughterings that he would rather leaved buried in the abyss of his subconscious for eternity. It was uncommon for him to remove his clothing in-front of others, not without a certain level of trust between the two. And Arthur placing so much trust in an individual's hands is about as common as a day of sunshine in London. 

And yet, Lee Mei spoke gently and without judgement, her eyes embracing his with a sort of concern that was foreign to him. Much liken to the events of last night, once again, she had him perplexed. His expression seethed such confusion, but only briefly, as his usual composure returned shortly after, re-masking his features with a dull, somber expression. 

"They always do," he mused softly, the tiniest tugs of a waiting smirk pulling on his lips as she nearly jumped away from him, her face reddening to a rather lovely shade of red. His favourite colour. This woman was chalk-full of adorable reactions, wasn't she? The distance allowed the Englishman a better view of her body, and he found his gaze rather trapped against that lovely bit of skin that her nightgown displayed boldly. It was difficult to tell, but perhaps the softest mite of red bloomed upon those sharp cheekbones. He sputtered a rather loud cough, seeming suddenly flustered at their mutual state of slight nudity, and obvious attraction of it. 

In the morning, Lee Mei arose early, and so began her normal routine, except putting on makeup or changing, she wouldn’t do that just yet. This routine lasted for a few hours. Instead, she gently knocked on the door to the guest room that Arthur occupied, and spoke through it.

Of-course, he wasn't able to make out her words in this state. Slowly, Arthur sat up, large palm rubbing firmly against his forehead as a heavy, lengthy yawn stretched up from his throat. He did not ache, necessarily, but he felt refreshed--as if he had actually rested. It was not often the Englishman achieved such rest, and most mornings he was up bright and early, prodding around sluggishly until his wits were completely about him. Not this morning. There was a soft stream of golden sunshine peeking meekly from between the curtains, and Arthur felt an odd, somber smile stretching his thin lips. 

Perhaps it was nice to be away from home, once and a while. Perhaps it was healthy to take a holiday and escape all those worries and burdens. 

Ah--Lee Mei was speaking again, wasn't she? Releasing another yawn, the nation prodded the floor with his toes until he found his footing, stretching his arms slowly over his head as he craned his ear to catch her words, and her plea. A lunch date? The proposition aided in stirring him to his full senses faster, and he had the common decency to pull on some trousers before twisting open that doorknob, greeting Lee Mei with a rather sated expression. Of-course, he had foregone the shirt. 

"Good morning," he mumbled, before offering the woman a small smile, "and lunch would be lovely ... Hold on." The Englishman blinked rapidly, before slapping his palm abruptly against his forehead, releasing a short, curt laugh. "It's the sodding afternoon, isn't it? How unusual." Even though he felt it was improper to sleep in on one's host, he hoped Lee Mei  did not mind such unintended rudeness. 

What is your favorite color of clothing to wear? Lately, brown. 

Do you work out every week? No.

Do you like your smile? Not really.

Do you like your eyes? I suppose. 

Do you think you are pretty? No.

How much money is in your account? About $80 left in my checking. Are you single? Forever.

Do you want kids? Yes.

What does your backpack looks like: Hahaha what backpack.