Arthur has gone through much. He has been tortured for months, yet still smiles: he has horrifying nightmares, yet laughs: he cries at night as his Empire crumbles, yet still loves Alfred.
Alfred knows it's selfish, but he desires Arthur. They sleep with each other at night, but have never gone farther- Alfred fears what will happen.
So, when Arthur reaches for his collar and leans up to kiss him one night on the couch, Alfred's eyes jolt open in surprise. Arthur pulls back, smiling.
"Why did you do that?" Alfred asks.
"Because I love you," Arthur replies simply.
At night, they lay together under the sheets, Arthur curled into Alfred's protective arms. As the moon shines down on the bed from the window, Arthur confesses tearfully for the first time that he was raped during his imprisonment in the war they've fought together. Though he doesn't remember much, he shudders fearfully when telling Alfred. It's imprinted into his mind that sex is painful, something used to torture another.
Overcome with rage, Alfred feels the need to murder anyone who has ever looked at the person he adores. His need to lay Arthur down and show him his love grows as he wraps Arthur in a tight embrace, as he lets Arthur sob into his shoulder. Something as special as Arthur's first time has been tainted: Alfred finds his fingers trembling in sheer anger as they brush through Arthur's hair. Ugly men with ugly hearts and ugly minds have stolen something that cannot be replaced, something that Alfred is sure Arthur dreamed about being beautiful.
Time passes, and Alfred hopes it will heal Arthur's mental wounds.
A certain evening, Alfred walks into their low-lit room and catches Arthur's figure, naked. He was caught changing- face flushed, Arthur stares at Alfred with wide green eyes, and Alfred mirrors him. In a trance, they gaze at each other.
Jolting back into reality, Alfred demands of himself not to spook him- slowly, he approaches Arthur, trying to disguise the shake in his voice as he whispers emotively, "You're beautiful."
Arthur's eyes widen, if possible, and well up. Gently Alfred touches his forearm, watching Arthur's reactions carefully. He's never wanted Arthur more in his life, it seems, and at the same time, he's never wanted to not hurt Arthur more in his life- he's absolutely torn on what to do. Thankfully, he's spared the decision: Arthur makes the first move, tilting his head up and kissing him.
Chastely and lovingly, lips press together, reassuring against scared. Arthur's hands shake- he wants Alfred just as much as Alfred wants him. The fear and pain of his first time, however, is imprinted in his mind. It makes him tremble, makes him cling to Alfred, trying to remind himself he is safe.
Alfred breaks away, hovering close to Arthur's face. Their noses touch, rubbing softly together, as Alfred whispers, "You don't have to do anything you don't want."
Green eyes well with tears, and Arthur simply replies, "I want you, Al."
They end up on the bed somehow, Alfred's shirt on the ground as he hovers over Arthur's figure. He wears only an unbuttoned white flannel- he stares up at Alfred, trusting. Alfred stares back, gently asking, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Arthur smiles, tilts his head. Alfred smiles, too, and places his forearms on each side of Arthur's head, trailing lips down his jaw, fingers curling with Arthur's above his head. Arthur shivers, tilts his head back: Alfred mouths at his throat, hands sliding down his chest. The sheer amount of feeling that runs through both at this level of intimacy is powerful.
Arthur, though beautiful, is a man, and a strong one, an Empire. He has muscle- though he is lean, he is not skinny, and he is certainly not feminine. Alfred takes note that he is, however, very sensitive- as he gently nips Arthur's inner thigh, an involuntary shudder of pleasure runs through the smaller.
Smiling, Alfred decides such sensitivity suits him. He reminds himself to take it slow, returning to Arthur's face and kissing the bridge of his nose. "Good?"
Arthur nods breathlessly, green eyes half-lidded. Fingers tangle in the bedsheets as their lips touch. Alfred's eyes jolt open as Arthur's legs slide around his waist, drawing their hips close. Burying his face in Arthur's shoulder, he tries to suppress the quickly growing desire that courses through him.
Breathily, Arthur moans out, voice drifting through the quiet, sun-illuminated room. It's one of the most beautiful sounds Alfred has ever heard.
They rock gently together for what seems long, yet not long enough. Alfred loses himself in Arthur's touch, the scent of his skin, his sweat. He hears Arthur's soft pants and gasps, watches as he arches his back just slightly, fingers trailing down Alfred's back. How he had ever lived without experiencing Arthur in this way, Alfred can't fathom.
Gazing down at Arthur, Alfred takes in the lovely sight of green eyes peering up at him, trusting and loyal. He takes in the sight of someone so incredible that he would become vulnerable to please the one he loves. Overcome with emotion, Alfred lowers his head to Arthur's, breathing out, "You okay, sweetheart?"
Arthur doesn't fancy terms of endearment, and yet he smiles, arms winding around Alfred's neck. "I'm okay. Feels good," he murmurs, and though his cheeks are flushed, he truly looks happy.
Alfred smiles, feels teary-eyed that he knows Arthur would trust him to the extent that he'd give himself to him, and whispers, "Good."
It seems like an eternity passes as they move against each other, skin sliding against skin, breathy gasps and soft cries echoing through the room. Alfred distinctly becomes aware of Arthur's petite fingers as they grip his shoulders, slide down and grip his strong biceps. Green eyes peer up at his, face flushed with unbridled pleasure, as Arthur keens, "America... Meri..."
Alfred's heart jumps in his chest. "Iggs?"
A soft sob falls from Arthur's lips. "Let me... Let me come, please, Meri."
Alfred's eyes widen, and his entire body shudders with Arthur's words. His lips brush Arthur's, whispering, "Of course you can. Whenever you need."
With a soft cry, Arthur arches his back, his chest pressing flush against Alfred's, and his head tilts backwards in bliss as he releases. Alfred's mind goes blank as he follows, grasping Arthur close to his body.
They collapse against the bed heavily, a tangle of limbs and sweat, sticky and hot, but Alfred has never felt more content than he does now. He noses Arthur's cheek, whispers, "Are you okay?"
Arthur's eyes hazily focus on him. Alfred realises he is probably suffocating Arthur by laying his heavy body on him and abruptly moves to push himself up, but Arthur quickly reaches out for his arms. He smiles lovingly and murmurs, "Don't move. I... I like it." He looks embarrassed admitting such a thing, but still gazes at Alfred. He's completely, absolutely vulnerable- beautiful.
Alfred smiles, praises whatever higher power that blessed him with such a beautiful person whom he didn't deserve, who didn't mind his weight as he laid on him, who trusted him though he'd been hurt, who showed him vulnerability even though to show vulnerability to another nation could be dangerous. He slowly lays back down on top of Arthur, reaching for the blanket and covering them. Arthur's arms wound around his neck, hands curling into his hair, and he smiles, too.