[Arthur doesn't speak further just yet. He feels that shiver and it draws a soft smile to his lips as he presses them gently down the curve of Ivan's neck, lingering where his pulse flutters. The gentle roll of the larger man's hips draws a soft, contented sound that's almost a moan from the back of his throat and he grips the Russian nations' shoulders, responding in kind. What an odd thing it would be, he thinks, for anyone who knew the both of them to see them being so gentle with one another.

Though, of course, it isn't always like this. Sometimes they would rip and tear at one another and make something that was more like fire than love, and Arthur loves both scenarios in equal measure.

He sits back, and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt, drawing it off over his head with no care for the buttons. It puts his hair into disarray, but he doesn't linger on it, leaning forwards for another warm kiss as he takes Ivan's face in his hands and brushes his thumbs tenderly over his cheeks]