2P!England x Male!Reader - Cake

       Thunder rolled across the black-gray sky, warning the little people below of what would come. (F/n) sighed as he walked, ignoring the raindrops sprinkling around him. What fitting weather, he thought. Lightening flashed, causing him to jump as the thunder followed the streak in the sky. He cursed himself, hating how he was easily scared. It didn't help that it was dark out with the street lights on in the park playground he walked around.

       When (f/n) felt sad, bad, or felt like getting out, he would always come to this park playground. He grew up in this town so memories stuck to the place. He also enjoyed watching kids play. He wished he had a little sibling to play with at the playground.

       As (f/n) walked around, his (e/c) eyes spotted through his glasses a figure sitting on one of the benches. He neared the bench slowly. He was soon able to see the light pink hair on the figure's head. It was a man sitting there with a white box, which was slowly getting drenched. (F/n) knew he shouldn't speak to strangers, but the frown on the man's face made him wander over to the weird looking man.

       “Are you okay?” (F/n) asked. The man flinched when he heard his voice, glancing up. (F/n)'s own eyes widened when he saw the unique colors in the eyes. Since he was close enough, he tried to pick out what the other man wore. A pink blouse with a white vest. A blue bow tie. Those two colors, pink and blue, matched his eyes that swirled with pink in the main blue pools. The brown dress pants he wore were soaked through and his black shoes were polished looking, even in the rain. “Why are you just sitting here? Shouldn't you be going home to get out of this rain?”

       The man smiled, forcefully. “I could be asking you the same, dearie.” He sighed. “I'm here because it was where I chose to sit and think. And to answer your question, I’m fine.”

       (F/n) could tell that he wasn't sharing the whole truth. He sat down next to the other, disregarding the wet spot. “I don't believe you're fine. What's wrong? And, what have you been thinking about?”

       A real smile was expressed on the man's lips. “I'm over joyed that you, a mere stranger, someone who doesn't understand me, is so concerned.” He chuckled, frowning slightly. “I'm just thinking how I have this cake and no one wants it. It was supposed to be a birthday cake, but the one who's birthday it was made for didn't want it. He said that anything made by me with love is probably poisoned.” He sniffed. “I don't poison much of my food! Only when I want to poison someone with reason.” He nodded. “If they deserved it, I wouldn't feel bad about poisoning them.”

       (F/n) blinked. Was he dealing with a psycho? If he was, he didn't feel the need to run away in fear of his life. Rumbles of thunder made the boy jump and cling to the man, hiding his face in the man's shoulder. When he heard a chuckle, he instantly pulled back. “S-sorry... I get scared easily...” He felt embarrassed.

       “It's alright, love.” The man patted (f/n)'s head, ruffling his wet hair a little. “Oh dear. We should probably get out of this rain before it becomes a down pour.” (F/n) nodded. “My house is just around the one corner over there. You wouldn't mind coming over, would you? There's a cake to be eaten.” He giggled as he held the box up.

       (F/n) smiled. “I wouldn't mind. We should get moving then.” He stood and the man followed.

       They quickly walked through the rain towards the man's house. Once they arrived, they piled in for the warmth of the house. (F/n) smelled sweet spicy cinnamon as he shrugged off his jacket. Gazing at the space he saw before him, he noticed the living room to his left and the kitchen to his right. He instantly went to the kitchen, knowing that's where the smell was coming from.

       “I don't believe we've properly introduced ourselves!” He heard the British accented man exclaim.

       “Well, we did just meet at the park, not knowing if we'd speak long or not.” (F/n) said, sitting at the dinning table he saw.

       “Still, it's so ungentlemanly of me not to say my name to the person who showed concern for me.” He smiled as he placed the box on the table and extended a free hand. “My name is Artie Kirkland. Artie is short for Arthur, but you can just call me Artie. Everyone else I know does.” He giggled.

       (F/n) smiled, taking his hand and shaking it once. “I'm (f/n) (l/n). It's nice to be acquainted with you.”

       “I hope our acquaintanceship turns into something more soon.” Artie chirped, fetching a knife from one of his drawers. He grabbed two plates and forks, coming back to cut the cake and eat.

       “Are you sure you don't want to save that cake for someone else's birthday?”

       “No, dear. That would be too long and it would be wasted then. Again.” He frowned, but soon smiled again as he thought of something. “How about we celebrate a happy un-birthday!” He clapped at his own idea. “Marvelous idea! Right?”

       The (brunette/blonde/etc.) chuckled, nodding. “That's a good idea, Hatter.”

       “So you agree with me, Hare?” He giggled, opening the box to reveal a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and pink trimmed frosting. The words “Happy Birthday” were etched on the cake, but Artie smeared two new letters to make it say “Happy Un-Brithday” instead. (F/n) laughed. “You may have the first piece.” Artie said, cutting a piece of the cake with the knife and handing it over to (f/n).

       “Thanks, Artie.” The (nationality) boy graciously took the cake and started eating it.

       The Brit smiled bright when he heard the other say his name. What he said about everyone he knew calling him that, that was false. No one cared what he wanted to be called as. They usually ended up calling him “Freak” or “Weirdo” most of the time. He disliked being called such things, but no matter how many times he told them what he thought, they brushed him off as if they didn't care. They probably didn't care about him at all. Just thought of him as an annoying British fellow who wouldn't leave them alone no matter what they did and tried. Saying, doing, or showing things he didn't like.

       Artie's smile turned into a full frown. (F/n) noticed this, and also how he hadn't taken a piece himself yet. “Artie?” The Brit blinked, humming a question. “Are you okay?” (F/n) was concerned about Artie being sad. For some reason, he knew frowns didn't suit the Briton and that he had a lot of problems he probably wouldn't understand. He thought it was a little funny how accepting he was being in his thoughts.

       The pinkette smiled. “Of course I am, dear.” (F/n) sent him a look saying he knew that wasn't true. Artie sighed. “Oh, I’m just thinking how horrible of a crowd I hang around.” He frowned. “I can't do anything about it either. I have to live with them forever.” He sighed, shrugging. “I'm used to it, but it still hurts knowing they don't care about me a bit, and they won't even try caring. It's probably too troublesome for them to care about me.”

       (F/n) pouted. “Well, I care about you.” Artie's eyes widened with surprise. “Though we've only just met, I care for you.” He paused, chuckling at himself. “I'm too accepting sometimes, but... There's just something about you that makes me feel I don't need to fear for my life. Not unless I did something horrible to you, which I would never think of doing. I’m not the sort.”

       Artie wasn't expecting such a response out of his new acquaintance – or should he say friend now? He didn't know many other people besides the lot he frequented his time with. Maybe he should try being with other beings to see if he could gain better friends than Alfie, Mattie, Francis, and the others. Well, Flavio is a good friend, so he would try to be with the flamboyant Italian more often. Right now he had the (nationality) before him to be with.

       “I'm glad you aren't the sort.” Artie said. “And I’m glad that you decided to stop and ask if I was fine earlier.” (F/n) blushed slightly, not used to people saying they were glad to meet him. “Now that I mention it though,” the Brit glanced at the boy wonderingly, “you looked down yourself.”

       (F/n) blinked. “How would you know I looked down?”

       “I saw you before it started raining. I’ve actually noticed you long before today. I frequently go to the park when I’m in the mood to watch adorable little children play around and have fun.” He smiled. “I used to play on the playground myself when I was little. Brings back memories. Most of them bad, but now good.” Shaking his head, he gazed at (f/n). “I noticed today you were walking slow, slouched, and frowning. Well, that's how you look most of the times when I see you there, besides seething with anger as you pace back and forth on the one stretch of sidewalk in the park.” He continued rambling about (f/n).

       The boy listened as he realized Artie could have been some sort of stalker, but wasn't at the same time. Did they just happen to be at the park at similar times? He would have noticed a pink haired man before. Now that he thought about it, most of the time he was out when it was dark so he couldn't see anyone and didn't care if someone thought he was a weird person. He never felt like someone was watching him. Maybe a few cold chills, but he blamed the cold night air.

       (F/n) pushed his glasses up his nose as they slowly slid down. Knowing all this didn't make him feel any different. He still accepted Artie. Psycho stalker or not, he seemed to be a sweet man.

       “So what was bothering you today?” The question snapped (f/n) out of his thoughts.

       “The usual.” He shrugged. “Family trouble at the house, stress from class homework, annoying friends complaining about their life and not caring about my own complaints, the hate I have towards keeping secrets from people I care about and will find out soon. Just the usual every day thing I deal with.”

       Artie frowned. “I didn't realize...”

       “No one does. I don't tell them.” He shrugged again. “I feel as if people don't care about me either, but I have few friends who say otherwise.” Silence. “I actually thought of attempting suicide once to see if people would then start caring. I got slapped by my best friend for thinking about it.”

       “You shouldn't do such a thing!” Artie's frown grew. “Just thinking about it myself is making me sad. I wouldn't be happy if I found that you committed such an act. I care about you as well, (f/n)!”

       The boy blinked as he heard that. He also didn't expect hearing that. Maybe they would become more than just acquaintances, or even more than friends. Best friends? He wouldn't think about the other option.

       He smiled. “I'm happy to know that you do.”

       Artie stared at his new friend, concerned. “Do you want to talk about anything else with me? I will listen. Honest, love.” He reached over and laid his hand on (f/n)'s. (F/n) blushed at the intimate contact. “You can start with class homework, your annoying friends, or even that secret you hate keeping from people. Anything, love, really. I’m here to listen.”

       Hearing those words made tears prick behind (f/n)'s eyes. No one ever said they would be there to listen. Well, his best friend has, but... Someone he just met officially, a stranger basically, told him they would be there to listen. Was Artie just spouting words? No. It looked like he meant it. Those swirling eyes of his tell so much.

       He choked before speaking. “I'm in college so classes are really hard.” Artie nodded, smiling for (f/n). “Some are easy, but the homework piles up because I don't have time to do it. When I do finish them, it's around three in the morning. I get only a few hours of sleep before needing to get up to drive to college.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I stayed at the dorms.

       “Family matters doesn't help either. My big sister is really snarky with me and doesn't care if I can hear her having sex with her boyfriend through the wall. My parents live in a different section of the house. Yes, we live in a mansion sort of house. We are technically rich, but I’ve lived a life that's more poverty than ever.” He slouched in his chair. “My parents fight a lot than usual. I’m afraid they might get divorced. Sometimes they argue about the two of us. My sister and I. Mostly me. I don't want to add to their arguing either with the secret I’m holding from them.

       “My friends aren't really much trouble to me. I have at least one, my best friend, who I tell everything to. She's the only one who knows my secret. All my other friend just go on about how horrible their life is. They complain and don't let any room for me to complain. I have my own complaints about life, too!” Artie's hand squeezed (f/n)'s as the boy spoke loudly. “Their damn relationship problems are more important to them than what's going on with their own friend. I wonder what their reactions would have been if I told them I was going to attempt suicide. 'Really? Why on earth would you do that? You're rich! You shouldn't want to do something stupid like that. Your life must be so perfect with all that money you have.' Bastards!”

       “Language, love.”

       “Sorry.” (F/n) sighed. “And that secret...” He trailed off. “Promise not to share it with others? Unless I say you can?” Artie nodded, reassuring his friend with another squeeze of his hand. “Okay. Well.” He inhaled, then exhaled. “The secret about me is that I’m gay.” To his surprise, Artie didn't retract his hand instantly after hearing that. His hand stayed, if not gripping fiercer. “Doesn't that...appall you? You're a man yourself.”

       “Love, nothing about that would appall me.” Artie smiled. “I'm homosexual as well, so it doesn't bother me.” (F/n) gaped. “Love?” The Brit gazed at him questioningly.

       “I... I didn't think you'd be gay.” He chuckled to himself. “I would point out how much pink you have in your house, but that wouldn't necessarily say that you're gay.”

       “Well, I am.” Artie chuckled as well. “And doing things like this,” he leaned forward and placed a small peck on (f/n)'s lips, “are things I like.” He grinned.

       The (nationality)'s face blossomed pink. “A-Artie.” He couldn't think of what to say. His mind was blown away further. Not only was processing the information about Artie being gay still rolling, but the new information of feeling implanted itself. He liked that kiss. It was short, but there was a spark there. “Artie.” His mind was still reeling thoughts back in.

       The Englishman laughed. “You're adorable, you know that, (f/n)?” He leaned forward again and traced a forefinger around (f/n)'s jawline and chin. “So handsome.” He grinned.

       (F/n) gulped as shivers went down his spine. He felt himself shaking from the single touch on his skin, blushing worse. “Artie...” He knew if Artie did another form of intimacy, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back from returning such affection. He had all he could do to stay sitting.

       Thoughts came back as he remembered a few things. He only got some fresh air tonight because of the usual problems, yes, but he had to get back soon. Homework was still sprawled out on his desk and he had to study for a test the next day. He didn't want to bomb it and cause his parents another reason to fight over something stupid.

       (F/n) retracted his hand and stood up. “Thank you for having me over, but I need to get home.” Artie frowned as he looked up at (f/n). “I have homework to do and a test to study for.”

       The Brit nodded. “Of course.” He stood, a saddened smile taking place on his face. “I'll show you to the door, dear.” He walked towards the exit, (f/n) following behind. The rain had let up so walking home wouldn't be troublesome. Artie opened the door for his friend. “I hope that you will come again soon. I enjoyed your company.”

       (F/n) nodded. “And I yours.” He smiled, ready to leave, but stopped and found himself leaning up and kissing Artie on the cheek. “Thank you for listening...and being here for me, Artie.”

       Artie blushed as his smile brightened. “No problem, love.”

       The (nationality) finally left for home. He couldn't wait to see Artie again.


-One week later-


       “Artie, why do you like making cakes?” (F/n) sat at the dinning table without his glasses but with a new pair of contacts, watching the Brit make a batch of cupcakes for the two to eat.

       “These are cupcakes, dearie. They're different from those big cakes we've been eating.” Artie slid the tray into the oven. “These will be finished soon.” He typed a timer in and pressed start before going over to join (f/n). “So how have you been this week?”

       “Better.” The boy smiled. “I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit until now. Things got hectic at the house and I couldn't find time to walk out and get some fresh air.”

       “It's alright, love. At least you were able to come today.” He smiled, leaning forward on the table. “How has it gotten hectic? Nothing too horrible, I hope.”

       (F/n) shook his head. “No. Just class work. I’m getting stressed over projects I have to do for college. Family matters have dwindled some but the 'rents still argue.” He sighed through his nose. “Nothing's changed really. I sometimes wish it did, but...” He shrugged. “Can't really do anything about it. Not unless I want to be bitched-”

       “Language, dearie.”

       “Sorry. Yelled at for something stupid as usual.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “If I could move out of that house and live on my own, I would. I probably would be better off, too. My friend can't help me in that sort of situation, which I completely understand. And then comes the complicated stuff I would have to take care of if I did move. Address change, financial worry for college, paying for the car I will never get until the end of this semester.” Sighing, he slouched in the chair.

       Artie frowned at his guest. He wished he could do something for (f/n) but he wasn't that well off either. He hummed in thought, changing the topic so (f/n) could smile again. “Ah, the cupcakes are ready!” He shot up right as the ding sounded. The (nationality) chuckled at the hop in Artie's step as he slipped the mittens back on to take them out of the oven. “(F/n)?” The young boy hummed a reply as he watched the Brit lay the tray on the counter. “Have you ever made a cake before?”

       (F/n) chuckled. “No, I haven't. Never had a reason to.” He shrugged. Artie grinned, which twisted a knot in (f/n)'s stomach. “Why?” He asked a little hesitantly.

       “Well,” Artie cooed, tapping a mitten covered hand over his mouth, “tomorrow is someone's birthday and I wanted to make one for him. Would you like to help me make it?”

       “Sure.” (F/n) wasn't so sure he liked the giggle emitted from the Brit but he couldn't help smiling as he stood. “So, what do we do?”

       Artie took hold of the (h/c) haired boy and spun him around the kitchen, getting ingredients for the cake mix and utensils as well. He knew this was going to be fun. He rarely ever gets to cook with anyone and the thought of cooking with (f/n) sparked more excitement. The two danced around each other as they set everything up. (F/n)'s face warmed up every time he turned and almost ran into Artie. He swore the Brit was doing that on purpose but he wouldn't know for sure.

       When it came time to put the batter in the oven, they had made three different sizes for the cake. Some batter was left over and (f/n) smirked, taking a spoon full of it as Artie set the timer. He flung the batter at the Brit right as he turned around, it landing on his right cheek and nose. (F/n) chuckled, which didn't last long when he saw Artie grin. The Brit swept a finger of the batter off his face and hummed, licking it almost seductively. (F/n) gulped.

       “Delicious.” The man edged his way in front of (f/n). “Thank you for the little snack.” He giggled when (f/n) only nodded, slightly frightened of the Brit, but only in a playful manner. “But I’m still hungry for some more.” His arms stretched around and behind the (e/c) eyed boy, causing him to tense up, and grasped the bowl of batter. “I'm sure you'd like to share some with me.” He smiled as he brought the bowl up and tipped it over (f/n)'s head. The (brunette/blond/etc.) jumped and groaned in displeasure when he felt the batter thickly slipping down his short locks of hair. “Oops. Clumsy me.” Artie giggled, turning away to put the bowl in the sink.

       “You know, I’m going to need to take a shower now because of that.” He would have to go home soon and he didn't want to come home a mess. “I don't know how they would react if I came home messy.”

       Artie nodded. “And I will have to wash your clothes, too. Some batter and flour got onto it.” The Brit smiled and chuckled at the accusing, playful glare.

       “It's your fault that I’m half covered in flour.”

       “And it's your doing that I have a hand print of flour on my buttocks.” (F/n) blushed tomato red as he cleared his throat and looked away. “Who knew that cooking with someone you like would bring forth all this flirting.” Artie giggled.

       (F/n) turned away. “We should get the frosting and decorations out to use now.” He set to clean their mess on the counter to make room for the other items to be used. Artie chuckled and helped him.

       Some minutes later, the cake was set out and being decorated. Artie told (f/n) the way it should be made and let him try it out himself. (F/n) turned serious and focused wholeheartedly on the cake as he smeared white frosting over the half chocolate half vanilla cake. He was really having a lot of fun. It was his first time making a cake, even with someone there for help, and he couldn't wait to know how it tasted. The size of it was surprising though it was only three layers. Artie had showed him wedding cakes that were taller and crazier to make. He knew for sure that if he wanted any sort of dessert he would go to Artie. He trusted the man and he made delicious pastries. Also, it was hard to deny that he didn't like Artie.

       The (nationality) moved from the frosting to dabbing little things around the rim of the cake. Artie watched him, proud that he was doing so well. The Brit was tempted to have his finger pick up some of the frosting and lick it just to irritate the other, but he didn't. He would have been upset if someone did that to one of his own masterpieces so it only made sense for him to let the boy continue.

       It was hard for Artie to not touch the boy. He sat away and watched, yes, but he wanted to go over there and ravish him. (F/n) looked like a messy cake strewn across the floor. Batter in his hair, flour on his entire person, frosting dripping on his shirt and sticking to his face. His hands twitched as to set into action but he forced himself to stay still and keep his eyes on the other.

       When (f/n) finished the bottom, he wiped his forehead and sighed. He didn't realize how much work this really was. He was about to go to the middle portion until he felt arms wrap around his waist. His face blossomed into the color red as he froze on the spot.

       “You did very well, dearie.” Artie's voice appeared next to his left ear. He shivered.

       “It's not done yet.” (F/n) stated. “I should finish it soon so I-”

       “Let's take a break.” Artie turned the boy around to stare at his flushed face. He smiled. “Everything will still be here when we're done.”

       “Done?” The (nationality) echoed. “D-done with what?” He gulped as the Brit's face came closer to his.

       “Our break.” He pecked (f/n)'s lips, which caused the boy to jump in surprise. He chuckled. “I have a mess to clean up before we continue.”

       “A-Artie.” (F/n) tried to push the other away but it was weak. “Don't.” Was all he said.

       “Kissing won't hurt, will it?” The pinkette's eyes looked into (e/c) pools. “That's all I want to do. Nothing more. I am a British Gentleman so I won't push you to do anything further. Not unless you want to go further.” He smiled when the other blushed at the obvious meaning.

       “Kissing is fine,” he started, gulping, “but I want to finish the cake so we don't have to worry about it.” Artie pouted. “And just think, I’ll have more time to kiss you when we're done.” His face flared up when the Briton smirked.

       “Very well, dearie. I shall leave you to finish so I can pull out some clothes for you to wear after your well needed shower.” He let (f/n) go and left the kitchen.

       “You need one, too!” The boy spluttered. He only heard a laugh and sighed. “Well, might as well finish the cake.”

       Once the cake was finished and stacked together, Artie came in, clean and holding some clothes for (f/n) to wear. The boy pouted when he saw the other took a shower first just so he didn't need to help him but let it go once Artie's eyes widened with glee and praised him for his job well done. It was an average three layer cake but it was (f/n)'s first cake he ever made. He was proud.

       “I'll go take a shower now.” He grabbed the clothes offered to him and quickly went to the bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes and set them outside so Artie could wash them. He heard the other pass by the door and scoop up the clothes to do just that.

       (F/n) looked at the shower and reluctantly started the flow of water. He wasn't one to use other people's showers but this was a must. He gulped down his hesitance, and, once he switched the shower head on, stepped inside the tub. A sigh left his lips once he felt the filth wash away. He scrubbed his scalp clean of the batter and used a little of the shampoo and conditioner, as well as the body wash, that Artie had. He chuckled when he saw the flavor of it being cotton candy. It did smell like it.

       When he was done, he quickly put Artie's clothes on, blushing as he did, and went to the living room. Artie sat on the couch, relaxed and watching a show with bored eyes. As soon as he heard (f/n) enter, his smile turned towards the other and he patted the seat next to him. (F/n) walked over and sat next to the Brit. The first thing Artie noticed was the smell of (f/n)'s hair.

       “You used some of my shampoo, didn't you, dearie?” He chuckled when the boy blushed and nodded.

       “You can smell the cotton candy, can't you?” Artie nodded, making the other blush more. “I hope you don't mind that I used it.”

       “Don't worry about it, love.” Artie blushed as he heard himself call (f/n) that pet name. His smile didn't falter. “I don't mind one bit.” His left hand, which was resting behind the (nationality) on the back on the couch, fingered through the (h/c) hair, twisting a few strands as he played with it. “You look cute in my clothes.” He giggled. (F/n) blushed again. “They're a tad big but we are built different.”

       “Yeah, we are.” (F/n) smiled slightly, letting himself lean into the Briton. The blush never faded as he listened to the faint beating of Artie's heart. Artie continued playing with his hair. “I know I said we could kiss some more, but I want to stay like this.”

       The Brit smiled sincerely down at the boy leaning on him. “All right, love.” He could get used to calling (f/n) that. Only a week of knowing each other and meeting twice. Love indeed is strange. “I bet that cake will be devoured tomorrow. It looks delicious.” He felt (f/n) smile. “For this cake to be your first one made, I’m surprised we didn't have any hiccups.” He chuckled. Soon, he heard the washer beep. He sighed through his nose, knowing that (f/n) wouldn't be here long once he changed back into his clothes. He kissed the boy's head. “I will tell you if they liked it.”

       “I could just come over tomorrow and see myself.” The (nationality) offered. He looked up at the Brit. “I'm not that busy tomorrow so I can escape my home and come.” Artie sighed at the wording used.

       “I'd love for you to visit again.” The rinse cycle started. “I like having you visit.” He smiled.

       (F/n) stared into the blue-pink irises and nodded, inching forward and kissing the Brit. “I like visiting you, too.” He smiled, small blush rising on his cheeks.

       Artie smiled back and leaned down to lock their lips together again. He moved his mouth and (f/n) followed. His right hand took (f/n)'s left cheek as his left slid down to the boy's waist. A shiver went down the (nationality)'s back when he felt the hand coast it's way down his side. He turned himself so he could be on top of the Brit. Artie didn't complain as he moved his legs on to the couch so the position was comfortable.

       The pinkette leaned back on the couch, head resting on the armrest, letting (f/n) lean over him as they continued kissing. (F/n)'s hands were on Artie's cheeks before slithering down to the Brit's chest. He pressed his lower self against the other and Artie's hands gripped his waist, encouraging the action. They kept making out until the finishing buzzer sounded off. Artie sighed, pulling his face away.

       “I must transfer your clothes to the dryer.” (F/n) pouted but let the man do the chore so they wouldn't wait any longer to continue kissing each other. When he came back, he took his spot again. “Another hour left before-”

       “Don't finish that sentence. Just kiss me.” And Artie did.

       The past fifteen minutes consisted of wandering hands and slow shedding of clothes while some heated snogging happened. (F/n) and Artie were both shirtless. The boy on top breathed heavily as he pulled up to glance at the half naked man beneath him. He blushed, not able to believe what he was doing. He didn't want to go any further than this. He wasn't ready.

       Artie's hands laid on (f/n)'s hips and moved up the (s/c) chest. The boy shivered as the hands on him wandered his torso. A sharp gasp escaped him when his left nipple was tweaked. Sparks flew through his body as he moaned quietly. The Brit grinned wildly with a giggle. (F/n) violently shivered at the giggle, bringing himself back down to kiss those lips again.

       A small battle of tongues soon commenced. They were on par with each other but (f/n) let Artie win, figuring he would have a turn. While the Briton's tongue wiggled inside his mouth, he played with it, wiggling beside it. After a few minutes, (f/n) pushed against Artie's tongue and plunged his own in the Brit's mouth. He noticed the sweetness inside his mouth and loved it. Wanting more, he relentlessly wandered around the mouth. Artie moaned.

       They soon pulled apart for air, panting. The two smiled at each other before leaning in for a more passionate, loving kiss. Artie's left hand came up and clung to (f/n)'s (h/c) hair as the boy laid his head on the Brit's chest. Being this close to someone was enough for the young man, and he was glad that Artie understood so well without needing to be told. They spent the rest of their time in this position, moving only when they needed to get comfortable again.

       Artie's fingers brushed through the boy's hair as he hummed. (F/n) closed his eyes, listening to Artie's heart beat and breathing. The dryer buzzed and both of them sighed. (F/n) got up and let Arthur get his clothes. He came back and gave them to the (nationality). The boy smiled and stood, taking them.

       When (f/n) came back, clothed in his own attire he arrived in, not a stain was on him. He walked over to Artie, who stood by the door, and smiled sadly. He didn't want to leave, not yet. Artie smiled back.

       “I will be seeing you tomorrow.” The Brit stated. (F/n) nodded. Artie stared and leaned forward, kissing the young man again. “Goodnight, dearie.” He smiled sincerely.

       (F/n) blushed, smiling back. “Goodnight Artie.” He lingered a few seconds longer before walking home. Ideas and imagination kicked off for the next day. He couldn't wait for tomorrow. He would get to meet Artie's friends and see if they like the cake he made with the Briton. He hoped they would like it.

       “I can't wait to tell Linda that I made my first cake.” (F/n) smiled wide as he thought of his cook. “She would be very impressed. Maybe she could let me help her cook some meals and learn.” With a skip in his step, he continued his way home without a care in the world.