Chapter Text
Alfred always hated watching Arthur get drunk. It made him deeply uncomfortable to watch the usually proud, reserved nation turn into a complete mess after just a bit of alcohol.
The only thing worse than watching Arthur get drunk, was watching him get drunk around the other European nations.
Alfred enjoyed a beer as much as the next guy, but he didn’t understand the appeal of getting so paralytic you can hardly stand. Arthur and the rest of the European nations were ancient compared to him, how could they be so immature and careless? Normally, he left before they got in this state, but Matthew had gotten sick earlier in the night and Alfred had made the mistake of taking his brother to his own hotel room and leaving the keycard with him. Until Matthew woke up Alfred was stuck with nowhere to go. This world meeting was being held on a snowy mountain in Switzerland, it wasn’t exactly like he could find another hotel.
Alfred sat off to the sides, nursing a beer that had long gone tepid, watching as Arthur made a fool of himself. He was sat, jammed into a booth with a bunch of the others- Spain, the Italies, Germany, Prussia, Hungary and of course France. All of them were red-faced and blurry eyed. Still, somehow, Arthur managed to be sloppiest of all of them; his shirt was halfway undone, random buttons inexplicably missing, the previously crisp white was stained red from the vodka cranberry he’d spilled down himself.
Arthur was laughing obnoxiously at something that certainly wasn’t even funny and seemed either completely uncaring or completely oblivious to the hand Francis had squeezed on his thigh.
Alfred tried to ignore the flare of anger deep inside his chest at that, and the part of him that wondered how it might feel. Francis and Arthur weren’t the only ones being tactile; North Italy had his head in Hungary’s lap, she played with his hair as if he were a child and not a grown man, on his other side, his legs were intertwined with Germany’s. Even the normally sensible Germany was in a misty-eyed stupor. Prussia kept wrapping his arms around Romano’s waist, and despite being in a relationship, neither Spain nor Romano seemed to care in that moment.
The European nations were so salacious. Their behaviour was downright degenerate- the way they swapped partners and slept with each other like it meant absolutely nothing. Nearly all of them had slept with each other, multiple times, across hundreds of years. Some of them used to be great kingdoms and empires, but now- They were all obsessed with each other, constantly preoccupied with their petty dramas, nonsense squabbles and sex lives.
Alfred hardly ever voiced his concerns out loud because he knew Francis would just accuse him of being a puritan, but didn’t they see it was immoral?
Even though Alfred would call them friends, there was an invisible dividing line between him and the rest of Europe. Alfred may be the centre of attention at meetings and other events, but he still always felt different, never quite fitting in.
Alfred didn’t want to fit in.
Arthur- England- wasn’t like the rest of Europe. He wasn’t really European. He was normally right alongside Alfred, complaining about how effuse the rest of Europe was, how over involved they where with each other. Arthur cringed right alongside Alfred at Francis and the others’ insistence of greeting by kissing on the cheeks. Arthur prefers a firm handshake the same way Alfred does, Arthur likes being in nature, the same as Alfred, going on hikes, camping, fishing, visiting historical sites. Good, wholesome activities, the type that show a nation’s strength and moral fibre.
At least when Arthur’s sober.
Alfred hears even more raucous laughter and looks up from his drink to see Arthur now standing up on the table, tottering around, pulling his shirt open, apparently performing some sloppy version of a strip tease. Arthur hadn’t seemed to realise the others were laughing at him, not with him.
Arthur’s shirt, now completely undone, exposed smooth chest and a faint trail of light-coloured hair that went down past his naval.
Alfred felt something warm pool down to the pit of his stomach.
Anger, he decided. Anger at Arthur for publicly debasing himself.
Alfred found himself standing up, walking over to the group who were obnoxiously cheering and chanting ‘take it off’ as Arthur stumbled around on the table.
Alfred reached out and grabbed him- he wasn’t sure of the plan, exactly, but Arthur’s coordination was worse than he thought, and the Brit skittered forwards, practically falling into Alfred’s arms.
He smelled like a brewery, but Alfred could feel his warmth, how slight his frame was pressed against Alfred’s, how easy it was to support Arthur’s full weight. The heat pooled in Alfred’s stomach turned into a furnace.
Instead of anger, which would be Arthur’s normal reaction if Alfred grabbed him without warning, the Brit looked up at him and gave him a warm, drunken smile.
“Alfred, when did you ger’ here?” Arthur slurred, his arms still wrapped around Alfred, clinging to him.
“Been here the whole time, dude.” Alfred said. He wasn’t used to fading into the background, but then, he never usually stayed this late into the night. Alfred tried to pry Arthur off him, because for some reason the proximity felt overwhelming.
“Oh. Really? Then come join ush.’” Arthur said, still with that idiotic grin. “We’re playing dares- “
There was a chorus of ‘yes, come join us’ from the others from the others. Suddenly, they weren’t friends or other nations, the people sat at that table were demons, trying to tempt Alfred straight down the path to hell.
Alfred imagined himself, sitting here, drinking himself stupid with the others squeezing Arthur’s thigh the way Francis had.
Alfred shook his head.
He grabbed Arthur’s wrists, more firmly this time and pulled them from his shoulders perhaps a little harsher than necessary. He needed some distance between them.
“Mattie’s in my room, with my key. I need to stop in your room tonight. You’ve got two beds, right?” Alfred said to him. Arthur nodded, his reaction slightly delayed as he comprehended what the other was saying.
“Oh. Yes. I suppose that will be alright-“ Arthur said fishing around the pocket of his trousers for his card.
“Can we go now? I’m tired.” Alfred asked. He just wanted to get Arthur away from the others who only seemed to want to corrupt and humiliate him.
“Don’t worry lad, I’ll give you my key.” Arthur said, holding it out. “This is awfully late for you- “
It almost felt perverse, hearing Arthur speaking to him like his usual sensible self when he was like this- shirt undone and looking downright obscene.
“Ugh, you’re dumb when you drink, Artie. We both have to go or you’ll be locked out like I am.” Alfred said, he could hear a whine creep into his voice, and suddenly he was a kid again, tugging at Arthur’s shirt, asking him to come up and read him a story while his mentor was preoccupied with his boring adult dinner guests.
Behind them, Prussia had now gotten onto the table and was repeating the same demented strip-show Arthur had just been attempting.
“It’s fine, Alfred, I’ll find somewhere else. You get some sleep.” Arthur said. How could he sound so condescending when he was so drunk he was hardly conscious?
Francis appeared, leaned in from behind and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, pulling him close, nuzzling his face against the other’s neck.
“Rosbif, it appears we have no choice but to share a room.” The French man said. “And I only have one bed.”
Arthur should have punched him. He would have done if he was in his right mind, but instead, the drunken idiot allowed Francis to rub his disgusting lecherous hands across his bare skin. Arthur was laughing and offered only a half-hearted ‘get off.’
Arthur was so pliant and mailable, nothing like the strong nation he was supposed to be. He was letting the other nations take complete advantage of him. It made Alfred sick.
Alfred watched, transfixed, that rage boiling inside of him mingling with something else, another feeling he didn’t want to address.
Arthur seemed to belatedly realise that Alfred was still standing there. He held out the card again, seemingly unbothered by the fact he was still sat in Francis’ lap.
“Here.” He said. The sober England would never let Alfred see him like this. How was he not ashamed? How could he pick these intoxicated dumbasses over going back with Alfred? -Alfred was supposed to be Arthur’s favourite-.
Alfred was going to snatch the card off him and storm back to the room alone, but then Prussia paused his dancing and knelt down on the table, the nation who was usually a neat freak was totally unbothered by the spilled beer soaking into his jeans. “Maybe I lost my room key also.” He said to Francis and Arthur, voice husky and red eyes intense. He cackled. “Maybe I vill need to sleep over too.”
That was the final straw. Alfred lunged forwards and grabbed Arthur, dragging him off Francis’ lap, absolutely with more force than was needed. Arthur would have face-planted the floor if Alfred hadn’t caught him at the last moment.
“Hey- Alfred! What on earth?” Arthur spluttered, tripping over his own feet as he was dragged away.
Alfred didn’t have anything he wanted to say to him, he was beyond furious. His heart was thundering in his chest and his body felt as if it were aflame, his mind was filled with degenerate images of Arthur, Francis and Gilbert together, what they would of been doing while Alfred went back to the room alone, how they had probably done it before. How could Arthur be so happy to ruin himself.
There was a disgusting part of Alfred that was aroused by the thought. He hated Arthur for making him think that way.
“I need help finding the room. I’ll bring him back.” Alfred called to Prussia and Francis, who were whining and looking dangerously close to following.
“You could figure that out yourshelf- i haven’ finished my drink yet- Ow!” Arthur cried out, when Alfred purposefully tightened his grip. “Ah! That hurts, you idiot!- “
“Good.” Alfred muttered. He wanted to hurt Arthur in that moment, just a little bit.
Alfred felt a wave of relief once they were outside the bar, in the safe, quiet, well-lit corridor of the hotel. He let go of Arthur’s wrists and took off his own jacket, putting it over the other’s shoulders. He didn’t need anyone else seeing Arthur in this state of undress.
“Alfred, what was that for- “ Arthur whined. “I washn’t done- “
“Yes you are.” Alfred said coldly. “You’re too drunk. You’re a mess. Now let’s go. You need to drink some water and sleep it off.”
Arthur pouted like a goddamn child and actually stamped his foot. “I didn’t wanna leave yet.” He said. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Why? You that desperate for France to feel you up some more?” Alfred snarled. Arthur apparently hadn’t picked up on how angry he was. He laughed.
“I was jus’ having fun.” Arthur said.
“You think this is fun? You’re an embarrassment.” Alfred snapped at him. Arthur, still not sensing the danger, giggled an uncontrollable giddy sound that made Alfred want to gag him. This person in front of him wasn’t Arthur. It was most like a succubus inhabiting his body
“Thas’ how grown-ups have fun.” Arthur declared, putting his hands on his hips in a manner he probably thought looked authoritative. “I’m the bloody British Empire and nobody tells me my night is o’er until I decide it is. I’m not even that drunk. I’m fine. I’m the British Empire.. The British Empire- “
Arthur went to turn in the direction of the bar. Alfred grabbed him by the forearms and pressed him into the wall. It was so easy to manoeuvre him it was laughable. Alfred’s jacket fell from his shoulders somewhere in the struggle.
“The British Empire. That’s right. You used to be great.” Alfred said to him. He could feel the softness of Arthur’s skin beneath his hands. “Now you’re this- you’re a pathetic mess who lets the countries you should be trying to conquer take advantage of you.”
“Get off- “
“Make me.” Alfred said back. “Oh wait. You can’t. You’re so defenceless like this, anyone could do anything to you. Don’t you care about that?”
“Shtop being ridiculous.” Arthur said, as he struggled to get free, limbs useless and disocoordinated.
“What was he going to do with you tonight?” Alfred asked, voice low. “Francis. What where you going to let him do?”
“I- Well- I hardly think that’s any of your business.” Arthur spluttered, going red. So they had slept together before. It was something Alfred had strongly suspected but could never bring himself to acknowledge.
Alfred went ridged, tensing his whole body, telling himself repeatedly not to do something he would regret, something like storming back to the bar and knocking Francis out. He breathed deeply, willing himself to maintain some type of rationality.
The two of them where close enough now that Alfred could see the faint freckles on Arthur’s cheek, the flecks of yellow in his green eyes, how pink his nipples where, only half-concealed by the white shirt. Arthur had long lashes and features that could almost be called delicate.
He was pretty. It was a fact that Alfred usually did a good job of ignoring. He preferred to think of his former mentor as a stuffy old man, he didn’t want to notice things like how soft his skin looked, or how bright his eyes were.
Their bodies were again pressed together and Alfred swore he could feel their hearts beating in unison. Alfred felt a deep hunger inside him, one he knew Arthur was responsible for.
He wondered if he kissed Arthur now, would he resist. Alfred had seen Francis pull Arthur in for a kiss plenty of times and vice versa when they had been drinking together. Alfred dismissed the thought that’s totally disgusting.
Alfred spotted the door to one of the lounges, and without even thinking about it, he dragged Arthur inside. It was empty, of course, given the hour.
Arthur struggled against him, predictably weak and uncoordinated. Even without his inhuman strength, Alfred would be able to restrain him with ease. Once they were inside, Alfred pushed him, hard enough that Arthur went sprawling out onto the floor.
“Ow- Careful! Y’ bloody idiot- “
Arthur picked himself up onto his knees, he flicked his gaze up to Alfred. He was started to look nervous. Alfred would be lying if he said he didn’t revel in the way Arthur’s eyes widened with fear when he finally realised how angry Alfred was.
“Alfred. Was’ wrong?” Arthur asked. There was something endearing about him when he was nervous, Alfred had always thought that.
Alfred closed the door behind him, being sure to turn the lock- he didn’t want anyone walking in. Despite all his thoughts on morals and purity he could feel himself becoming aroused and his jeans tightening.
“Alfred, what are you locking the door for? We can go back to my room thas’ what you want, isn’t it? To sleep.” Arthur said, going to stand up. Alfred pushed him back down onto the floor. He fell as gracelessly as a marionette with the strings cut.
“This is your own fault, you know.” Alfred said. “I mean, what did you think would happen? Getting yourself so drunk? Throwing yourself at people? Are you stupid?”
Arthur was looking up at him, he was sprawled out on his back, unbuttoned shirt fanned out, trousers slightly undone revealing jutting hipbones, hair swept across his forehead, face flushed, wanton expression.
Arthur licked his lips which were pink and swollen from alcohol. God. He had to be doing that on purpose. There must be part of Arthur that was trying to tempt Alfred intentionally.
He looked downright salacious.
Alfred stood over him, feet planted either side of him. A throbbing part of him wanted to take Arthur right then and there- to smash their lips together and fuck him hard on the carpet.
Someone was going to do this to Arthur tonight. It may as well be Alfred.
But no. That would be wrong. Alfred wasn’t like that and besides, Arthur was a man, and Arthur.
“I- Alfred, if this is about the room key- “ Arthur said. He looked at Alfred’s crotch then away quickly. Even in his drunken state he must of realised the other was aroused. Alfred felt a wave of shame.
“You did this to me. You made me think of you like this. I didn’t want that.. I didn’t.” Alfred was struggling to articulate himself, to explain how his reactions to Arthur weren’t his fault. “I just want you to be my friend and my mentor. Not this. It’s like you’ve infected me!”
He wasn’t sure Arthur could even understand half of what he was saying. He had that look on his face that meant he was probably only one drink away from puking or passing out.
“I don’ get it. Whatever I’ve done- I’m sorry, okay? Now can we go.” Arthur said, looking up at him with those green eyes and that dumb expression on his face that made him look paradoxically innocent and tempting at the same time. There was non of their usual sharpness. This wasn’t Arthur.
Alfred had tried to do the right thing, he had tried to cover Arthur and take him back to the room. It was Arthur who wouldn’t listen. He really needed to learn that this behaviour wasn’t acceptable. Alfred needed to release these feelings somehow, aside from the obvious.
“Stand up.” Alfred commanded, voice sounding oddly calm. “Pull your pants down and put your hands on the wall.”
Arthur stared up at Alfred in disbelief. Perhaps if his brain wasn’t so addled with alcohol he could understand the situation better. Was Alfred playing some sort of prank on him right now?
Alfred’s expression was hard and his jaw was set tight. There was no signs of any of the usual lightness in his face.
“What?” Arthur asked, sure he must of misheard.
“God. You’re fucking unbearable when you’re drunk.” Alfred said, looking down on him. Arthur was still laid on the floor between the other’s legs. Legs Arthur was trying very hard not to look between so he could ignore what was happening there. “Stand up, pull your pants down, then put your arms on the wall. Or are you gonna make me do it for you?”
Arthur stood up on unsteady feet, trying to ignore the way the room span for a moment.
Arthur looked at Alfred, trying to make eye contact, searching for a shred of familiarity or warmth in that cold expression. There was none. Just a hunger that Arthur didn’t want to acknowledge.
“S’been a long night. I think we could both do with some rest.” Arthur said, hoping that if he could just act like everything was normal then Alfred would follow. Unfortunately that didn’t happened. When Arthur attempted to walk towards the door, Alfred rolled his eyes. Arthur felt a hand grip the back of his hair and next thing his face was being pressed into the arm of the sofa, forcing him to bend at the waist at an awkward angle. His heart raced in his chest while his mind raced to catch up with what was happening.
“If you had just listened to me in the first place this wouldn’t have happened.” He heard Alfred say from somewhere close behind him.
Then to Arthur’s horror, he felt a hand around his waistband, pulling his jeans down. Instinctually, Arthur attempted to turn and pull those hands away, only to find his face being pressed into in sofa even harder. He couldn’t beat Alfred in a fight sober, let alone now.
“Alfred, stop this nonsense and let’s go to bed.” Arthur said in the most authoritative tone he could manage in his current predicament. He just needed to get through to Alfred, to remind him of how things are. He heard the sound of a humourless chuckle behind him.
“I don’t know how you can act like a whore all night and then still speak to me like that.” Alfred said. “It’s pretty twisted. It makes me sick. It’s like you’re trying to mess with my head.”
As he spoke, Arthur felt his trousers being fully pulled down. His heart was in his throat. He didn’t dare ask Alfred what he was doing.
Arthur tried mentally to come up with excuses or other explanations for this situation besides the very obvious one. Alfred wouldn’t do this. Alfred was like a brother to him.
It was strange, moments earlier Arthur hadn’t cared about stripping in a room full of people, now he felt exposed and vulnerable.
Arthur heard Alfred undoing his own belt buckle and his blood truly started to run cold. He froze in position. “I- I don’t think- “ Arthur stammered. “I don’t think- this is a good idea.”
“Oh. So now you want to be sensible.”
Arthur bit his tongue. He didn’t dare plead for Alfred to stop. The thing that terrified him more than the thought of what Alfred might do to him was the possibility that Alfred might not stop even if Arthur begged and fought him. That was something he truly couldn’t live with.
If Arthur laid still and didn’t fight, he’d at least be able to tell himself Alfred would have stopped if he really wanted him to.
“Don’t move.” Alfred commanded, and the hand holding his head down was removed. Arthur immediately turned around, once again desperate to make eye contact with Alfred, he was sure that if he did, the other would magically come to his senses. He was once again met with cold blue eyes.
“We can’t.” Arthur said quickly. “I don’t have any protection.”
He hoped if all else failed an appeal to logic might work.
“You’re so fucking gross, dude. Is that what you thought I was going to do?” Alfred snarled, voice full of disdain. “And you would just let me? That’s pathetic.”
For some reason, Arthur didn’t feel any ounce of relief at that, just further confusion. Alfred’s trousers were still up and fully intact but his belt was in his hand. Arthur felt his mouth go dry as he finally fully understood what Alfred was intending to do.
“This- This prank is going too far now- “
“I told you not to move. Keep your head down, or else. Don’t you dare look back.” Alfred said.
Arthur had tried everything. He couldn’t reason with Alfred, he certainly couldn’t overpower him. Could he call for help? He’d rather die. Shame coursing through his body and feeling every bit as weak and pathetic as Alfred told him he was, Arthur did as he was told and put his head back down.
Submitting to any nation was humiliating, having to with Alfred, was mortifying beyond belief.
Why was Alfred doing this? Arthur didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand. He wanted to be able to still think of Alfred as a loveable goofball, he wanted to continue ignoring the darkness he occasionally sensed, the hostility that was festering behind those blue eyes that came out only in brief flashes. Maybe it was in the nature of all nations, deep down, to want to dominate those around them.
Even though he was expecting it, when the belt whipped against his ass, Arthur let out a yelp. The second time he managed to bite his lip, muffling the groan of pain that came with the sting of leather against his skin. He could feel the rage behind each lash, but he still couldn’t comprehend why Alfred was so angry at him- was this resentment something that had been brewing for years and Alfred was just taking the opportunity while Arthur was inebriated and weak? Did Alfred hate him that much? Was Arthur really such a terrible friend?
He felt sick, it was embarrassing and it hurt, the alcohol seemed to do precious little to mask the searing pain of skin. He heard nothing from Alfred but ragged breathing.
When Arthur was struck for what felt like the tenth time (he was not sober enough to actually keep track) something inside Arthur snapped.
He pulled his head up from the arm of the sofa and turned around. “Okay. That’s enough now, Alfred!” He shouted, hoping this time it would work and his authoritative tone would trigger something deep inside Alfred’s psyche.
Alfred was stood there, the belt in one hand- that was what Arthur’s eyes trained in on first. Then he noticed it- what Alfred was doing with his other hand. Both of them stared at each other, mortified, as Alfred came, white liquid dribbling over his knuckles.
The American seemed to shrink under Arthur’s gaze, the angry almost sadistic look in his eyes was gone, replaced by shame. “I told you not to turn around.” Alfred said in a small voice.
For a moment it had felt amazing; a warm glow spread through his body, bathing it in pure bliss. The sight of Arthur bent over for him, submitting to him was intoxicating. The sounds of Arthur’s moans convinced Alfred that he was into this too. Francis occasionally joked that Arthur was a masochist- so perhaps he was getting as much pleasure from this as Alfred was.
Now reality set in. Alfred was stood, cock out, in front of one of his closest friends, his former mentor, a man he once called brother, who frankly looked horrified, a disgusting trail of white liquid in his hand.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
A cold, all-consuming shame gripped Alfred, nearly crushing him in its icy grasp. Suddenly all the justifications that had filled his head moments earlier sounded like the pathetic ravings of a mad man. Alfred was supposed to be good and righteous. The worst part was, that Arthur now knew exactly how disgusting he was.
It’s Arthur’s fault- he made me think like this those words still swam around his head, but they were far less convincing now.
Alfred hastily stuffed himself inside his trousers and zipped them shut.
Arthur had done the same. He was looking everywhere else in the room but Alfred.
Alfred wished he would say something; give some indication of how he felt, even if it was just to yell at Alfred or cry.
Alfred could do little else but watch and hope the ground swallowed him up. “I didn’t.. I didn’t meant to.”
“Thas’ okay lad.” Arthur, slurred, still looking shell-shocked. “We all do daft things when we’re drunk.”
Alfred wasn’t drunk. In fact he was painfully, acutely sober right now.
“I- I didn’t mean to scare you or hurt you- “ Alfred rambled. His explanation of ‘teaching Arthur a lesson’ felt hollow now.
“I’m fine.” Arthur said, a tone of finality in his voice. “It was just a silly little prank that you did because you were drunk.”
What Alfred had just done went way beyond acceptable behaviour for even someone intoxicated. He wanted to grab Arthur and tell him that. But he also wanted the out, to accept the excuse Arthur was practically throwing at him.
“Sorry. I guess I’m not used to drinking.” Alfred said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
This was reality now. The one both of them wanted to believe in. For Alfred’s sanity and Arthur’s pride- what just happened was nothing but a silly little faux pas. Neither of them would acknowledge the white liquid marring Alfred’s hand.
It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like Alfred had badly hurt Arthur, or raped him like he was sure someone else would do if they found him in such a defenceless state. Alfred hadn’t done anything unforgivable, had he?
Arthur forced a smile that had to be one of the saddest things Alfred had ever seen. “Thas’ okay lad. Thas’ okay. Let’s both forget about it.” He said, walking towards the door, footsteps heavy. He walked past Alfred, not looking at him, eyes trained on the floor even as he turned the lock on the door.
Was Arthur really, truly just not going to acknowledge it? Part of Alfred felt a huge relief at that, but another more illogical part couldn’t help but feel strangely disappointed. Even now, Arthur still looked at him through rose-tinted glasses. He always ignored or downplayed whenever Alfred did something fucked up, re-contextualising his actions as something softer than the truth. That’s what Alfred wanted- he wanted Arthur to still cherish him and dote on him, he wanted Arthur to always view him as a good person.
However, there was a creeping uncomfortableness that came with that; Alfred sometimes felt like Arthur forced him into a narrow range of existence, smoothing off his sharp edges by never acknowledging them. Alfred was sure that even if he declared out loud ‘Hey, I just literally jerked off to whipping you’ Arthur would ignore it and think up some acceptable explanation that didn’t include Alfred having sexual feelings.
Alfred hadn’t been Arthur’s colony for hundreds of years and he had been an adult for longer than a human lifetime now, but still, it felt like part of Arthur was determined to infantilise him.
“Why did you let me do that?” Alfred choked out, the words spilling from him before he had a chance to stop himself. Arthur’s expression hardened.
“I haven’t been able to stop you from doing anything you wanted to do for the past hundred years or more.” He said, bitterly, sounding more sober than he had the whole night.
Alfred felt as if his blood had turned to ice. He wanted to tell Arthur it wasn’t like that, if Arthur had really begged him to stop, he would have done. He watched the other sway down the corridor, fumbling with his shirt, attempting to clasp the remaining buttons.
“Artie!” Alfred called out. He tried not to notice how Arthur flinched at the sound of his own name. He turned, still with that unhappy smile forced on his face. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and there was a strange bruise blooming on his jaw- perhaps where Alfred had pressed his face into the sofa.
“Yes?” He croaked out, looking at Alfred with wary eyes.
“Um- I don’t have my room key, remember? And you have two beds.” Alfred said, shifting from side to side. “So can I share with you? Do you mind?”
Arthur gave him an incredulous look, as if even he was momentarily surprised by America’s boldness. Alfred waited for an answer with baited breath.
“Well. Yes. That’s fine, I suppose.” Arthur said, finally. Alfred let out a sigh of relief; if Arthur was okay sharing the same room as Alfred then he must be fine. If he was really traumatised then there’s no way he would agree to that.
As they walked to the room together, Alfred told himself that this was proof Arthur didn’t hate him now and that was all that mattered.
Both of them prayed that Arthur wouldn’t remember in the morning.
Arthur locked himself in the bathroom as soon as they got into the room and promptly started puking up his guts into the toilet bowl.
His head was spinning and the nausea was overwhelming, it felt like he was in a ship cabin in a storm the way the room swayed side to side.
Outside the door, lying on the bed, Alfred was there. Sweet, naive Alfred, the one he’d mentored since childhood, the excitable nation who proclaimed to be a hero, the one who Arthur still thought of as an annoying but endearing little brother. The one who had just forced Arthur face down and ejacualted over him.
Arthur didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand. He wanted to be able to still think of Alfred as a loveable goofball, he wanted to continue ignoring the darkness he occasionally sensed, the rage that was festering behind those blue eyes that came out only in brief flashes.
Arthur coughed, the bile burning his throat, eyes watering. Arthur felt another wave of shame. How had he let himself get into that situation? Was he really so weak and pathetic?
Every time Arthur closed his eyes, he was back in that dark room, face down on the sofa, terrified. He had tried to struggle at first, but it became clear that it was futile.
The thing that Arthur had been most petrified of in that moment wasn’t what Alfred might do to him, it was that Alfred might not stop even if he begged and pleaded him to. So instead of having to face that possibility, for far too long, Arthur had just played dead and pretended he wasn’t really in his body.
God, he was pathetic.
Arthur shook his head. It was just a mistake. It isn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like Alfred raped him or really hurt him in any major way. Alfred always went too far roughhousing, it’s just like that. Even if he’d been alive for hundreds of years, maturity wise, Alfred was only just an adult, mistakes where to be expected. There wasn’t anything malicious about it. It was normal.
Arthur looked up at the fluorescent light, so bright they stung his eyes and cast the room in a sickly white glow. He clasped his hands together, sticky with sweat and spilled drinks, and prayed to whatever God was listening that he would forget all about this in the morning.