Arthur groaned as lips nipped viciously at his neck.

The apartment stank of liquor, as usual. Whenever the Germans threw parties, there was always an unlimited supply of alcohol.

Come to think of it, there were always drinks in the cupboards, even if they weren't holding a party.

Arthur took a swig from his Smirnoff while the lips moved down to his chest and hands gripped the back of his thighs, spreading his legs apart.

Same old same old. They get me drunk and fuck me up.

Leaning back against the cold wall, he relished the burn of the vodka as it slid down his throat, while pale fingers undid his blouse buttons and reached into his boxers.

Oh well. It's not like I don't enjoy behaving like skank. Arthur thought to himself bitterly, cold smirk replacing his slight frown.

All of a sudden, Gilbert stopped his ministrations and reached up, holding Arthur's head in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

Arthur braced himself.

1, 2, 3-

"Fuck!"

Gilbert smiled, after hearing the Briton swear. It was nice to get a reaction out of who must be the stuffiest Head Prefect in the world.

Encouraged, the delinquent kept thrusting, pumping Arthur with one hand and supporting his weight with the other.

Eventually, they reached their climax, Gilbert pulling out and cumming on Arthur, and then leaving him to sit in his sweat on the washing machine.

Yep. They fucked in the laundry room.

Ludwig got up from sitting on a pile of clothes and handed Arthur his lit cigarette, taking the time to wipe him down.

Yep. Ludwig watched them have meaningless sex. And was currently cleaning him up.

Ludwig then gently took the cigarette from the blond's mouth and kissed him roughly.

I always looked forward to Ludwig's turn.

Ludwig started licking his chest, occasionally moving to swirl his tongue around pink, perky nipples.

Licking turned to biting, bruises started to blossom on Arthur's torso as Ludwig progressed down his burning-hot body.

That is a lie.

Ludwig turned feral. He bit and groped urgently, remembering how his brother was in his place five minutes prior, but forgetting how strong he was, the buff quarterback leaving marks where he grabbed too harshly. He moved over the hickeys Gilbert left and nipped on them, he matched Gilbert's actions, touch-for-touch. It was almost as if he wanted no trace of Gilbert on Arthur's skin.

Arthur was tired. He reached for the cigarette that had been forgotten on his belly and left a burn mark and blew smoke rings as Ludwig pushed into him, thrusting harder and faster than Gilbert ever would. He couldn't feel any pain anymore, physically or emotionally. He knew what he had done.

His poisonous, viridescent eyes had cast a spell on the brothers, and damned all three of them to lives of discontent.