Work Header

Country Lovin'

Work Text:

(Song that someone in this fic will sing ;) : Pickin Wildflowers by Keith Anderson)

If you’re bored you’d either do nothing or do some crazy shit late at night. But for a punk like Arthur, he’d prefer doing the latter. He sighed, pushing his back deeper into the soft cushion of the vehicle. When did it come to this?

Well it all started because of that ‘damn frog’ when he told him he wanted to try new things rather than just signing autographs from fans or drinking strong ale. Sometimes we all need a break from complications in life and handle different kinds of fun (as an excuse to the loss of inspiration to make music at the time).

However, this ‘kind of fun’ that he accepted to do right now isn’t really much fun than he’d rather hoped. Francis told him that he should at least try to go to Texas and take whatever ‘inspiration’ he could find there. But here’s the thing.

He absolutely despises country music.

He’d rather take inspiration from Beethoven and make it heavy metal or with other genres but not country fucking music. He doesn’t even think that it’s music at all! Just some horribly accented acoustic songs singing about nothing else but their barn and other unimportant stuff.

But if it’s Francis, there’s always a catch.

“The reason why you’re doing so ‘orribly with writing songs lately is because you’re still single~” The ‘frog’ teased him.

“I don’t care, Francis!” Arthur retorted, “I’d rather break hearts than break my own arse! Besides, I’m well aware that you know I could take care of my own sexual frustrations.”

Francis laughed and wore the smuggest smile Arthur had ever seen. “With just your inadequate toys and magazines? Non, mon ami. Being as gay as you are you probably do want someone to break your arse~” stifling another laugh he added,

“Don’t think I didn’t see you looking around the crowd last time we performed in North America~” 

Remembering the awkward conversation, he felt heat rise up to his cheeks as he face-palmed.

The vehicle stopped with a slight screech. Right, he wanted to get here as fast as possible.

“We’re here, sir. Do you need bodyguards with you?” His driver asked him.

“I knew that,” He replied, stepping out of the vehicle as his driver rolled down a window. “And no thanks, I’m not wearing my signature clothes right now and I don’t think I’m popular around Texas anyways.” True enough, he just wore a Union Jack bandanna around his neck, a red t-shirt, his favourite black cotton vest, and skinny ripped jeans thinking that he would ‘blend in’ as a normal tourist. 

With a wave of his hand the car drove out to find a suitable hotel for him.

Like there would be anyways.

Texas, though slightly modernized, still retained its ‘old beauty’ as there were still old-looking inns, stables, bars, you name it.

Sighing, he went to the nearest and loudest bar he could find. He would really like to get this over with and go back to England to take proper inspiration. Unless there’s something, or rather someone else worthy of his time. 

As he went in the bar, some people were already looking at him with curiosity. Not that he minded since he’s kind of used to the attention. Arthur glanced at the ladies who were practically gaping at him and he gave them a wink causing them to murmur excitedly to one another.

That gave him a little boost to his ego causing him to sit down with finesse and cross his legs with grace. A piped up waitress excitedly went to him to attend to his orders.

“May I get you somethin’, darlin’?” She said, smiling sweetly.

Thank God, she isn’t desperate, Arthur thought to himself. He cleared his throat and answered, “I would like to have your strongest drink, M’lady.”

The waitress couldn’t hide a giggle. “Oh my, sure are a gentlemen ain’t’cha? What brings ya to the Ole Wild West, hmm?”

“Someone told me to listen to the music here. Speaking of which, are there going to be any performances tonight?”

“Oh yes! And ya came jus’ right on time! Someone real popular will be singin’ soon! I’ll get your order now.” She smiled, waving as she goes.

Arthur smiled back. Looking around, Texas doesn’t really seem that much of an unpolished place. It actually reminded him of home. Loud singing and laughing, drunk people, damn, he wished he could’ve brought his entire band here. But they have other things to attend to as well. Now thinking about it, they hardly took breaks at all.

So much for being the lead of the band, Arthur thought, making himself feel guilty. Ah yes, the lonely, emo punk-man that he is…

The crowd’s loud cheering woke him from his depressing train of thought and his eyes darted to the stage, now flickered with lights.

“Ladies and gent’s now’s the time you’ve all been waitin’ for! Presentin’ the best of the West, give it up for Alfred F. Jones also known as, Big Shot Al!”

Alright, try to focus yourself in critiquing this thing.  He told himself just in case the singer was hot. I mean, he didn’t expect it to be. Since cowboys are usually gruff, unattractive old men right?

But DAMN was he proven wrong.

Not only were the first few notes sexy, the performer was illegally gorgeous.

Alfred wore this cowboy hat that sat perfectly on top of his honey-combed hair. His eyes were so goddamn blue and intoxicating Arthur felt like he could just drown in them. Under his brown vest was his white v-neck shirt that was tight enough to shape his toned arms and to see that six pack that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. And damn, was that a dog tag?

The Englishman unconsciously licked his lips as his eyes trailed lower.

Fuck, his title wasn’t kidding about big. Not that the guy’s naked or anything. He could just tell that from the size of his slightly tight pants that he would definitely want to get a ride out of that.

Crap, focus yourself you idiot! Arthur mentally screamed at himself as he remembered to actually critique the song.

Well was obviously going to be a rock and country song because Al was holding an electric guitar instead of the regular one. He mentally face-palmed. Why did he think that it was going to be acoustic? Well it’s his country’s fault they don’t play country mixed with rock on the radio since it’s his first time hearing this kind of genre.

And holy shit, he’s liking the sound of it.

Make your standards higher you git. He scolded himself. 

But how can he, when the lyrics is sung by that stupidly sexy man?

Hey baby whatcha doin this evenin'?

Can you meet me down at the railroad tracks?

I got Tom Petty playin' in my Silvarado

And I iced down a six pack

The crowd whistled at this. The Englishman smirked a little at the unnecessary pause on the last line. That makes it a four out of five, he thought.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?

Got a spot way back in the woods

Sneak away for a couple of hours

You and me baby pickin' wildflowers

Okay, he was pretty sure that that was an innuendo of sorts. God, yes let’s do that~ He thought lustfully to himself, focusing his half-lidded gaze onto that body. This time, the crowd was clapping their hands along to the beat.

Hmm, the solo wasn’t that b-

Take a trail ride if you know what I mean

Hey baby won't you come with me?

Oh God, yes yes yes! He chanted to himself, finally drinking that untouched drink on his table in order not to lick his lips again. He doesn’t want to look that desperate, but hell is he really fucking desperate right now.

‘Coz fuck the critique, sure there were too many repeated notes but fuck he can’t think straight right now. He could just imagine himself kissing him senseless, grinding and rocking his hips forward and…

To his disappointment other than being interrupted from his lewd thoughts, the show was over. He swore he saw the man look at him with a knowing gaze and winked at him.

“Fuck this shit.” He mumbled and slammed the glass mug down the table shattering it into a million pieces. The crowd gasped and a few staff members tried to stop him from going backstage ‘till he took out his pocket-knife and glared death to their eyes as he continued to walk towards it.

He looked around the backstage but didn’t see Alfred anywhere. He quickly went out of the bar and saw a glimpse of blond going towards a building. He walked towards it and saw him holding the door open for him, cocking his head in gesture to invite him in.

As if I need an invitation, he thought, gritting his teeth as he walked passed him.

“Hey. Arthur, right? Huge fan.” Alfred greeted as he locked the door.

“Mhm,” The Englishman mumbled, kissing him. He really wasn’t in the mood for introductions at the moment.

After kissing back, the American pulled away smirking. “I bet you’re proud of me for inventing a mix of rock and country music. It was kinda inspired by you.”

“Really?” Arthur raised a brow as he stared back with half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, really.” The other whispered hotly on his ear as he cupped his ass, making him gasp and grip tightly on his shoulders. Alfred chuckled at the physical response as he continued,

“I also saw you earlier with that dirty look of yours. A look that makes me wanna pound you senseless.”

“Fuck yes!” The Englishman whispered loudly.  

“Hmhm~ Which do ya prefer? Me pounding you ‘till you can’t walk or you ridin’ me?”

Arthur pulled away, getting sick of the talking. “If you don’t do anything right now then I will fuck you instead.”

“Works for me~” The American replied slyly as he carried the smaller man on his shoulder earning a little yelp from him as he carried him up the stairs. “But I wanna be in control right now since you look so damn cute for a twink punk.” He punctuated that with a slap on his ass.

Arthur stayed quiet, too focused in anticipating. His daze was broken when Alfred plopped him on the bed.

The American quickly removed his shoes followed by his pants and boxers, smirking at the man below him.

“Cheeky.” Arthur muttered sarcastically as he slowly removed his partner’s shirt, nibbling on the dog tag in the process.

“Mm, I always find you sexy, Arthur~” Alfred said as he kissed his neck making him gasp in return.

With the American’s clothes now fully removed, Arthur trailed his hands along his abs, then leaned forward to kiss his chest earning a chuckle from the other.

“Let’s remove these, shall we?” Alfred cooed as he slowly swiped the bandanna from the Englishman’s neck, removing his vest followed by everything else in a quicker pace.

With his dick exposed in the air, Arthur gasped and keened, bucking his hips up, wanting some friction.

“Alfred! Please!” He begged, God, he’s so stupidly desperate right now it’s downright humiliating. If he wasn’t so turned on he would’ve smacked the bastard's face.

The American chuckled and started to lick from base to tip before engulfing his whole cock, eyes not tearing away from the other as he did it. He removed his mouth after doing so, pleased to hear the soft whine emitted from him.

“Wh-“Arthur was cut off by the sight of the huge stiff dick in front of his face. Now having a better view, he pondered on how that would fit inside him. Whether or not it would, the thought was absolutely thrilling.

He started licking the shaft, then moved to suck his balls, both at the same time, earning a groan from the American. He felt his hair being tugged as he licked the tip and swirled his tongue around it before sucking everything thoroughly.

So his logic was, if it fits inside his mouth, it fits inside his ass.

“Fuck-! Wait-! Arthur..! Agh..” Alfred moaned in concern among other things. He didn’t want Arthur to suffocate or anything, despite his delicious mouth around him.

The Englishman glared at him that somehow read along the lines of “Don’t-treat-me-like-a-fucking-child.”

Alfred grinned nervously at him that read “If-that’s-what-you-want-baby."

With that, he pounded in and out of Arthur’s mouth, groaning and moaning as he went. He found himself dangerously close to coming and pulled away from the other.

Arthur laid down and spread his legs, looking at him like he did earlier which made the American’s cock twitch in arousal. He gasped as he was flipped to straddle Alfred instead.

“Take the trail ride and ride it hard Artie~” 

The Englishman wasted no time in licking his own fingers and stretching himself open. He smirked as he saw the American panting in anticipation.

He positioned his arms in between Alfred’s chest and raised his ass which almost made Alfred cum at the sight.

Both men groaned as Arthur lowered himself.

“God, Arthur. You feel amazing..” Alfred sighed.

“Of course I do,” He grinned, “You’re not too bad yourself, ah~” He moaned as when he lifted and pushed himself deeper.

After a few slow thrusts he found a rhythm that made both of them moaning. Jerking and rolling his hips forward over and over as Alfred dug his nails on his hips, slamming deeper into that huge cock.

“Mmn-Ahhn! There! Oh FUCK Alfred!!” Arthur screamed as he increased the speed of his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly, urging him closer to the edge.

“Argh! Fuuuck… Yeah…Harder, babe. Almost..Ahh…”

“Yes! Yes! FUCK!” The Englishman screamed and moaned long at the sensation of his orgasm as Alfred grunted afterwards.       

“Mm..” Arthur leaned in to kiss the other, Alfred licking around and in his mouth as he did.

They pulled away and smiled at each other. Alfred chuckled as he set his partner to his side.

“Well that was something.” He said, grinning at him.

“Indeed.” Arthur laughed and cuddled the other. A sudden new wave of inspiration was bubbling inside him.

The American chuckled and cuddled back as well. Stroking the Englishman’s hair as he sighed. “So…”

“Hmm..?” Arthur looked up sleepily.

“Wanna go stay here and pick wildflowers?”

“Well I guess I could make a few arrangements…” He said, smiling to himself.

No one could’ve guessed how the lone Country-Rock album of Arthur Kirkland entitled “Of Roses and Bald Eagles” came to be.