Arthur's still struggling with the way becoming an Omega is changing him, both on an emotional level and in the way in which he is treated.
Arthur had never felt so humiliated. Alfred stood across the room with a cold, stony look in his eye. It was obvious the man was not happy. Arthur did not like feeling this way. This shame. 'Normal Arthur' would be furious. As far as 'Normal Arthur' would be concerned, he was well within his rights to defend himself.
Alfred, without saying a word, moved across the divide between the bed and the vanity table and pulled out the chair. He sat down on its intricately embroidered cushion and faced Arthur again. He softly tapped his knee once.
Alfred had not uttered a word in all of the time between the disaster and returning to the room. He had no need for such things. Instead, he let his scent and his glare speak for him. Arthur, desperate to ignore him, couldn't help but notice Alfred's expensive evening ware crumple under him. They're going to wrinkle, he thought to himself, going to painstaking lengths to avoid looking directly at Alfred's face. He tried to pretend he had no idea what Alfred wanted him to do.
Arthur had done plenty of shameful things since arriving at this castle, but never- never -would he stoop so low. Arthur lungs constricted. Not entirely new, but this was different. Unlike those other times when he was reprimanded for unqueenly behavior and felt suffocated, Arthur felt legitimately scared. No, it was more than that. He was scared shitless of disobeying. He did not feel unlike a man being squeezed by an enormous snake that constricted more with every struggle. Arthur was finally getting the hang of smells and pheromones, and yet, he was overwhelmed by Alfred's scent. Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to focus only on stemming the tears threatening to well up in his eyes.
"Arthur" growled Alfred, in a low voice. Arthur made the mistake of looking up at him. He caught Alfred's eye and couldn't look away. The were the color of ice.
Arthur couldn't stop himself. He took an unsteady step forward. Then another. He stopped just in front of Alfred, eyes still glued to his. Arthur felt Alfred take his hand. The irony of such a gentle touch before such a horrific violation was not lost on him. Alfred pulled his arm out and pushed down on Arthur's lower back until the man was bent fully over his knee. The sound of Alfred pushing up his shirt sleeves hung in the air. All Arthur could do was train his eyes on the floor. He was just spectacularly stupefied. He couldn't think. Thoughts crashed into each other, pulled together and broke apart.
Alfred was saying something. Arthur knew this, but the sounds were unintelligible to him. All he understood was that an eternity passed in the seconds between the last thing Alfred said and the first hit. Arthur jolted forward, dislodging a wayward tear. He watched it crash into the carpet, a spectacular event in his own world.
"Count" said Alfred. Arthur, by some miracle, heard him over the whooshing in his ears. 'Normal Arthur' would have told him to go fuck himself. This Arthur could only settle for a strangled "...One"