IDK, I honestly have no idea why I wrote this or why I deemed it good enough to go on the internet, but hey, here's a thing which I typed with my fingers and thought with my brain...

TBH, this is as close to smut as you'll probably ever get from me, so soak it up while it's good.

It's also a prequel to both 'Downpour' and 'It's in the Brows', I used their human names because smut with country names is all kinds of awkward... well, even more so than it is right now.

Enjoy! ;)

"Oh fu- shit, yes..."

Alistair bit his lip hard, pressing his ear just a little harder into the wall and closing his eyes with a shaky breath. He was an awful big brother, oh god this was awful, but he just couldn't bring himself to push away from that wall...

That wall...

Arthur was on the other side of that wall.

Arthur was on the other side of that wall, moaning and huffing and pleasuring himself and Alistair couldn't stop listening!

He simultaneously cursed and thanked whatever god wanted to listen that the wall was as thin as paper, because Arthur's moans were just-

"Mmn god yes... Oh!"

...Breathy and desperate and so fucking delicious. He wanted to break through the wall and swallow them whole, pin Arthur's hands above his head and take over where it had left off. He wanted to see the flush he knew was colouring Arthur's cheeks, and neck, and chest, and-

Alistair stifled a groan through his hand, knowing above all else he couldn't be caught, because he was truly an idiot if he thought his brother would look at him, be near him, want him, if he knew. No, he could never know his big brother was pleasuring himself to the sounds of him pleasuring himself, pleasuring himself to the sounds of his moans and bliss-clouded mumbling through the thin plaster of the wall which separated their bedrooms.

Arthur's breathing was heavier now, interspersed with quiet mutters which didn't quite make it through the wall, and moans which went right to his crotch.

Then Arthur let out a long and desperate keen, muffled still, but Alistair heard it.

And Alistair had to bite down hard on his hand, so hard he was sure he was close to drawing blood, because he realized something that pushed him so close to the edge that he was sure he was going to finish. But he couldn't yet Arthur still had to- and he was...

Oh god, he's fingering himself...

The muttering grew steadily louder, interspersed with long groans of pleasure, and moments of silence in which Alistair was forced to hear only his own staggered breaths and rapid heartbeat.

"Fuck! Yes! A-ahl-" The rest of whatever Arthur was going to say was abruptly cut off.

Alistair let out an unsteady breath as the image of Arthur gagging himself with a pillow entered his mind, the hand that was working himself squeezing just a little, and making him have to stifle his own groan. His climax was coming, he could feel it, and no matter how much he wished he never had to stop listening, he could tell Arthur was almost done too. He could hear it in the harsh breaths he let out, and the desperate noises he was trying so hard to stifle.

And then Arthur let out possibly the most arousing noise Alistair had ever heard, a beautiful mixture of a cry of absolute bliss and need, and Alistair couldn't hold it back any longer. He bit down so hard on his hand that this time he tasted blood, and coughed back his groan as he heard Arthur reach his own climax on the other side of the wall. He slumped forward, letting out a hard breath, but being careful to remain as quiet as possible, if there ever was a time he was going to get found out, it was now.

After a few moments of waiting and calming his breaths and heart to a reasonable speed, he heard something move in the other room before the sound of a door opening and closing and then absolute silence.

Alistair sat back, reaching for a box of tissues and doing his best to ignore all the guilt balling up in his chest.

"What the fuck are you thinking?" he growled lowly to himself after a moment of sitting and staring at where the dirtied and wadded up tissues sat just shy of the bin, "He doesn't- Oh god..."

And they said France was the pervert, at least he doesn't-

He couldn't bring himself to finish that thought, and instead chose to curl himself into as small a ball as a six-foot, fairly burly Scotsman can make, closing his eyes and dreaming sinfully delicious dreams, in which he was on the other side of that wall and Arthur was making those noises for him, because of him, with him, and desperately hoping to never wake up.

When Arthur went looking for Alistair the next morning, deciding that his brother had slept in long enough, all he found was a clean, made bed, and a note on the bedside table which read;

Artie,

Had to go home, don't ask why, I just really needed to leave.

See you whenever your boss next gets mad at me,

Alistair.

Arthur only rolled his eyes and threw it toward the bin, the paper falling just shy of its goal, and returned to the kitchen, where the smell of burning toast drifted up to tickle at his nose, letting all thoughts of Alistair and his cryptic notes leave his mind. For now, at least, he was sure Alistair would re-enter his thoughts again soon enough, at least next time he wouldn't be just in the next room...