"...simply put, I'm in love with you, Alfred. As I said to Francis before, you were made to be worshipped."
Alfred Jones sighed in relief. He wouldn't have to reveal the secret of the portrait. However, Arthur's revelation unsettled him.
"You love me?"
Any attempt to cover Arthur's blush would have been in vain; it was like blood decorating a white rose.
"Yes."
Not knowing what he was doing, Alfred stood up from his seat and crossed over to Arthur, peering into his vulnerable green eyes. He placed his left hand where Arthur's lay trembling; with the other he lightly stroked Arthur's face. One heartbeat to the next, Alfred sealed their lips together.
It was like Arthur had awoken. He kissed back with youthful ferocity, clasping Alfred's face closer. Chasing the passionate sin of the kiss, Alfred let him.
The exchange soon became more heated: hands gripped at clothes with the suggestion to discard them, lips sealed on any visible skin, passionate words whispered into Alfred's ear. Alfred hadn't even noticed that he had climbed into Arthur's lap. Vaguely he remembered of Francis's words. "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield it." Arthur was Alfred's temptation; he would use him to his heart's content.
Arthur fiercely claimed Alfred's lips again, and Alfred ground his hips to Arthur's in kind. The action made both men groan. They continued grinding and kissing, taking pieces of each other for themselves. Alfred felt the front of his pants grow uncomfortably tight. Drawing back from Arthur's sinful mouth, he smirked. "Shall we take this further?"
Without taking a response, Alfred lifted himself from from the other man and began undressing. Arthur almost immediately followed suit.
The moment Arthur's bare chest was revealed, Alfred paused. Arthur was thin, almost delicate looking, a white rose in every way. Alfred couldn't wait to ravage him.
The both ripped off their clothing — and glasses in Alfred's case — leaving them only in their undergarments before they were at each other again. Alfred pushed Arthur to the floor and crawled on top of him. They both paused and looked into each other's eyes, as if to ask, "Do we continue?"
"I want you," Alfred said hurriedly.
"Then have me."
They resumed their heated kissing, tongues swiping and tasting. It soon became hungrier, a desperate game to get closer. Alfred began tracing Arthur's sides, making him shudder. Arthur himself had occupied his hands with gripping Alfred's shoulders and pressing him closer.
It was better than any kiss from Natalya.
Arthur's hands dipped underneath Alfred's undergarments, clearly implying what he wanted to do next. Alfred grinned and lifted himself enough to shimmy out of the reaming cloth. Arthur took the liberty to do the same. Finally, they were both exposed to and for each other.
"Make love to me," panted Arthur.
Alfred captured Arthur in a fervent kiss, and their hands resumed their wandering position. However, Alfred swooped lower until Arthur's throbbing length rested in his palm. Arthur moaned, and Alfred kissed the side of his sweet mouth. Following his instincts, Alfred began stroking.
The sounds Arthur were making were like music, so Alfred played him like an instrument. yes, he was a musician with Arthur's body, a very good one at that.
In an unexpected move, Arthur took two, three fingers and sucked on them, and then stretched down to…
"I'm sure you're familiar with the procedures concerning anal sex?" groaned out Arthur.
"Somewhat?" replied Alfred, still slowly stroking.
Arthur chuckled. "I'll explain later, then," he said. "Keep stroking."
So Alfred continued, and alternated between kissing and sucking on Arthur's neck, making sure that he did not leave a mark.
A morbid curiosity overtook him about Arthur's actions; he needed a distraction.
"Alfred."
The man detached himself from Arthur's neck and stared into his eyes. He waited for Arthur to say something else.
Arthur didn't say anything with his mouth, and instead spoke with his eyes. They bore a thousand emotions, lust being the most prominent. Alfred didn't notice Arthur's hand on his length until he squeezed it, causing Alfred to breathily moan. He involuntarily looked down.
"No, Alfred, look at me. I want to see your face."
He did so, and said, "You've painted my face, day by day. Don't you tire of it?"
"I could never."
Alfred didn't see what happened next, but suddenly there was an enveloping warmth around him and it was all he ever needed.
Both men were groaning and panting. Arthur had his eyes squeezed shut. Now Alfred knew what he was supposed to do, and he wanted to do it now—
"Not now, dear. Let me adjust."
Alfred didn't cave in to his desire, knowing he would get it soon. Waiting, he kissed Arthur across his cheeks, his nose, and settled for a quiet kiss on his lips. The quiet before the storm.
"Move."
And Alfred complied.
It was glorious. Alfred composed a symphony with Arthur, losing himself in the music of their loving. This was life, this was living.
They came together and fell apart, wave after wave slapping against rock. At one point, Arthur cried out harshly and demanded that Alfred to go faster, harder. Alfred was more than happy to obey.
Arthur came with a cry of Alfred's name. The tightening of muscle around him caused Alfred to follow shortly afterwards.
Alfred waited to catch his breath before pulling out. Not caring for the mess, Alfred tugged Arthur close and kissed him. He locked the other man in an embrace and rested their foreheads together. He felt Arthur shortly laugh, and smiled.
In that moment, Alfred didn't worry about anything. Not about the portrait's cruel mouth, or Natalya Arlovskaya, or the servants. He only cared about Arthur, lovely Arthur in his arms.
His beautifully ravished white rose.