Chase a Shadow - Chapter 3 (of 5)
Title: Chase a Shadow
Chapter Title: Every Hum and Echo (chapter 3 of 5)
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Arthur (England), Alfred (USA), Francis (France), Antonio (Spain), Gilbert (Prussia), possible mentions of others
Pairing: Arthur/Alfred, implied Bad Friends Trio/Alfred and Bad Friends Trio/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex used for the purpose of manipulation, "incest" (as much as Hetalia characters are related...), emotional manipulation, denial to the max
Summary: Fueled by the superior war experience of his allies, Alfred sets out to gain the upperhand over Arthur, through the use of his body and the eventual breaking of Arthur. But there's a difference between keeping your enemies close and just plain sleeping with the enemy.
Summary for this chapter: Things begin to crackle and break. That sense of certainty Alfred felt before starts to decompose.
Notes: None today.
Other installments:
Matching Beats | Cracks of Primal Music | Every Hum and Echo | Sinking Soon | Set for Self-Destruct
Alfred returned the next evening, as the sun was sinking, hugging low across the horizon.
He waited outside the house for a long while, staring at it. His mind couldn’t settle, hadn’t settled since the day before when he’d left the house so quickly. His body still ached, but it was a duller ache-something he couldn’t feel, unless he focused on it. And he didn’t want to focus on it. His mind was heavy with Arthur’s words from before, unsure what to make of Arthur’s behavior-was it acceptance or was Arthur just moving further and further away from him?
He hadn’t asked Francis about it, unsure if he wanted the answer or not. Was he going to be able to break Arthur successfully, or would Alfred just grow fatigued with it all? He was not used to these things, and even if it was against his tyrant, a man he had sworn to hate-his mind was still heavy, and Alfred hated to think he was starting to feel guilty. He couldn’t afford to be guilty. He couldn’t afford to care.
When he did finally summon the urge to walk into the house, he was only half-surprised to see Arthur standing there, waiting for him, arms tucked behind his back, dressed properly and expression painfully neutral. Their eyes met and Alfred stilled in his approach. No words passed between them for those first short moments. They simply looked at one another. But after a moment, finally, Arthur’s gaze shifted away from Alfred, and stayed away.
“I saw you approaching,” Arthur said, as way of explanation for his presence in the front hall. He sounded almost exhausted, or, perhaps, as if he had decided on something. His eyes didn’t quite catch Alfred’s gaze, but there were a few moments when their eyes passed over one another’s.
“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” Alfred replied, stepping further into the house, walking towards Arthur finally-finally regaining the movement in his legs, the desire to move forward, no matter the cost. His movements were slow, cautious. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect now, after Arthur’s dismissal the day before, seemingly counter to his acceptance of Alfred’s presence now.
“I’d wondered if you’d come back after all,” Arthur said absently, and Alfred wasn’t sure how to read the tone of his voice, or the way Arthur turned and walked away from the front hall and further back into the house. Alfred followed him. Arthur did not object to this, so Alfred cautiously began to believe that perhaps he was still, somehow, welcomed there.
When they were further into the house, in a darker part of the room, with the curtains drawn over the windows to block the bitter sun, Arthur fixed his gaze upon Alfred and held him, frozen, in place. Alfred froze abruptly, feeling ice cold all of a sudden. Arthur just watched him, coolly, his gaze never wavering or flickering in that short moment.
“Why are you here?” Arthur demanded, suddenly.
Alfred swallowed, just once, and ordered up all the nonchalance he could muster. He squared his jaw and rolled his shoulders back, standing up a bit straighter than before. “I’ve answered this question, before.”
Arthur grunted, and stepped forward, approaching Alfred, watching him carefully-so Alfred took careful pains not to tense up, not to back away, not to give into that immediate reaction to rise and fight, to fight and win.
A cricket began to chirp outside, a slow, painful song. Mournful.
“You have no business here,” Arthur said. “If you were sensible, you would stay away from here, would you not? Won’t your own men start to question why you continually flock to me?”
“I’ve said it before,” Alfred said. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see you.” He added, quietly, unable to keep the slight grit from his voice, “I do not flock to you.”
“Just because you’re fighting me by any means necessary, you mean,” Arthur replied, words deceptively light even as the meaning behind it weighed down the air between them-made it hard to breathe. “If you were wise, my dear boy, you would make the lines between enemies clear.”
It was strange, still, to be in this situation. To willingly walk into the lion’s den. And yet, this Arthur was not the one he’d grown accustomed to the last few years. This Arthur did not dismiss him, did not belittle him and his ideas, did not fight him stubbornly demanding Alfred’s obedience. This Arthur was reasonable, if not a bit wary and suspicious. This Arthur, despite his claims of disgust towards defiling Alfred, still did so-and still let him return again and again.
“Just… because we’re enemies in war,” Alfred said, slowly, “doesn’t mean we have to be enemies in all things.”
Arthur did not immediately respond, and then he looked away, towards the candles on the table. Alfred followed his gaze, for half a moment, but saw nothing out of the ordinary-the plates he used for dinner, the abandoned bottle of rum, its glass container flickering in the dim candlelight. The sun was almost completely gone now, and it sent a red glow through the windows as it sank behind the trees and mountains in the distance.
“Doesn’t it, though?” Arthur murmured, eyes hooded before he sighed. He shook his head and straightened, his expression a painful neutrality. When Alfred didn’t answer right away, Arthur sighed, and said, equally as quiet as before: “Why are you here?”
Alfred took another step towards him, felt the time count down with each step he took. He forgot to breathe as he moved through the room toward Arthur. Arthur did not back away. He merely tipped his head back to stare at him, brow furrowed for half a moment before he remembered to move back into the neutral, dismissive expression of his.
“You know why,” Alfred protested, and hated how his voice sounded weak again. Don’t make me say it again. Don’t make me lie to you again.
When he spoke, his voice sounded a bit strained, broken, as if he’d cut off a laugh before he could properly laugh. “Because you want me, wasn’t it?”
Alfred couldn’t answer, so he only nodded. His mouth was dry, his expression frozen. He hoped not one of horror, but he couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure.
Arthur lowered his eyes for a moment, and took in a steadying breath. Then he turned, grabbed the candlestick from the table and walked away towards the staircase. When Alfred didn’t follow right away, unsure if he should, Arthur paused at the base of the stairs and stared out after him.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice petering out at the end into a breathless whisper.
Alfred moved without a word, following Arthur, letting Arthur draw him up the stairs. Neither of them would have needed the candle-both could have navigated the contours of the house in the dark, and Alfred followed Arthur to the bedroom. There were candles lit in there, too, and Alfred briefly wondered if Arthur had planned on Alfred arriving at sundown in the first place. Alfred swallowed a steadying breath and felt his body run cold as Arthur’s hand touched his arm, and drew him into the bedroom.
He shut the door behind him.
Arthur’s face was cast in shadows lit by the candlelight in his hand, and his green eyes flickered in the dim, orange light. Alfred stayed still, unsure how to respond, unsure what to do. He would never be prepared for this. He never thought he’d have to be, really.
Alfred closed his eyes.
“I was sure you wouldn’t come back,” Arthur said, absently.
Alfred didn’t open his eyes, but felt his lips touch into an unsure smile. “You did?”
“Hm,” Arthur murmured, and Alfred heard him walk away. When Alfred opened his eyes again, Arthur was across the room, setting the candle down on the bureau and drawing the curtains. Arthur moved slowly, with precision, but with a hesitancy he wasn’t used to seeing in his shoulders, seeing in the slope of his neck or the tension in his jaw line.
Alfred swallowed again, and then followed Arthur, slinking up to his side and touching his shoulder. Arthur didn’t immediately react, just focused on moving the curtains, his expression hidden by the shadows.
“Hey,” Alfred said, quietly, “It’s okay, right? I’m here now. I came back.”
Arthur sighed, long, slow, and languid. Then he nodded his head. “I have accepted it.”
His words were soft, distant. Almost sad. But Alfred didn’t want to think that his voice could be sad, that Arthur himself could be sad-not yet. He wasn’t supposed to break down yet. But soon, perhaps.
Soon…
“So take me,” Alfred said, softly.
Arthur studied his face, and then sighed. His hands lifted, fisting in the front of Alfred’s clothes, stripping it away bit by bit. His thumbs pushed away the heavy buttons, curled over the thick wool of his coat. It slipped off his shoulders and to the ground, and Arthur’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, undoing it bit by bit. Alfred swallowed thickly, lips parting just slightly as Arthur worked.
“Arthur-”
“Shush,” Arthur said quietly, eyes downcast. He fiddled with Alfred’s shirt and, eventually, slipped it off as well. Bare-chested, Alfred bit at his lower lip and watched as Arthur took a step back, surveying him. His hands lingered on Alfred’s arms. “You have grown,” Arthur said, absently, as if mystified by this reality. “You’ve grown…”
“Yeah,” Alfred said. “I’m getting stronger.”
The shadow of a smile touched Arthur’s lips and he nodded, slowly. “Yes. I dare say you are.”
He stepped forward again, hand on his arm falling away to cup him through his trousers. Alfred’s mouth fell open in a quiet oh.
“In what other ways have you grown?” Arthur asked, shifting his hand to pull at the ties and knots of Alfred’s trousers, and then slipping beneath the fabric, cupping Alfred’s cock, shamefully already half-hard. Alfred closed his eyes as Arthur stroked his hand over the length of his cock, from root to tip. He held him tenderly, slowly, watching Alfred’s reactions.
Alfred found he couldn’t speak, so he let Arthur do as he pleased, swallowing thickly around the cotton-dryness of his throat. Alfred remembered himself, however, and lifted his own hands, groping at Arthur’s clothes with less fluidity and grace, tugging at the buttons and knots until Arthur’s clothes came undone.
Arthur stepped back again, stripping his coat and draping it over the back of a chair. He stooped, collecting Alfred’s clothes, lying them out across the seat of the chair. He kept his back to Alfred, and Alfred just wanted him to come back-the strain of his trousers told him how much he wanted Arthur to come back. How much he hated the distance between them-
And Arthur returned, sliding up to him, narrowing the distance. His fingers curled around the waistband of Alfred’s trousers and pulled down, letting it fall across the slump of his hips. His cock free, Arthur fisted it in his hand and stroked it. Alfred’s eyelids fluttered as he slammed them shut again, mouth open in a quiet gasp.
“Arthur-”
“Shhh,” England instructed, and pressed forward, pushing Alfred onto his back, sprawled out across the bed. Alfred blinked owlishly up at him, surprised but not repugnant, as Arthur crawled up over him, stripping Alfred of his trousers and leaving him naked and flushed against the extravagant fabric of Arthur’s deep crimson blanket.
And Arthur kissed him, slowly, mouth against mouth. Their lips dovetailed together and Alfred, helpless, moaned very softly, eyes shut. He pressed up, traced the line of Arthur’s mouth as Arthur opened to him and met his tongue with his own. They kissed, lightly, the slightest touches for the longest moment. Arthur’s tongue lathed at the plump of Alfred’s bottom lip, dipped into his mouth, traced every line, and pulled away to bite, not unkindly, on his mouth. Alfred left his mouth open to Arthur, unable to muffle the quietest of moans.
He felt Arthur stretch, felt Arthur pull away, just slightly. And Alfred blinked his eyes open long enough to see Arthur seize the small bottle of oil resting on the table, beside the flickering candlelight. Alfred sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract under the soft stroke of Arthur’s hand as it drifted away from his hard cock. Arthur sat back, resting on his knees, straddling Alfred’s legs. He popped the cork of the little bottle, pooling a liberal amount along his bent fingertips. Alfred watched him.
Their eyes locked. Arthur must have seen-something-on Alfred’s face, because his expression softened, for half a moment. “It’s alright, lad.”
Alfred nodded mutely, and tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He thought. He tried not to linger on one thought or another, but his thoughts all ran back to Arthur. Arthur shifted, spreading Alfred’s legs, and Alfred shifted his legs up, draping them across Arthur’s shoulders and leaning back, spreading himself open for Arthur as Arthur pressed forward, dipping one finger and then two fingers into him, spreading him, filling him-making him feel whole.
Alfred made a soft noise, not quite a whimper but something similar. He stared up at the ceiling and continued to think, even as he felt Arthur’s fingers bend into him, hooking and rubbing at him, sliding into him up the his knotted knuckles. Alfred made another soft noise, and as if in apology, Arthur stroked his hand along Alfred’s quivering thigh.
“Arthur, what are yo-aah,” Alfred whispered.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m doing,” Arthur responded, sliding a third finger in and already Alfred felt impossibly full. His legs tensed against Arthur’s shoulders, and Arthur tilted his head, pressing a kiss to his knee. And it was strangely intimate, with someone who still seemed far too distant, and Alfred had to remind himself it was Arthur he was meant to break. It was Arthur. Alfred, therefore, could not afford to feel these moments of sympathy or insight. No. Not Alfred.
“I know,” Alfred choked out as Arthur’s fingers began a steady rhythm inside him, pumping in and out, striking at something deep inside him that caused a spike of pleasure to twist its way through his gut, coiling into the bottom of his stomach and staying there, infinitely pleasurable but promising somehow more than infinity.
He panted, slowly, blinking up at the ceiling as if he’d never seen it before. Arthur’s fingers pulled him open and he felt Arthur’s cock nudge up against him, rubbing against his feverish skin and shuddering muscles. Alfred nodded, once, still looking at the ceiling, and Arthur pushed closer so that Arthur took up Alfred’s view, so it was Arthur he saw instead of the ceiling. Alfred felt Arthur’s cock nudge into him, push in to join the fingers, even as the fingers slid out and away. For one brief moment he felt impossibly full, with cock and fingers pushed inside of him-Arthur inside of him-but then Arthur shuddered and snapped his hips up, and slid his cock up to the hilt inside of Alfred. And Alfred was completely full of Arthur and only Arthur.
“Oh,” Alfred said quietly, as if taken by surprise. Despite knowing this-despite knowing only Arthur inside him. His eyelids fluttered.
The second time he was less sore. The second time it did not hurt as much. He had his doubts, he had his assertions-he repeated his words over and over in his head, reminded himself about the ultimate betrayal he’d have to perform. But, in the meantime, he reasoned, he could still enjoy his situation, still enjoy the feel of Arthur’s cock inside him, striking hard into his willing body. And it was a willing body. It was a feeling he wanted, willingly. He was more stretched, more relaxed. The only thing that mattered was that Arthur was inside him-
And looking at him. He was looking at Alfred as if he’d never seen him before in his life, eyes wide and close. Alfred’s body shuddered, and Arthur’s expression shifted, as if his heart had compressed right in his chest. Rough, squeezing, holding tight.
“What is it?” Arthur whispered.
Alfred stared at him. Their eyes locked, and there was a fullness that Alfred couldn’t quite place. Arthur bit his lower lip and rocked his hips again, pushing into Alfred and pulling out again, setting the pace of in and out, finding the pace that suited himself and suited Alfred. His hips rocked and he pushed closer, much closer. Arthur’s hands fell, one on the back of his thigh, sliding to his ass, the other grasping his knee. He squeezed tightly, spread Alfred wider as he pumped into him, faster and faster.
Alfred’s movements were jerky at first, unsure what to do, trying to catch the rhythm but unable to. But eventually he grasped it, eventually he fell into the beat and pushed back to meet Arthur’s thrusts, pushing Arthur deeper until the head of his cock struck that spot inside of Alfred again and made Alfred cry out, quietly. His body tensed, then relaxed, and he repeated the movement-thrusting up to meet Arthur, their eyes locked.
“Arthur,” he panted out, unable to control his mouth and not wanting to. He ground his cock between their slick bodies, rubbed himself up to Arthur and dragged Arthur ever closer. “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur-”
Arthur kept moving, but his expression kept shifting-and Alfred couldn’t read it. He stared at Alfred, for long moments, as he moved, matching Alfred’s demands to speed the pace up. Alfred lifted his hand, touching at Arthur’s forehead and wiping his fingers against the sweat-stained hair. Arthur’s breaths came out in shuddering gasps. He knew that Arthur had to see him now-had to see only him. Could not possibly see anyone but Alfred.
Arthur pulled away-too far away. He pulled out of Alfred, and Alfred felt the dull ache inside his gut pulse and grow. It sharpened after every second and Alfred sat up as Arthur tilted himself back, staring at Alfred and unable to drag his eyes away.
Arthur gasped out quietly, as if he wished to speak but was unable to find the words. Alfred shifted, legs that fell from Arthur’s shoulders now wrapping around his hips, trying to guide him closer again. But Arthur resisted.
“Turn over,” Arthur commanded, and before waiting for Alfred to do it himself, Arthur seized him by his hips and flipped him over onto his belly. Alfred blinked, tilting his head to stare at him. But Arthur only frowned, thoughtfully, hands curling along Alfred’s hips and raising him onto his hands and knees.
“Arthur-”
“Like that,” Arthur commanded. He murmured, “Don’t look at me.”
Alfred’s breath caught as Arthur pressed up against Alfred’s back, flushed skin to flushed skin. He felt Arthur’s cock press into the curve of Alfred’s ass and then press inside with hardly a breath passing between them. Alfred gasped out, quietly, as Arthur quickly resumed the pace, thrusting in and out of Alfred’s body-shallowly at first, but quickly gaining more depth, especially once Alfred began to thrust back to meet him.
Arthur’s arms curled around him, one pressing against his chest while the other hooked around his chin, forcing his face up. Alfred stared at the wall, unable to see Arthur but feeling him all around him-hearing him, feeling him, breathing him in. Arthur was everywhere and yet Alfred could not see him. He gasped out quietly, felt Arthur’s thumb press against his bottom lip and, sloppily, Alfred drew his lips around it, pressing his tongue against the tip and feeling Arthur’s thrusts grow a bit more frenzied. Alfred’s heart pounded in his chest and before he could stop it, or quite understand that it was upon him, he cried out and felt his body arch as he hit his climax, his orgasm stripping out in white ribbons across his stomach and upon the bed.
“Ah,” Alfred moaned out, and felt Arthur’s hand slide down off his chin, along his throat, and resting against his collarbone as Arthur continued to thrust up against him. It only took a few more moments of thrusting before Arthur jerked hard into Alfred’s body, shuddered, and then grew still.
His body felt warm, and he could feel Arthur filling him up inside all over again. Alfred sighed, slumping, his body fatigued and yet craving more of Arthur’s touch. Arthur panted against his back-he could feel the wisps of his breath against the back of his neck, the dip of his shoulder blades. Arthur nosed into Alfred’s hair, breathing him in, body flat up against Alfred’s own. Alfred’s body shook.
Drained, so drained he felt he could never move again, he could barely hold himself up. And, so, he sank down to his stomach, resting on the bed. Slowly, he felt Arthur slip out of him, though the warmth of his seed remained. Alfred closed his eyes, burying his face into the warm blankets.
Arthur slipped up against him, enveloping his body. He didn’t quite kiss Alfred, but the way his lips brushed against his jaw and his nose nuzzled against the spot just behind his ear was strangely intimate, and Alfred thought to himself that-it was only a matter of time before he could break Arthur.
His heart thundered. Alfred let out a shaky sigh, blinking his eyes a few times to clear his vision.
And then Arthur pulled away from him. Alfred rolled over onto his back, and watched as Arthur readjusted his trousers-never fully removed-and rose to retrieve his shirt. Alfred watched his back, hands curled beside his face and feeling, for once, completely unashamed of his nakedness. He wanted Arthur to touch him again, he realized-he realized he wanted to be touched. He wanted to feel that again.
It was a nice feeling.
Arthur dressed in silence, keeping his eyes down as he adjusted his collar and secured the ties and buttons of his clothes. He looked towards the door, studying it. Alfred watched him.
“I will leave you,” Arthur said, after a moment. “You may sleep here if you wish-or leave. It matters not to me.”
“This is your bed,” Alfred protested, sitting up and crossing his legs. “I should leave.”
Arthur studied his face, and then turned away, moving to the chair and picking up Alfred’s shirt. He left the jacket. As he approached, he bent down to pick Alfred’s trousers off from the foot of the bed and dropped them into Alfred’s lap.
They watched one another.
“Come to bed with me,” Alfred said suddenly.
There was a slight start in Arthur’s expression, but otherwise he did not react. He watched Alfred. Alfred repeated the invitation, and this time Arthur’s lips thinned out into a terse line.
“I won’t bother you about anything,” Alfred said, and smiled. “It can be like it used to.”
“It will never again be as it used to,” Arthur said. “Dress yourself.”
Alfred pulled on his pants slowly, rolling his hips and arching his back as he did so. Arthur watched him the entire time.
Alfred felt oddly guilty once he’d finished, and he said, his tone almost teasing, “Come to bed with me, Arthur.”
Arthur sighed out, slowly, and then moved around the bed, to the other side. He surveyed the blankets, and then surveyed Alfred’s body. Alfred continued to smile. He tried to look as inviting, as innocent, as he could. He tried to keep up the façade, continue to make Arthur believe that he wanted and needed him. All he wanted or needed was a warm body-the fact that it was Arthur didn’t matter at all, he told himself.
Arthur eased down beside Alfred. Alfred shifted, curled close and wrapped his arms around Arthur, tugging him down against him. He looked up at Arthur’s face, but Arthur’s expression was completely closed off. Or, trying to. He attempted to be expressionless, but there was a brief touch of something in his eyes.
Alfred watched Arthur blow out a soft breath and nod a little. Alfred pulled him closer and tucked his head underneath Arthur’s chin. He could feel the pulse of Arthur’s heartbeat. For one brief moment, Alfred felt an unrestrained desire to comfort Arthur. But he quickly squashed it down, and closed his eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said, more to himself than to Arthur.
“Is it?” he heard Arthur say, his throat tight and his words humming against Alfred’s ear.
Alfred nodded his head. “This is how it should be.”
Arthur was silent and did not respond.
Alfred stayed very still, until finally Arthur curled his arms around Alfred’s back. Every muscle in both their bodies were tight, and it was hard to believe they could possibly relax. But Alfred stubbornly kept his eyes shut, stubbornly stayed beside Arthur, stubbornly let Arthur hold him and held Arthur in turn. They stayed still like that, not moving, not speaking. Alfred was not sure how much time passed before Alfred finally began to sink against Arthur-finally seemed to relax a little.
He didn’t dare look up to see if Arthur was awake or asleep. But he himself could not sleep.
But after what felt like hours, but could very well have been less than one hour, Arthur shifted one hand up over Alfred’s back, and stroked along his spine. Alfred didn’t dare move. Arthur continued the ministration, before it too seemed to slow, and Alfred felt Arthur’s head loll to the side. His breathing deepened.
He was asleep.
Alfred didn’t move, expression crumbling as Arthur held him in his sleep.
---
When Alfred woke in the morning, his arms held nothing. He blinked his eyes opened, staring at the side of the bed Arthur had slept in the night before. But when he looked off to the side of the bed, he saw Arthur sitting there, his back to Alfred. He either hadn’t realized Alfred was awake yet, or was ignoring him. His back was bent, and his head was cradled in his hands.
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, unsure if he should go back to pretending he was asleep or confront this silent Arthur, this Arthur who bent into himself, his fingers clenched in his hair painfully tight. Something clenched in Alfred’s chest, and he closed his eyes. Freedom, he quietly reminded himself. He was doing this all for his own freedom, his liberty.
“Arthur?” he asked, quietly.
Arthur startled, and then looked over his shoulder at Alfred-straightening up quickly and dropping his hands.
“Good morning,” he said, voice tight.
Alfred sat up, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. Arthur watched him silently. Alfred slumped, and smiled a little at Arthur. Arthur did not return the smile, but Alfred really hadn’t expected him to. They sat in a stilled silence. Arthur looked as if he might bolt at any moment, so Alfred reached out and grabbed his wrist between his fingers.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did you not sleep well?”
Arthur didn’t answer, but he seemed as if he was shaking. He looked down at Alfred’s hand-holding his wrist-and made a soft noise in the back of his throat.
“… It doesn’t concern you,” he said, tersely.
Alfred sincerely doubted that.
Arthur ducked his head, and looked away again. Alfred, with a small roll of his eyes, tugged Arthur forward and back onto the bed, sprawled out on his back. Alfred leaned over him, staring at his face. Arthur stared back up at him in surprise, but otherwise did not protest the sudden movements of their bodies.
“Are you regretting everything so soon?” Alfred asked.
Arthur didn’t respond.
Alfred smiled, low in the dim morning light. “I’m right, aren’t I? Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyes fell shut and he let out a long, tense sigh. “Don’t-”
Eyes shut now, Alfred allowed his expression to soften-for just a moment-before he recollected himself and hardened his expressions. He could not afford to feel true sympathy. He leaned down, tangling his legs with Arthur’s and resting up against his chest, hand on his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat.
“It’s okay,” Alfred said quietly. “You don’t have to regret anything.”
Arthur said nothing.
“We just have to keep moving forward, right? We just have to do what we have to do, right?”
Again, Arthur said nothing. But this time he sighed.
Alfred snuggled closer, curling his knee between Arthur’s legs and pressing up. Arthur stilled, tensing up just a little. Alfred rubbed his knee slowly against the apex of Arthur’s thighs, awakening his cock very slowly. Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur, who finally flickered his eyes open and stared at him, frowning.
“Alfred,” he began, in a warning tone.
“Don’t regret these things. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve made my own decisions, and so have you. So enjoy those decisions.” He continued to rub with his knee, applying more pressure, and feeling the hardness in response to Alfred’s movements. Alfred smiled, low and sultry. “Do you see me as an equal now, Arthur?”
Arthur did not respond, but his mouth opened just a little in a tiny gasp when Alfred dragged the hand on Arthur’s chest slowly downward, slipping beneath the fabric of his trousers and squeezing the half-hard cock he found there.
Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur. Arthur stared up at him in shock, but still did not push Alfred away.
And so Alfred leaned in, running his other hand up and down Arthur’s side, tracing the lines of his stomach, the curves of his ribs. He curled his hand up under Arthur’s shirt and felt the slightly feverish skin there, followed the muscles, curled around the nipples, dipped along the clavicle. All the while, his other hand continued to hold Arthur’s cock-only holding, nothing more. He felt it plump up underneath his fingers, though.
Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur’s forehead, his lips, his jaw, down his neck and over the swell of his adam’s apple, knotting up his words. Alfred felt the increase in his own heart rate, his own breathing. But he did not stop.
“Why won’t you answer me?” he said against Arthur’s neck, lips fire but chilled against Arthur’s neck. He feels Arthur shiver. “Do you see me as your equal? Or am I still a child in your eyes?”
He would have to destroy that image, in order to destroy Arthur-when the time came. When it came time for him to break Arthur. To gain his freedom.
His freedom-
He wrenched Arthur’s trousers down and slid off the bed, pushing Arthur’s legs open so he could lean in, his hot breath against Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s hands went to Alfred’s hair on a reflex, and held fast. Alfred smiled, slowly, before taking the head of Arthur’s cock into his mouth and sucking-innocently enough, despite the position he found himself in. He licked his tongue along the head of Arthur’s cock as he pillowed his lips over the cockhead.
Part of him thought that he shouldn’t be doing this as much as he was-but another part told him that it was okay to take pleasure in these things. It wasn’t wrong. He wondered what it would feel like to have Arthur do it to him-but as quickly as the thought comes to him, how quickly it makes his lip almost curl back in anger. Arthur would never deign to be on his knees before his colony. Alfred kept his touches soft and wet, touching the warming flesh softly, even as the hold on his hair grew rougher and rougher.
Alfred moved his tongue and let his fingers join him, pumping at the root of Arthur’s cock as his mouth and tongue worked at the tip. He sucked and licked, tasting Arthur and feeling Arthur’s hips shiver under his ministrations. Arthur’s hands rubbed through his hair, tugging him closer while simultaneously seemingly wishing to shove him away. But Alfred held fast, and swallowed more of Arthur’s cock into his mouth. His tongue stroked at the velvety skin.
Arthur jerked his hips a bit shallowly, but it was no use-in a few moments Arthur was shuddering and Alfred felt Arthur climax inside of his mouth. Alfred stayed very still, licking and sucking on Arthur until Arthur fell back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling with a vaguely shameful expression in his eyes. Alfred climbed up after him, and leaned down to kiss Arthur so that Arthur could taste himself in Alfred’s mouth.
Alfred swept his tongue into Arthur’s mouth as they kissed, his body shuddering in turn as Arthur, feebly, lifted a hand and touched at the back of Alfred’s neck-drawing him closer and kissing him back with a little more enthusiasm as the kiss progressed.
When they pulled away, they both panted for air, and slowly Arthur rolled away, pulling his trousers back up again and securing them over his bony hips. He seemed to slump into himself all over again.
Alfred stretched out on the bed, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s hips, lazily, face pressed into Arthur’s back.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s okay.”
Arthur’s hand lifted and touched Alfred’s, for one brief moment, before pulling away and carding through his own hair, trying to steady his hair from the bed-mushed display it was now in.
“I know,” he said, quietly, and Alfred wondered if Arthur really knew anything.
Nothing would be okay. Once Alfred was done, he suspected he would have hurt Alfred more than if he’d just kept it to the battlefield, like Gilbert seemed to think was best. Alfred clenched his eyes shut and nuzzled his head into Arthur’s back.
“I don’t see you as a child,” Arthur said, suddenly.
Alfred stilled, eyes flying open. He felt his face heat up, despite himself, and he stared at the bumps of Arthur’s spine in silence.
Arthur sighed, slouching, burying his head in his hands again.
“Christ,” he whispered, voice almost cracking but coming out only in a breathless murmur. “Christ Almighty.”
---
Alfred left the house later that afternoon. He was in need of bathing and just-needed to leave. As he walked away, his thoughts were heavy and of Arthur.
---
Antonio and Gilbert were practicing sword-fighting outside. Alfred watched them, though it was a useless skill for him to learn, he thought. He was better off focusing on his musket and other artillery. He sat on the ground, a ways away from Antonio and Gilbert so as not to be caught in their fighting. It seemed almost playful, with an underlying hint of deadliness as the two fought back and forth. Gilbert just kept grinning and egging Antonio on, and though Antonio was all smiles, there were moments when his expression almost hardened and he came at Gilbert harder than before.
From inside, Francis shouted something about young men calming down so he could sooth his aching head. Alfred rolled his eyes and watched the other two nations battle it out between them. It seemed as if Antonio was gaining the upper-hand, but Alfred had expected as much.
His mind was elsewhere, however, even as he watched the two fighting. On his own war, his own striving for independence and equality. His thoughts were of Arthur, as much as he was loathed to admit it.
He curled his legs up towards his chest, wrapping his arms around himself and sighing. He was starting to doubt the wisdom of his schemes. He was starting to doubt that this would work. He wanted to fight Arthur, he wanted to be free of Arthur-but he was beginning to believe he could have done that without slipping into Arthur’s bed. He could have done it on the battlefield, and he wouldn’t be feeling as conflicted as he was now. Because he felt a spark of guilt in his gut whenever he thought Arthur-saw the way Arthur touched his hand, touched his face, watched him in the dimming hours of the morning and the night. Part of himself told him to disconnect, but he doubted he could, fully. Not when that house was filled with the ghosts of years he’d long since left behind.
“Is this all meant to be a gain for myself, or for you?” Alfred said suddenly, looking up.
Antonio and Gilbert froze for half a second, thrown off by the sudden voice. Even Francis from inside stopped his momentary moaning of his head. Alfred stared at the two.
But Antonio recovered first and managed to knock the sword from Gilbert’s hand, holding the other man at sword point.
“I win,” he said, easily, and then sheathed his sword at his side. He didn’t look back to Gilbert as he approached Alfred. And when he smiled, there was no hard glint in his eyes as before, but rather a sunny expression that actually, for half a moment, put Alfred ill at ease. “What is it, Alfred?”
Alfred looked up at him, and frowned to himself. Gilbert, muttering about how this shit isn’t my business, wandered off to clean his guns again, as always. Antonio continued to look down at Alfred.
“Did you wish to learn sword-fighting?” Antonio asked, smiling cheerfully. “Sometimes watching can help, but it’s also good to get hands-on experience. I’m sorry if you didn’t feel it was a gain-I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
Alfred quickly shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about swords.”
“Aaah,” Antonio said with a sigh. He dropped down next to Alfred, smiling still. “What, then?”
“What I’m-um. Arthur,” Alfred said, his frown only deepening even as Antonio’s smile widened. “Is what I’m doing with Arthur a benefit for myself, or is it some kind of… strange thing that you European countries do to each other?”
“A strange thing?” Antonio mimicked.
“Are you using me to get back at Arthur? Or is this really for my own good that you two suggested this in the first place?”
Antonio continued to look at him, betraying nothing behind his smile. Then he hummed slowly, brows knitting together and crossing his arms, deep in thought.
And then the smile dimmed just slightly as he sighed. “Sometimes,” he said, voice surprisingly quiet, “necessary evils must be committed, and it is important not to let them haunt you.”
Alfred stared at him in shock.
Antonio’s smile was back. “If you believe it’s necessary, then you should not hesitate.”
Alfred felt a little too cold. Antonio stood up, adjusting his collar, smiling all the while.
“Do you truly believe that?” Alfred asked.
“Do you believe what you’re doing is right, ultimately?” Antonio asked. “If it means your independence, will you do it?”
Alfred had to tear his eyes away. He bit his bottom lip.
“If you believe so, does it matter what other’s motives may be? Sometimes it’s better not to see other’s motives at all,” Antonio said.
And before he waited for Alfred’s response, he ambled away, in the vague direction Gilbert had drifted off to. Alfred watched him go, feeling his heart tight in his throat and not quite sure why.
He stood and went back inside, finding Francis lounging in a chair, fanning himself despite the chill in the air, and trying to dash away a headache, evidently.
He smiled at Alfred. “Did you have a pleasant conversation?”
“You heard that, then,” Alfred said with a sigh and sank down into his chair. “Necessary evils. Huh.”
“Indeed,” Francis said, voice a velvet purr. “Alfred, I must tell you. If you wish to stop it, if you feel compromised, it will be simple enough to end it. Just do not return. End it now.”
Alfred felt something twitch inside him. “I don’t feel compromised. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Perhaps you are not as disengaged from your feelings as I’d originally suspected,” Francis said, in a way that suggested no true remorse but perhaps some thoughtfulness. He ceased fanning his face, staring instead at Alfred with inquisitive eyes that left Alfred feeling uneasy.
“What are you talking about?” Alfred muttered.
“Perhaps it would have been better if you’d been indifferent to our dear Arthur, rather than hate him. Hatred, after all, is such a passionate emotion. And the line is so incredibly thin, the one between hatred and lo-”
“Stop it,” Alfred snapped. “I’m not feeling compromised. I’m don’t care what I do to Arthur, if it means my independence. And Arthur is fooled-he has to be fooled. He’s sentimental, he’s foolish-”
“Then why,” Francis said, tilting his head. “Are you hesitating now?”
“I’m not,” Alfred insisted.
“I wonder,” Francis murmured. He looked up to the ceiling for a moment, thoughtful. “Is it more destructive to be taken by surprise by a betrayal, or to know the betrayal is coming all along and still allowing for it to happen? Which is more pathetic, Alfred?”
“… What do you mean?” Alfred asked, a chill running down his spine. He stood up, feeling his eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, Francis. But. I’m okay. I’m not hesitating. I was just wondering-thinking out loud. I know what I have to do. I know what I’ll do-there’s no guilt, there’s no hesitation. I am not compromised.”
He turned away, wandering towards the exit.
He paused, looking back over at Francis. He frowned, but Francis just watched him calmly.
Alfred said, quietly, and hated that his voice cracked for half a moment, “I hate him. So I’ll do whatever I can to get my freedom.”
He turned away and said no more.
Once he had left the room, Francis smiled after him, a sad, slow smile. He said, quietly, to himself: “Perhaps I have made a mistake in this.”
Chapter Title: Every Hum and Echo (chapter 3 of 5)
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Arthur (England), Alfred (USA), Francis (France), Antonio (Spain), Gilbert (Prussia), possible mentions of others
Pairing: Arthur/Alfred, implied Bad Friends Trio/Alfred and Bad Friends Trio/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex used for the purpose of manipulation, "incest" (as much as Hetalia characters are related...), emotional manipulation, denial to the max
Summary: Fueled by the superior war experience of his allies, Alfred sets out to gain the upperhand over Arthur, through the use of his body and the eventual breaking of Arthur. But there's a difference between keeping your enemies close and just plain sleeping with the enemy.
Summary for this chapter: Things begin to crackle and break. That sense of certainty Alfred felt before starts to decompose.
Notes: None today.
Other installments:
Matching Beats | Cracks of Primal Music | Every Hum and Echo | Sinking Soon | Set for Self-Destruct
Alfred returned the next evening, as the sun was sinking, hugging low across the horizon.
He waited outside the house for a long while, staring at it. His mind couldn’t settle, hadn’t settled since the day before when he’d left the house so quickly. His body still ached, but it was a duller ache-something he couldn’t feel, unless he focused on it. And he didn’t want to focus on it. His mind was heavy with Arthur’s words from before, unsure what to make of Arthur’s behavior-was it acceptance or was Arthur just moving further and further away from him?
He hadn’t asked Francis about it, unsure if he wanted the answer or not. Was he going to be able to break Arthur successfully, or would Alfred just grow fatigued with it all? He was not used to these things, and even if it was against his tyrant, a man he had sworn to hate-his mind was still heavy, and Alfred hated to think he was starting to feel guilty. He couldn’t afford to be guilty. He couldn’t afford to care.
When he did finally summon the urge to walk into the house, he was only half-surprised to see Arthur standing there, waiting for him, arms tucked behind his back, dressed properly and expression painfully neutral. Their eyes met and Alfred stilled in his approach. No words passed between them for those first short moments. They simply looked at one another. But after a moment, finally, Arthur’s gaze shifted away from Alfred, and stayed away.
“I saw you approaching,” Arthur said, as way of explanation for his presence in the front hall. He sounded almost exhausted, or, perhaps, as if he had decided on something. His eyes didn’t quite catch Alfred’s gaze, but there were a few moments when their eyes passed over one another’s.
“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” Alfred replied, stepping further into the house, walking towards Arthur finally-finally regaining the movement in his legs, the desire to move forward, no matter the cost. His movements were slow, cautious. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect now, after Arthur’s dismissal the day before, seemingly counter to his acceptance of Alfred’s presence now.
“I’d wondered if you’d come back after all,” Arthur said absently, and Alfred wasn’t sure how to read the tone of his voice, or the way Arthur turned and walked away from the front hall and further back into the house. Alfred followed him. Arthur did not object to this, so Alfred cautiously began to believe that perhaps he was still, somehow, welcomed there.
When they were further into the house, in a darker part of the room, with the curtains drawn over the windows to block the bitter sun, Arthur fixed his gaze upon Alfred and held him, frozen, in place. Alfred froze abruptly, feeling ice cold all of a sudden. Arthur just watched him, coolly, his gaze never wavering or flickering in that short moment.
“Why are you here?” Arthur demanded, suddenly.
Alfred swallowed, just once, and ordered up all the nonchalance he could muster. He squared his jaw and rolled his shoulders back, standing up a bit straighter than before. “I’ve answered this question, before.”
Arthur grunted, and stepped forward, approaching Alfred, watching him carefully-so Alfred took careful pains not to tense up, not to back away, not to give into that immediate reaction to rise and fight, to fight and win.
A cricket began to chirp outside, a slow, painful song. Mournful.
“You have no business here,” Arthur said. “If you were sensible, you would stay away from here, would you not? Won’t your own men start to question why you continually flock to me?”
“I’ve said it before,” Alfred said. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see you.” He added, quietly, unable to keep the slight grit from his voice, “I do not flock to you.”
“Just because you’re fighting me by any means necessary, you mean,” Arthur replied, words deceptively light even as the meaning behind it weighed down the air between them-made it hard to breathe. “If you were wise, my dear boy, you would make the lines between enemies clear.”
It was strange, still, to be in this situation. To willingly walk into the lion’s den. And yet, this Arthur was not the one he’d grown accustomed to the last few years. This Arthur did not dismiss him, did not belittle him and his ideas, did not fight him stubbornly demanding Alfred’s obedience. This Arthur was reasonable, if not a bit wary and suspicious. This Arthur, despite his claims of disgust towards defiling Alfred, still did so-and still let him return again and again.
“Just… because we’re enemies in war,” Alfred said, slowly, “doesn’t mean we have to be enemies in all things.”
Arthur did not immediately respond, and then he looked away, towards the candles on the table. Alfred followed his gaze, for half a moment, but saw nothing out of the ordinary-the plates he used for dinner, the abandoned bottle of rum, its glass container flickering in the dim candlelight. The sun was almost completely gone now, and it sent a red glow through the windows as it sank behind the trees and mountains in the distance.
“Doesn’t it, though?” Arthur murmured, eyes hooded before he sighed. He shook his head and straightened, his expression a painful neutrality. When Alfred didn’t answer right away, Arthur sighed, and said, equally as quiet as before: “Why are you here?”
Alfred took another step towards him, felt the time count down with each step he took. He forgot to breathe as he moved through the room toward Arthur. Arthur did not back away. He merely tipped his head back to stare at him, brow furrowed for half a moment before he remembered to move back into the neutral, dismissive expression of his.
“You know why,” Alfred protested, and hated how his voice sounded weak again. Don’t make me say it again. Don’t make me lie to you again.
When he spoke, his voice sounded a bit strained, broken, as if he’d cut off a laugh before he could properly laugh. “Because you want me, wasn’t it?”
Alfred couldn’t answer, so he only nodded. His mouth was dry, his expression frozen. He hoped not one of horror, but he couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure.
Arthur lowered his eyes for a moment, and took in a steadying breath. Then he turned, grabbed the candlestick from the table and walked away towards the staircase. When Alfred didn’t follow right away, unsure if he should, Arthur paused at the base of the stairs and stared out after him.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice petering out at the end into a breathless whisper.
Alfred moved without a word, following Arthur, letting Arthur draw him up the stairs. Neither of them would have needed the candle-both could have navigated the contours of the house in the dark, and Alfred followed Arthur to the bedroom. There were candles lit in there, too, and Alfred briefly wondered if Arthur had planned on Alfred arriving at sundown in the first place. Alfred swallowed a steadying breath and felt his body run cold as Arthur’s hand touched his arm, and drew him into the bedroom.
He shut the door behind him.
Arthur’s face was cast in shadows lit by the candlelight in his hand, and his green eyes flickered in the dim, orange light. Alfred stayed still, unsure how to respond, unsure what to do. He would never be prepared for this. He never thought he’d have to be, really.
Alfred closed his eyes.
“I was sure you wouldn’t come back,” Arthur said, absently.
Alfred didn’t open his eyes, but felt his lips touch into an unsure smile. “You did?”
“Hm,” Arthur murmured, and Alfred heard him walk away. When Alfred opened his eyes again, Arthur was across the room, setting the candle down on the bureau and drawing the curtains. Arthur moved slowly, with precision, but with a hesitancy he wasn’t used to seeing in his shoulders, seeing in the slope of his neck or the tension in his jaw line.
Alfred swallowed again, and then followed Arthur, slinking up to his side and touching his shoulder. Arthur didn’t immediately react, just focused on moving the curtains, his expression hidden by the shadows.
“Hey,” Alfred said, quietly, “It’s okay, right? I’m here now. I came back.”
Arthur sighed, long, slow, and languid. Then he nodded his head. “I have accepted it.”
His words were soft, distant. Almost sad. But Alfred didn’t want to think that his voice could be sad, that Arthur himself could be sad-not yet. He wasn’t supposed to break down yet. But soon, perhaps.
Soon…
“So take me,” Alfred said, softly.
Arthur studied his face, and then sighed. His hands lifted, fisting in the front of Alfred’s clothes, stripping it away bit by bit. His thumbs pushed away the heavy buttons, curled over the thick wool of his coat. It slipped off his shoulders and to the ground, and Arthur’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, undoing it bit by bit. Alfred swallowed thickly, lips parting just slightly as Arthur worked.
“Arthur-”
“Shush,” Arthur said quietly, eyes downcast. He fiddled with Alfred’s shirt and, eventually, slipped it off as well. Bare-chested, Alfred bit at his lower lip and watched as Arthur took a step back, surveying him. His hands lingered on Alfred’s arms. “You have grown,” Arthur said, absently, as if mystified by this reality. “You’ve grown…”
“Yeah,” Alfred said. “I’m getting stronger.”
The shadow of a smile touched Arthur’s lips and he nodded, slowly. “Yes. I dare say you are.”
He stepped forward again, hand on his arm falling away to cup him through his trousers. Alfred’s mouth fell open in a quiet oh.
“In what other ways have you grown?” Arthur asked, shifting his hand to pull at the ties and knots of Alfred’s trousers, and then slipping beneath the fabric, cupping Alfred’s cock, shamefully already half-hard. Alfred closed his eyes as Arthur stroked his hand over the length of his cock, from root to tip. He held him tenderly, slowly, watching Alfred’s reactions.
Alfred found he couldn’t speak, so he let Arthur do as he pleased, swallowing thickly around the cotton-dryness of his throat. Alfred remembered himself, however, and lifted his own hands, groping at Arthur’s clothes with less fluidity and grace, tugging at the buttons and knots until Arthur’s clothes came undone.
Arthur stepped back again, stripping his coat and draping it over the back of a chair. He stooped, collecting Alfred’s clothes, lying them out across the seat of the chair. He kept his back to Alfred, and Alfred just wanted him to come back-the strain of his trousers told him how much he wanted Arthur to come back. How much he hated the distance between them-
And Arthur returned, sliding up to him, narrowing the distance. His fingers curled around the waistband of Alfred’s trousers and pulled down, letting it fall across the slump of his hips. His cock free, Arthur fisted it in his hand and stroked it. Alfred’s eyelids fluttered as he slammed them shut again, mouth open in a quiet gasp.
“Arthur-”
“Shhh,” England instructed, and pressed forward, pushing Alfred onto his back, sprawled out across the bed. Alfred blinked owlishly up at him, surprised but not repugnant, as Arthur crawled up over him, stripping Alfred of his trousers and leaving him naked and flushed against the extravagant fabric of Arthur’s deep crimson blanket.
And Arthur kissed him, slowly, mouth against mouth. Their lips dovetailed together and Alfred, helpless, moaned very softly, eyes shut. He pressed up, traced the line of Arthur’s mouth as Arthur opened to him and met his tongue with his own. They kissed, lightly, the slightest touches for the longest moment. Arthur’s tongue lathed at the plump of Alfred’s bottom lip, dipped into his mouth, traced every line, and pulled away to bite, not unkindly, on his mouth. Alfred left his mouth open to Arthur, unable to muffle the quietest of moans.
He felt Arthur stretch, felt Arthur pull away, just slightly. And Alfred blinked his eyes open long enough to see Arthur seize the small bottle of oil resting on the table, beside the flickering candlelight. Alfred sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract under the soft stroke of Arthur’s hand as it drifted away from his hard cock. Arthur sat back, resting on his knees, straddling Alfred’s legs. He popped the cork of the little bottle, pooling a liberal amount along his bent fingertips. Alfred watched him.
Their eyes locked. Arthur must have seen-something-on Alfred’s face, because his expression softened, for half a moment. “It’s alright, lad.”
Alfred nodded mutely, and tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He thought. He tried not to linger on one thought or another, but his thoughts all ran back to Arthur. Arthur shifted, spreading Alfred’s legs, and Alfred shifted his legs up, draping them across Arthur’s shoulders and leaning back, spreading himself open for Arthur as Arthur pressed forward, dipping one finger and then two fingers into him, spreading him, filling him-making him feel whole.
Alfred made a soft noise, not quite a whimper but something similar. He stared up at the ceiling and continued to think, even as he felt Arthur’s fingers bend into him, hooking and rubbing at him, sliding into him up the his knotted knuckles. Alfred made another soft noise, and as if in apology, Arthur stroked his hand along Alfred’s quivering thigh.
“Arthur, what are yo-aah,” Alfred whispered.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m doing,” Arthur responded, sliding a third finger in and already Alfred felt impossibly full. His legs tensed against Arthur’s shoulders, and Arthur tilted his head, pressing a kiss to his knee. And it was strangely intimate, with someone who still seemed far too distant, and Alfred had to remind himself it was Arthur he was meant to break. It was Arthur. Alfred, therefore, could not afford to feel these moments of sympathy or insight. No. Not Alfred.
“I know,” Alfred choked out as Arthur’s fingers began a steady rhythm inside him, pumping in and out, striking at something deep inside him that caused a spike of pleasure to twist its way through his gut, coiling into the bottom of his stomach and staying there, infinitely pleasurable but promising somehow more than infinity.
He panted, slowly, blinking up at the ceiling as if he’d never seen it before. Arthur’s fingers pulled him open and he felt Arthur’s cock nudge up against him, rubbing against his feverish skin and shuddering muscles. Alfred nodded, once, still looking at the ceiling, and Arthur pushed closer so that Arthur took up Alfred’s view, so it was Arthur he saw instead of the ceiling. Alfred felt Arthur’s cock nudge into him, push in to join the fingers, even as the fingers slid out and away. For one brief moment he felt impossibly full, with cock and fingers pushed inside of him-Arthur inside of him-but then Arthur shuddered and snapped his hips up, and slid his cock up to the hilt inside of Alfred. And Alfred was completely full of Arthur and only Arthur.
“Oh,” Alfred said quietly, as if taken by surprise. Despite knowing this-despite knowing only Arthur inside him. His eyelids fluttered.
The second time he was less sore. The second time it did not hurt as much. He had his doubts, he had his assertions-he repeated his words over and over in his head, reminded himself about the ultimate betrayal he’d have to perform. But, in the meantime, he reasoned, he could still enjoy his situation, still enjoy the feel of Arthur’s cock inside him, striking hard into his willing body. And it was a willing body. It was a feeling he wanted, willingly. He was more stretched, more relaxed. The only thing that mattered was that Arthur was inside him-
And looking at him. He was looking at Alfred as if he’d never seen him before in his life, eyes wide and close. Alfred’s body shuddered, and Arthur’s expression shifted, as if his heart had compressed right in his chest. Rough, squeezing, holding tight.
“What is it?” Arthur whispered.
Alfred stared at him. Their eyes locked, and there was a fullness that Alfred couldn’t quite place. Arthur bit his lower lip and rocked his hips again, pushing into Alfred and pulling out again, setting the pace of in and out, finding the pace that suited himself and suited Alfred. His hips rocked and he pushed closer, much closer. Arthur’s hands fell, one on the back of his thigh, sliding to his ass, the other grasping his knee. He squeezed tightly, spread Alfred wider as he pumped into him, faster and faster.
Alfred’s movements were jerky at first, unsure what to do, trying to catch the rhythm but unable to. But eventually he grasped it, eventually he fell into the beat and pushed back to meet Arthur’s thrusts, pushing Arthur deeper until the head of his cock struck that spot inside of Alfred again and made Alfred cry out, quietly. His body tensed, then relaxed, and he repeated the movement-thrusting up to meet Arthur, their eyes locked.
“Arthur,” he panted out, unable to control his mouth and not wanting to. He ground his cock between their slick bodies, rubbed himself up to Arthur and dragged Arthur ever closer. “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur-”
Arthur kept moving, but his expression kept shifting-and Alfred couldn’t read it. He stared at Alfred, for long moments, as he moved, matching Alfred’s demands to speed the pace up. Alfred lifted his hand, touching at Arthur’s forehead and wiping his fingers against the sweat-stained hair. Arthur’s breaths came out in shuddering gasps. He knew that Arthur had to see him now-had to see only him. Could not possibly see anyone but Alfred.
Arthur pulled away-too far away. He pulled out of Alfred, and Alfred felt the dull ache inside his gut pulse and grow. It sharpened after every second and Alfred sat up as Arthur tilted himself back, staring at Alfred and unable to drag his eyes away.
Arthur gasped out quietly, as if he wished to speak but was unable to find the words. Alfred shifted, legs that fell from Arthur’s shoulders now wrapping around his hips, trying to guide him closer again. But Arthur resisted.
“Turn over,” Arthur commanded, and before waiting for Alfred to do it himself, Arthur seized him by his hips and flipped him over onto his belly. Alfred blinked, tilting his head to stare at him. But Arthur only frowned, thoughtfully, hands curling along Alfred’s hips and raising him onto his hands and knees.
“Arthur-”
“Like that,” Arthur commanded. He murmured, “Don’t look at me.”
Alfred’s breath caught as Arthur pressed up against Alfred’s back, flushed skin to flushed skin. He felt Arthur’s cock press into the curve of Alfred’s ass and then press inside with hardly a breath passing between them. Alfred gasped out, quietly, as Arthur quickly resumed the pace, thrusting in and out of Alfred’s body-shallowly at first, but quickly gaining more depth, especially once Alfred began to thrust back to meet him.
Arthur’s arms curled around him, one pressing against his chest while the other hooked around his chin, forcing his face up. Alfred stared at the wall, unable to see Arthur but feeling him all around him-hearing him, feeling him, breathing him in. Arthur was everywhere and yet Alfred could not see him. He gasped out quietly, felt Arthur’s thumb press against his bottom lip and, sloppily, Alfred drew his lips around it, pressing his tongue against the tip and feeling Arthur’s thrusts grow a bit more frenzied. Alfred’s heart pounded in his chest and before he could stop it, or quite understand that it was upon him, he cried out and felt his body arch as he hit his climax, his orgasm stripping out in white ribbons across his stomach and upon the bed.
“Ah,” Alfred moaned out, and felt Arthur’s hand slide down off his chin, along his throat, and resting against his collarbone as Arthur continued to thrust up against him. It only took a few more moments of thrusting before Arthur jerked hard into Alfred’s body, shuddered, and then grew still.
His body felt warm, and he could feel Arthur filling him up inside all over again. Alfred sighed, slumping, his body fatigued and yet craving more of Arthur’s touch. Arthur panted against his back-he could feel the wisps of his breath against the back of his neck, the dip of his shoulder blades. Arthur nosed into Alfred’s hair, breathing him in, body flat up against Alfred’s own. Alfred’s body shook.
Drained, so drained he felt he could never move again, he could barely hold himself up. And, so, he sank down to his stomach, resting on the bed. Slowly, he felt Arthur slip out of him, though the warmth of his seed remained. Alfred closed his eyes, burying his face into the warm blankets.
Arthur slipped up against him, enveloping his body. He didn’t quite kiss Alfred, but the way his lips brushed against his jaw and his nose nuzzled against the spot just behind his ear was strangely intimate, and Alfred thought to himself that-it was only a matter of time before he could break Arthur.
His heart thundered. Alfred let out a shaky sigh, blinking his eyes a few times to clear his vision.
And then Arthur pulled away from him. Alfred rolled over onto his back, and watched as Arthur readjusted his trousers-never fully removed-and rose to retrieve his shirt. Alfred watched his back, hands curled beside his face and feeling, for once, completely unashamed of his nakedness. He wanted Arthur to touch him again, he realized-he realized he wanted to be touched. He wanted to feel that again.
It was a nice feeling.
Arthur dressed in silence, keeping his eyes down as he adjusted his collar and secured the ties and buttons of his clothes. He looked towards the door, studying it. Alfred watched him.
“I will leave you,” Arthur said, after a moment. “You may sleep here if you wish-or leave. It matters not to me.”
“This is your bed,” Alfred protested, sitting up and crossing his legs. “I should leave.”
Arthur studied his face, and then turned away, moving to the chair and picking up Alfred’s shirt. He left the jacket. As he approached, he bent down to pick Alfred’s trousers off from the foot of the bed and dropped them into Alfred’s lap.
They watched one another.
“Come to bed with me,” Alfred said suddenly.
There was a slight start in Arthur’s expression, but otherwise he did not react. He watched Alfred. Alfred repeated the invitation, and this time Arthur’s lips thinned out into a terse line.
“I won’t bother you about anything,” Alfred said, and smiled. “It can be like it used to.”
“It will never again be as it used to,” Arthur said. “Dress yourself.”
Alfred pulled on his pants slowly, rolling his hips and arching his back as he did so. Arthur watched him the entire time.
Alfred felt oddly guilty once he’d finished, and he said, his tone almost teasing, “Come to bed with me, Arthur.”
Arthur sighed out, slowly, and then moved around the bed, to the other side. He surveyed the blankets, and then surveyed Alfred’s body. Alfred continued to smile. He tried to look as inviting, as innocent, as he could. He tried to keep up the façade, continue to make Arthur believe that he wanted and needed him. All he wanted or needed was a warm body-the fact that it was Arthur didn’t matter at all, he told himself.
Arthur eased down beside Alfred. Alfred shifted, curled close and wrapped his arms around Arthur, tugging him down against him. He looked up at Arthur’s face, but Arthur’s expression was completely closed off. Or, trying to. He attempted to be expressionless, but there was a brief touch of something in his eyes.
Alfred watched Arthur blow out a soft breath and nod a little. Alfred pulled him closer and tucked his head underneath Arthur’s chin. He could feel the pulse of Arthur’s heartbeat. For one brief moment, Alfred felt an unrestrained desire to comfort Arthur. But he quickly squashed it down, and closed his eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said, more to himself than to Arthur.
“Is it?” he heard Arthur say, his throat tight and his words humming against Alfred’s ear.
Alfred nodded his head. “This is how it should be.”
Arthur was silent and did not respond.
Alfred stayed very still, until finally Arthur curled his arms around Alfred’s back. Every muscle in both their bodies were tight, and it was hard to believe they could possibly relax. But Alfred stubbornly kept his eyes shut, stubbornly stayed beside Arthur, stubbornly let Arthur hold him and held Arthur in turn. They stayed still like that, not moving, not speaking. Alfred was not sure how much time passed before Alfred finally began to sink against Arthur-finally seemed to relax a little.
He didn’t dare look up to see if Arthur was awake or asleep. But he himself could not sleep.
But after what felt like hours, but could very well have been less than one hour, Arthur shifted one hand up over Alfred’s back, and stroked along his spine. Alfred didn’t dare move. Arthur continued the ministration, before it too seemed to slow, and Alfred felt Arthur’s head loll to the side. His breathing deepened.
He was asleep.
Alfred didn’t move, expression crumbling as Arthur held him in his sleep.
---
When Alfred woke in the morning, his arms held nothing. He blinked his eyes opened, staring at the side of the bed Arthur had slept in the night before. But when he looked off to the side of the bed, he saw Arthur sitting there, his back to Alfred. He either hadn’t realized Alfred was awake yet, or was ignoring him. His back was bent, and his head was cradled in his hands.
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, unsure if he should go back to pretending he was asleep or confront this silent Arthur, this Arthur who bent into himself, his fingers clenched in his hair painfully tight. Something clenched in Alfred’s chest, and he closed his eyes. Freedom, he quietly reminded himself. He was doing this all for his own freedom, his liberty.
“Arthur?” he asked, quietly.
Arthur startled, and then looked over his shoulder at Alfred-straightening up quickly and dropping his hands.
“Good morning,” he said, voice tight.
Alfred sat up, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. Arthur watched him silently. Alfred slumped, and smiled a little at Arthur. Arthur did not return the smile, but Alfred really hadn’t expected him to. They sat in a stilled silence. Arthur looked as if he might bolt at any moment, so Alfred reached out and grabbed his wrist between his fingers.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did you not sleep well?”
Arthur didn’t answer, but he seemed as if he was shaking. He looked down at Alfred’s hand-holding his wrist-and made a soft noise in the back of his throat.
“… It doesn’t concern you,” he said, tersely.
Alfred sincerely doubted that.
Arthur ducked his head, and looked away again. Alfred, with a small roll of his eyes, tugged Arthur forward and back onto the bed, sprawled out on his back. Alfred leaned over him, staring at his face. Arthur stared back up at him in surprise, but otherwise did not protest the sudden movements of their bodies.
“Are you regretting everything so soon?” Alfred asked.
Arthur didn’t respond.
Alfred smiled, low in the dim morning light. “I’m right, aren’t I? Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyes fell shut and he let out a long, tense sigh. “Don’t-”
Eyes shut now, Alfred allowed his expression to soften-for just a moment-before he recollected himself and hardened his expressions. He could not afford to feel true sympathy. He leaned down, tangling his legs with Arthur’s and resting up against his chest, hand on his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat.
“It’s okay,” Alfred said quietly. “You don’t have to regret anything.”
Arthur said nothing.
“We just have to keep moving forward, right? We just have to do what we have to do, right?”
Again, Arthur said nothing. But this time he sighed.
Alfred snuggled closer, curling his knee between Arthur’s legs and pressing up. Arthur stilled, tensing up just a little. Alfred rubbed his knee slowly against the apex of Arthur’s thighs, awakening his cock very slowly. Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur, who finally flickered his eyes open and stared at him, frowning.
“Alfred,” he began, in a warning tone.
“Don’t regret these things. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve made my own decisions, and so have you. So enjoy those decisions.” He continued to rub with his knee, applying more pressure, and feeling the hardness in response to Alfred’s movements. Alfred smiled, low and sultry. “Do you see me as an equal now, Arthur?”
Arthur did not respond, but his mouth opened just a little in a tiny gasp when Alfred dragged the hand on Arthur’s chest slowly downward, slipping beneath the fabric of his trousers and squeezing the half-hard cock he found there.
Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur. Arthur stared up at him in shock, but still did not push Alfred away.
And so Alfred leaned in, running his other hand up and down Arthur’s side, tracing the lines of his stomach, the curves of his ribs. He curled his hand up under Arthur’s shirt and felt the slightly feverish skin there, followed the muscles, curled around the nipples, dipped along the clavicle. All the while, his other hand continued to hold Arthur’s cock-only holding, nothing more. He felt it plump up underneath his fingers, though.
Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur’s forehead, his lips, his jaw, down his neck and over the swell of his adam’s apple, knotting up his words. Alfred felt the increase in his own heart rate, his own breathing. But he did not stop.
“Why won’t you answer me?” he said against Arthur’s neck, lips fire but chilled against Arthur’s neck. He feels Arthur shiver. “Do you see me as your equal? Or am I still a child in your eyes?”
He would have to destroy that image, in order to destroy Arthur-when the time came. When it came time for him to break Arthur. To gain his freedom.
His freedom-
He wrenched Arthur’s trousers down and slid off the bed, pushing Arthur’s legs open so he could lean in, his hot breath against Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s hands went to Alfred’s hair on a reflex, and held fast. Alfred smiled, slowly, before taking the head of Arthur’s cock into his mouth and sucking-innocently enough, despite the position he found himself in. He licked his tongue along the head of Arthur’s cock as he pillowed his lips over the cockhead.
Part of him thought that he shouldn’t be doing this as much as he was-but another part told him that it was okay to take pleasure in these things. It wasn’t wrong. He wondered what it would feel like to have Arthur do it to him-but as quickly as the thought comes to him, how quickly it makes his lip almost curl back in anger. Arthur would never deign to be on his knees before his colony. Alfred kept his touches soft and wet, touching the warming flesh softly, even as the hold on his hair grew rougher and rougher.
Alfred moved his tongue and let his fingers join him, pumping at the root of Arthur’s cock as his mouth and tongue worked at the tip. He sucked and licked, tasting Arthur and feeling Arthur’s hips shiver under his ministrations. Arthur’s hands rubbed through his hair, tugging him closer while simultaneously seemingly wishing to shove him away. But Alfred held fast, and swallowed more of Arthur’s cock into his mouth. His tongue stroked at the velvety skin.
Arthur jerked his hips a bit shallowly, but it was no use-in a few moments Arthur was shuddering and Alfred felt Arthur climax inside of his mouth. Alfred stayed very still, licking and sucking on Arthur until Arthur fell back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling with a vaguely shameful expression in his eyes. Alfred climbed up after him, and leaned down to kiss Arthur so that Arthur could taste himself in Alfred’s mouth.
Alfred swept his tongue into Arthur’s mouth as they kissed, his body shuddering in turn as Arthur, feebly, lifted a hand and touched at the back of Alfred’s neck-drawing him closer and kissing him back with a little more enthusiasm as the kiss progressed.
When they pulled away, they both panted for air, and slowly Arthur rolled away, pulling his trousers back up again and securing them over his bony hips. He seemed to slump into himself all over again.
Alfred stretched out on the bed, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s hips, lazily, face pressed into Arthur’s back.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s okay.”
Arthur’s hand lifted and touched Alfred’s, for one brief moment, before pulling away and carding through his own hair, trying to steady his hair from the bed-mushed display it was now in.
“I know,” he said, quietly, and Alfred wondered if Arthur really knew anything.
Nothing would be okay. Once Alfred was done, he suspected he would have hurt Alfred more than if he’d just kept it to the battlefield, like Gilbert seemed to think was best. Alfred clenched his eyes shut and nuzzled his head into Arthur’s back.
“I don’t see you as a child,” Arthur said, suddenly.
Alfred stilled, eyes flying open. He felt his face heat up, despite himself, and he stared at the bumps of Arthur’s spine in silence.
Arthur sighed, slouching, burying his head in his hands again.
“Christ,” he whispered, voice almost cracking but coming out only in a breathless murmur. “Christ Almighty.”
---
Alfred left the house later that afternoon. He was in need of bathing and just-needed to leave. As he walked away, his thoughts were heavy and of Arthur.
---
Antonio and Gilbert were practicing sword-fighting outside. Alfred watched them, though it was a useless skill for him to learn, he thought. He was better off focusing on his musket and other artillery. He sat on the ground, a ways away from Antonio and Gilbert so as not to be caught in their fighting. It seemed almost playful, with an underlying hint of deadliness as the two fought back and forth. Gilbert just kept grinning and egging Antonio on, and though Antonio was all smiles, there were moments when his expression almost hardened and he came at Gilbert harder than before.
From inside, Francis shouted something about young men calming down so he could sooth his aching head. Alfred rolled his eyes and watched the other two nations battle it out between them. It seemed as if Antonio was gaining the upper-hand, but Alfred had expected as much.
His mind was elsewhere, however, even as he watched the two fighting. On his own war, his own striving for independence and equality. His thoughts were of Arthur, as much as he was loathed to admit it.
He curled his legs up towards his chest, wrapping his arms around himself and sighing. He was starting to doubt the wisdom of his schemes. He was starting to doubt that this would work. He wanted to fight Arthur, he wanted to be free of Arthur-but he was beginning to believe he could have done that without slipping into Arthur’s bed. He could have done it on the battlefield, and he wouldn’t be feeling as conflicted as he was now. Because he felt a spark of guilt in his gut whenever he thought Arthur-saw the way Arthur touched his hand, touched his face, watched him in the dimming hours of the morning and the night. Part of himself told him to disconnect, but he doubted he could, fully. Not when that house was filled with the ghosts of years he’d long since left behind.
“Is this all meant to be a gain for myself, or for you?” Alfred said suddenly, looking up.
Antonio and Gilbert froze for half a second, thrown off by the sudden voice. Even Francis from inside stopped his momentary moaning of his head. Alfred stared at the two.
But Antonio recovered first and managed to knock the sword from Gilbert’s hand, holding the other man at sword point.
“I win,” he said, easily, and then sheathed his sword at his side. He didn’t look back to Gilbert as he approached Alfred. And when he smiled, there was no hard glint in his eyes as before, but rather a sunny expression that actually, for half a moment, put Alfred ill at ease. “What is it, Alfred?”
Alfred looked up at him, and frowned to himself. Gilbert, muttering about how this shit isn’t my business, wandered off to clean his guns again, as always. Antonio continued to look down at Alfred.
“Did you wish to learn sword-fighting?” Antonio asked, smiling cheerfully. “Sometimes watching can help, but it’s also good to get hands-on experience. I’m sorry if you didn’t feel it was a gain-I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
Alfred quickly shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about swords.”
“Aaah,” Antonio said with a sigh. He dropped down next to Alfred, smiling still. “What, then?”
“What I’m-um. Arthur,” Alfred said, his frown only deepening even as Antonio’s smile widened. “Is what I’m doing with Arthur a benefit for myself, or is it some kind of… strange thing that you European countries do to each other?”
“A strange thing?” Antonio mimicked.
“Are you using me to get back at Arthur? Or is this really for my own good that you two suggested this in the first place?”
Antonio continued to look at him, betraying nothing behind his smile. Then he hummed slowly, brows knitting together and crossing his arms, deep in thought.
And then the smile dimmed just slightly as he sighed. “Sometimes,” he said, voice surprisingly quiet, “necessary evils must be committed, and it is important not to let them haunt you.”
Alfred stared at him in shock.
Antonio’s smile was back. “If you believe it’s necessary, then you should not hesitate.”
Alfred felt a little too cold. Antonio stood up, adjusting his collar, smiling all the while.
“Do you truly believe that?” Alfred asked.
“Do you believe what you’re doing is right, ultimately?” Antonio asked. “If it means your independence, will you do it?”
Alfred had to tear his eyes away. He bit his bottom lip.
“If you believe so, does it matter what other’s motives may be? Sometimes it’s better not to see other’s motives at all,” Antonio said.
And before he waited for Alfred’s response, he ambled away, in the vague direction Gilbert had drifted off to. Alfred watched him go, feeling his heart tight in his throat and not quite sure why.
He stood and went back inside, finding Francis lounging in a chair, fanning himself despite the chill in the air, and trying to dash away a headache, evidently.
He smiled at Alfred. “Did you have a pleasant conversation?”
“You heard that, then,” Alfred said with a sigh and sank down into his chair. “Necessary evils. Huh.”
“Indeed,” Francis said, voice a velvet purr. “Alfred, I must tell you. If you wish to stop it, if you feel compromised, it will be simple enough to end it. Just do not return. End it now.”
Alfred felt something twitch inside him. “I don’t feel compromised. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Perhaps you are not as disengaged from your feelings as I’d originally suspected,” Francis said, in a way that suggested no true remorse but perhaps some thoughtfulness. He ceased fanning his face, staring instead at Alfred with inquisitive eyes that left Alfred feeling uneasy.
“What are you talking about?” Alfred muttered.
“Perhaps it would have been better if you’d been indifferent to our dear Arthur, rather than hate him. Hatred, after all, is such a passionate emotion. And the line is so incredibly thin, the one between hatred and lo-”
“Stop it,” Alfred snapped. “I’m not feeling compromised. I’m don’t care what I do to Arthur, if it means my independence. And Arthur is fooled-he has to be fooled. He’s sentimental, he’s foolish-”
“Then why,” Francis said, tilting his head. “Are you hesitating now?”
“I’m not,” Alfred insisted.
“I wonder,” Francis murmured. He looked up to the ceiling for a moment, thoughtful. “Is it more destructive to be taken by surprise by a betrayal, or to know the betrayal is coming all along and still allowing for it to happen? Which is more pathetic, Alfred?”
“… What do you mean?” Alfred asked, a chill running down his spine. He stood up, feeling his eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, Francis. But. I’m okay. I’m not hesitating. I was just wondering-thinking out loud. I know what I have to do. I know what I’ll do-there’s no guilt, there’s no hesitation. I am not compromised.”
He turned away, wandering towards the exit.
He paused, looking back over at Francis. He frowned, but Francis just watched him calmly.
Alfred said, quietly, and hated that his voice cracked for half a moment, “I hate him. So I’ll do whatever I can to get my freedom.”
He turned away and said no more.
Once he had left the room, Francis smiled after him, a sad, slow smile. He said, quietly, to himself: “Perhaps I have made a mistake in this.”