PROLOGUE

A/N – Hello my dear readers! (Seriously, this is getting OLD!) So, yeah, that happened, I just started yet another new story. Do not worry though, I will not neglect the others. About this one I won't give any spoilers just yet (agonized enough with the summary for that matter :)))). Anyway, I want to keep it very short, so it will consist of only two or three chapters max. Also, I know this is a bit of a 'fairy-tale', as in not-very-realistic, but it's all for plot's sake and you probably know by now that I write the weirdest crap. So enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think will happen next.

Warnings: alcohol consumption and substance abuse

Today was the worst day of his life.

His steps echoed eerily through the empty, dim-lit hall as the blond walked with hurried, almost stumbling steps, his hand helplessly crumpling the fine piece of paper. Once he reached his destination, Arthur paused for a moment, gaze blurry with tears sweeping over the ornate door of the luxurious apartment he and his two best friends shared in the students' dorm, thinking that time had eventually come for him to pay for that, as well as for all the other good things he'd ever had – with his very life. His cheeks burned with humiliation and his hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob at the thought of having to share the dreadful news with his friends.

"Well, what now? You look like you've seen a ghost…"

The question was asked in a dull voice and midnight blue eyes barely left the pages of the book the Norwegian was currently reading as the other walked into the elegant drawing room and stopped short, his back leaning tiredly against the closed door as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"It… happened." the Englishman confessed in a final tone, continuing to struggle with a mixture of shame and utter mortification. It was just like any other moment when something really bad happened and he would be frozen in shock, unable to get himself to believe what had just occurred. But it was pointless, no denial was possible, all the more since this dreaded moment was something he'd been expecting for a while now.

"What?"

Vlad had a rather cheerful expression as he was reaching out for another cookie, but then his gaze fell on the expensive paper clutched frantically in his friend's hand and he suddenly guessed. "Oh."

Most of the students must have envied Arthur Kirkland – the nephew of Lord Benedict Kirkland, Baronet, Lukas - the eldest son of Lord Bondevik and Vlad – the last descendant of the long line of Cazimir counts, but it was only because they had no idea what their lives were really like. Their families were noble but all without exception in ruin, even if they'd managed so far to pull some stunts to keep the desired appearance of wealth. And there was a heavy price to be paid for that – actually their only valid assets were their titles and as a result all three of them were going to be eventually forced into arranged marriages. In fact, Vlad was already engaged, Lukas' situation was still unofficial but the deal had been made and now… and now, three months before graduating from university, Arthur himself had been kindly informed by his uncle in writing (the old bastard hadn't dared to call) that a proper suitor had been found for his hand. A bloody suitor!

"Well, don't just stand there," Lukas eventually said, putting the book aside. "Have a seat and tell us what the letter says. And why the hell did he send a letter, anyway? What century does he think this is?!"

The Englishman moved on nearly wobbly legs, gratefully plopping into a chair by the tea table. He watched absentmindedly as Vlad poured him a cup of strong black tea and pushed it towards him. He swallowed hard, staring at the slight steam rising from it and wishing the world would just freeze in this moment, with him stuck in front of this cup of tea, forever.

"I-it says… well apparently my uncle has found a suitable… partner for me, so he's decided that right after my graduation would be a good time for the official engagement…" The green-eyed blond paused and snorted bitterly, still airily fixating the cup. "I knew… I always knew that this was the reason we've left England and here it is," he added, tossing the crumpled paper onto the table, "a rich American industrialist is to have the privilege of showing off with my so-called lordship, even if I'm not to inherit any actual title myself. He must have dreamed of this all along, the old bastard. Now he'll get to keep that… that ridiculous mansion, free of mortgages!"

"You knew this would happen eventually, "the Norwegian observed. "And besides, maybe it won't be that bad. It's just a marriage, for fuck's sake. Nobody died." he said dryly.

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's just a marriage! It's an arranged marriage, you idiot, which is pretty much like becoming a prostitute. The only difference is that when you're a prostitute the client comes, fucks you, pays and fucks off, while when you're married the client doesn't pay and they don't fuck off either. The last part being the worst, if you ask me…"

The pale blond sighed, his mouth twisting into a slight grimace." I can't believe we're debating this yet again! Why the fuck are you making such a fuss?!" he retorted, scowling. "You're the only one of us who's actually engaged to a girl!"

"Well if you count the bumps on the back of my head you'll come to realize that Elizaveta isn't much of a girl! And she's a fucking loathsome bitch who walks around with a frying pan! She's nothing like Matthias! That guy really likes you."

"Well whoppee, it's not mutual. And he's retarded." Lukas pointed out, grabbing his book again.

"He's also easy to manipulate, so I don't really see your problem!" the Romanian replied bluntly.

"Why are we discussing manipulation now, of all things?"

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Because it's an arranged marriage, twat. What would you have us discuss, true love?"

Further mortified by the current discussion (if that was even possible), Arthur buried his face in his hands. "What the hell are you saying, you wankers?!" he muttered through gritted teeth. "It's very bad, it's bloody awful! Do you not understand? My whole life is about to go down the drain! Just what the bloody hell am I going to do?!"

"Nothing, you're going to take one for the 'team', just like the rest of us," Lukas said calmly. "And Vlad is right in a way, we've got to play our cards right, even if it's a shit hand. There is one thing you should consider doing before your engagement though… and ideally with someone other than your intended spouse. Because otherwise it would be pathetic, like… on an epic scale. You know what I'm saying?"

Blood rose in the Englishman's cheeks at the thought and a choked sob escaped his lips. It wasn't like it was an easy matter anyway – in fact it couldn't have been more complicated. And coming out now of all times, after he'd carefully kept quiet about it… But his friend was right, it would have been good if he did something about that, after all, at his age…. Obviously, easier said than done and the idea just added extra pressure on his strained nerves. Shaking his head, the green-eyed blond stood abruptly from the table and stormed off to his room, slamming the door shut.

Vlad threw the other blond a quick glare. "You're not helping."

The American was scribbling hurriedly in his notebook, licking his lips from time to time as he flicked the pages of various books scattered on the table in front of him, shaking his head in the rhythm pouring from his earbuds. A light, carefree smile persisted on his face as he worked happily on his assignment.

From the far end of the library table, green eyes kept peering in his direction every now and then, their owner unable to concentrate on the book lying abandoned in front of him for a while now. The tall bespectacled blond, Alfred F. Jones, was popular, a brilliant student, the heart of all parties and the happiest, most cheerful person he'd ever seen. And that was most likely because he was free to enjoy his life and his youth instead of being forced into all sorts of ridiculous constraints and after graduation a successful career awaited him within his family's business, instead of the absurdity of an arranged marriage! In that very moment, as he watched from across the room, Arthur decided that he hated Alfred F. Jones.

"What are you doing?"

Abruptly pulled from his observations by the cold voice, the Englishman turned irritably and gave his friend an annoyed look. "Well, what does it look like I'm doing? Can't you see what I'm doing?!"

Lukas tsked. "I can only see what you're not doing – namely working at our joint project," he observed. "I wish you'd snap out of this and pull yourself together for a change."

"Pull myself together?! This is the bloody twenty-fucking-first century!" Arthur shouted, loud enough to have several pairs of eyes stare in his direction. An earbud slipped from Alfred's ear in the same moment and his head jerked up from his notebook. His puzzled gaze swept the library, eventually coming to rest curiously upon the angry green-eyed blond.

Arthur's hand flew to his mouth and he rapidly looked away, scowling. "And what if the rest of the student council finds out about this? I'll be… I'll be their laughing stock!" he continued to rant, this time whispering. "Or what if someone read my mail? If this gets out… I couldn't-…"

The pale blonde Norwegian just rolled his eyes. "Would you just stop it already! How could it possibly get out? If Vlad and I managed to keep it under wraps, so will you. And stop obsessing over this whole marriage thing, it's going to be just fine." Lukas stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and pulling his friend to his feet. "Come now, pick up your stuff and let's get the hell out of here!"

The green-eyed blond let himself be dragged out of the library and down the hall, a bit bewildered and taken by surprise by his friend's sudden enthusiasm. Lukas was a quiet, uneventful person usually, but he had wild moments every now and then and if he were to be completely honest Arthur was rather wary of them. After all, it wasn't like he could afford to do any crazy stuff, Benedict was adamant about him keeping a perfect reputation as a member of the student council – among many other things.

He should have worked on the project instead of mopping around, then the Norwegian wouldn't have gotten any crazy ideas. An unpleasant tightness persisted in the Englishman's stomach as he fought to push away the thought of his impending marriage enough to be able to go about daily tasks without driving himself up the wall. And now Lukas wanted-

"Come my friend, we need to get you some 'decent' clothes! Tonight we're going to Francis' party," the pale blond announced, dropping his bag in the living room of their apartment. "Vlad, are you coming? I'm sure fanfiction or whatever the hell you're currently wasting your time with can wait…"

The Romanian sat sulking in front of his laptop and shook his head. "I can't. The hellhound is picking me up in an hour to have tea with her great-aunt…" he grumbled ill-humoredly. "But I'm totally in for tonight!"

"Wait, wait, what?!" Arthur seemed to snap out of trance eventually. "What are you talking about? I-I can't go… " He shook his head vigorously, now panic coursing through him as he observed the unyielding gazes of his two friends. "You know my uncle doesn't want me to… go to parties and such…" As he spoke, somewhere in the back of his mind there was a sparkle of realization that, at twenty-one, he shouldn't have needed Benedict's permission for a bit of fun. But fuck his luck - he, Arthur Kirkland, wasn't as fortunate as everyone else. "If he finds out about this-"

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Well just fuck your uncle for once! Besides, how could he find out? Does he have spies in this fucking school or what?"

All color drained from the green-eyed blond's face upon hearing that – he wouldn't have been so sure such an idea was to be ruled out. The man was capable of a great deal of shit and he'd made a point that his nephew's behavior (which was to be flawless) would count when considering his 'market value'.

"Arthur, you seriously need to stop just complying with everything you're told, or you're seriously going to die a-… Well, actually you won't, but that will only be thanks to the arranged marriage," Lukas pointed.

"Hah, excuse you! No one here enjoys your extensive experience," the strawberry blond observed, his eyes glued to the screen while he typed something frantically.

The Norwegian waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not talking to people who write comprehensive works of fiction (he carefully emphasized the word) about stuff they never did. Now Arthur, I won't take no for an answer. We'll just have to make sure you don't get recognized, just to stay on the safe side, okay?"

No. No okay. Not in the slightest.

Arthur didn't think this was funny, or exciting or anything. It was quite horrifying instead – a huge crowd seemed to have invaded Francis' uncle's villa – which happened to be usually vacated in the weekends and used for some seriously mad partying on a regular basis. And a huge crowd meant (although Lukas insisted otherwise) all the more chances he'd be recognized and have rumors started about how his whole 'perfect student' front was just an act. And hell, it would have really only taken one night for that!

He of course had worried that since he would be seen with his two best friends –although they did go to parties rather often abandoning the poor Englishman in the solitude of their apartment – people would easily get a clue on his identity. Until Lukas had unexpectedly decided to cross-dress, fact which had turned Arthur's previous worry into plain mortification. Lukas had chosen a lacy pink baby-doll top and a black mini skirt, and his pale blond strands, free from the usual cross-shaped hairclip, fell onto his forehead and around his face in a chic fashion. His rather childish features needed no make-up to pull this particular stunt, but he still somewhat clung to Arthur's arm, because admittedly the stiletto boots were tricky.

The green-eyed blond himself would have gone for a pair of shades for his 'emotional comfort', on top of the worn black leather punk outfit chosen by his friend (well, after much debate he'd accepted the leather jacket, still hell-bent on some very simple black jeans to go with it). But the shades were not an option apparently, instead the Norwegian had improvised with a significant amount of black eyeliner. It brought out the peridot color of Arthur's eyes in a spectacular fashion, he reckoned. The Englishman thought it was rather sinister, but then pretty much everything else was.

"Look, you have nothing to worry about," the pale blond instructed. "It's just a party so act like you belong here and besides, as soon as everyone's drunk it won't really matter how awkward you are. Not to mention, it might help you significantly loosen up."

Arthur threw a worried look through the open door, at the people already gathered inside, then at the large courtyard where groups were chatting around the pool sipping on cocktails, still looking civil enough, and took a deep breath. His friends were right – it was just a party, a harmless little party. No one would ever know he'd been here – not with this disguise – and he wasn't going to do anything to attract unwanted attention either. As for getting drunk, he wouldn't dream of such a repulsive thing. Sure, he'd have a sip or two, but that would be all.

Less than twenty minutes later, his plan of keeping things in check went to shit monumentally. As soon as they were inside, Lukas disappeared somewhere – suddenly sure-footed on the stilettos – leaving him with Vlad, then quickly returned with three paper cups filled with some peculiar, strawberry-scented drink. He downed his rapidly, in one gulp, and so did Vlad, therefore the Englishman politely complied with the request to do the same. And then they had another. And another.

Suddenly everything became significantly funnier, hilarious even.

"There you were, my little vampire friend! I have some candy for you," came a hissed chuckle and Gilbert Beilschmidt popped up right behind Vlad, a heavy palm being rather forcefully brought down on the strawberry blond's shoulder.

"I'm not your little vampire friend," the other observed dryly, ignoring the open palm presented in front of him and containing a few pink and purple pills. "And I don't take this shit either."

"Aww, maybe you should, it's guaranteed to lighten up a sour mood," the Prussian insisted. "You looked all alone and sulking without the awesome me, what with your 'crush' straying again," he said, pointing to the living-room where Elizaveta sat slumped on a large sofa, sobbing into her drink, her make-up already smeared down her cheeks and her curls in disarray.

Vlad scowled quizzically in her direction. "She's not my crush, you idiot, and what's up with that anyway?"

"Same old, same old," Gilbert explained with a sigh. "Girls are all over Roddy because he has big blue eyes and plays the piano, but truth be told he rarely manages to 'complete the assignments', if you know what I mean. See, they always corner him at parties, but he on the other hand is hell-bent on proving to the world that he's a heavy drinker and can take loads. Lizzie didn't waste time, but he had already tried his luck with Ivan's vodka and as a result he was asleep before she could even finish unbuttoning his shirt, kesesesese!"

"What the actual fuck?!"

"I know, right? But looks like you've got yourself a fine replacement regardless," the albino suddenly noticed and his hand shot down, promptly grabbing Lukas's backside through the black miniskirt. "What is your name, sweetheart?" Arthur stared - no way the albino was that drunk (and unsuspecting).

"My name is 'Take-your-hand-off-me-or-I'll–rip it-off-and-slap-you-with-it', a pleasure to meet you," the Norwegian said with a wide, sweet smile.

Gilbert grinned, but removed his hand nevertheless. "Ah, a feisty little one," he appreciated. "But where's Bondevik, working in some dark closet again for a high fee?"

"Well, who knows, I think- haaaah!" Vlad gasped in pain as a sharp stiletto was discreetly but forcefully shoved into his shin. "No, he'd never do that!"

The lights had dimmed to a confusing semi-obscurity and the music had gotten much louder. Lukas had disappeared somewhere (hopefully not in some dark closet as Gilbert had previously suggested), while Vlad was off dancing precisely with said Prussian. Left to his own devices and having had too much to drink as it was, Arthur had slumped dizzily against the wall next to a table of drinks and was currently fighting sleep and disappointment at his own lack of stamina.

"Hey! You alright, dude? You look a little pale," a voice said from up close, yet still hardly able to cover the loud music blaring from the sound system. A tall silhouette had stooped over his crouched form and the Englishman looked up warily, only to see none other than Alfred F. Jones peering down at him with a look of genuine concern. Well. Shit.

"Oh…yes, it's just the heat and the…" Arthur frowned and stared confusedly into the paper cup he was still holding absentmindedly, unable to identify the fruity flavored beverage contained in it."…the punch," he guessed, with an awkward smile. A hand was extended and he took it, hauling himself up on wobbly legs. A wave of dizziness washed over him at the rather brusque movement – hell, maybe standing up hadn't been such a good idea.

"So… I don't remember having seen you around," the taller blond said, just as Arthur was fleetingly wondering where his leather jacket had gone. He glanced down at his tight black shirt which sported a bloody skull and a… ketchup stain? Oh, God. Where the hell did that come from, he was sure he'd never had anything to eat the whole evening.

"Well, I… um… just came here with a friend," he replied, still fumbling with his shirt."Lukas Bondevik," he clarified to the other's quizzical gaze. If someone really had to strike up a conversation, why – oh God why - did it have to be Jones, from all people? Fortunately, Mr. Popularity seemed oblivious enough to his identity. "But momentarily he is otherwise occupied and left me here…"

The bespectacled blond only laughed softly at this and – whether satisfied or not by the explanation – showed no intention of sodding off anytime soon.

"I'm Alfred," he said instead."And your name is?"

"Uh…it's Benedict," the Englishman muttered, immediately struck by what he'd just said. Horrible! It was positively disturbing than even when he was supposedly having some fun all he could think of was his bloody uncle! Unforgivable. He couldn't believe he'd given Alfred that bastard's name. He should have come up with a better name, something attractive perhaps, something like… well, nothing came to mind for the moment, but still.

But to his surprise, Alfred's face lit up with a wide smile in reply. "Oh wow! Like the eggs, right?"

"Eggs?"

"Yeah, Benedict eggs, you know? It's a kind of breakfast."

"Right…" Right. A kind of breakfast. Hell.

Suddenly, Alfred's shoulder was gripped and quite forcefully turned and Gilbert popped up again (Not good! Definitely not good!), his wide grin even more obnoxious if possible. His other hand was gripping a stumbling Vlad, yet as soon as the strawberry blond propped himself against the table, he reached for a new glass of liquor.

"Alfred, my friend, here you were!" the Prussian yelled over the music. "I have a special offer for you and this stuff is guaranteed to be the ultimate shit!" The pink and purple pills were gone, now replaced by a small container filled with bright red ones. "And since you're my friend, I'll give you a discount!"

The American picked up the container curiously, his gaze narrowing behind his glasses as he examined the contents with a confused expression. "Dude, are you sure these aren't just stupid vitamins or something?"

"Seriously Gil, you need to stop selling shit and trying to get rich off your friends!" Vlad cut in.

The albino rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Edward Cullen!" He shoved his apparent 'date' aside and flashed an even bigger smile. "Alright then, to show you my awesome generosity, there, a free promotion, you can keep the whole bottle. But just so you know, I could have charged you 200 bucks!"

"You shut up, Headless Horseman!" the other didn't give up.

"Wha-?! Hey, I'm not headless!"

"Actually, that's debatable…"

Oblivious to the dispute, Alfred shook out two pills into his palm and reached for a glass in turn. "Oh well, the fuck with it! Bottoms up!" With that, he downed the pills and the contents of the glass in one gulp. The container was then passed to Arthur – who had been left staring confusedly at what was going on.

"Well, I suppose… I could give it a try…"

He strongly suspected that a blush was creeping on his face under Alfred's expectant, somewhat curious and definitely interested gaze, therefore he decided that further awkwardness was to be avoided. Hell, whatever, the Englishman thought briefly, letting the pills slide down his throat in turn, washed with a large mouthful of Scotch.

Next thing he knew the two of them were dancing in the large living room, among countless other pairs, Alfred's arms resting loosely on his waist while his nose was awkwardly buried into the taller blond's shoulder, both of them swaying numbly to the pounding rhythm of drums. And then, without warning, the other lifted his chin with two fingers and leaned in, capturing his lips with his own. The green-eyed boy winced and gulped (or rather tried to), his fingers finding purchase onto his partner's biceps. The muscles were taut and warm under the thin fabric of the sleeves and he gave them a light, experimental squeeze, before Alfred's tongue made its way into his obedient mouth and he could think no more.

The Englishman could feel his face heating up more and more as he responded shyly to the kiss, feeling clumsy and even a tad scared. Fleetingly he realized that he should have been uncomfortable seeing how they were in the middle of a crowd and not some private place, but the very thought was blurry, everything was dimmed by the sudden sensory overload.

And then Alfred's hands traveled down his back and slid tentatively into the back pockets of his jeans, in the same time as his hot lips left his mouth and worked a trail of kisses onto his jaw line and slowly up to his ear.

"Benedict… how about we go upstairs?" the taller blond whispered sensuously, ending his murmur with a bitten tug at the Englishman's earlobe.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, widening a bit as he sucked in a breath. No. He should say no. Because this was Alfred F. Jones and he happened to have a little expertise problem. Or complete lack thereof. But the other's hands were exploring him in such an inviting manner, his cologne was intoxicating, his voice so mesmerizing…

"Okay?"

"O-okay…"

They both stumbled up the stairs and – not into the comfort of a bedroom as Arthur had envisaged – but into a closet. How ironical. A flickering light bulb hung low, poorly illuminating the narrow space. He found himself pushed up to sit on top of what appeared to be an old washing machine and the American settled between his spread legs, pressing their bodies close as he resumed kissing him.

The kisses were now hungrier, more urgent, pants escaping occasionally and eager fingers found their way beneath the hem of the Englishman's shirt. Short nails grazed over the soft skin they encountered, before the fingers traveled up onto the smaller blond's sides. Soon his shirt was lifted up entirely and pulled off, then quickly discarded. Alfred only paused on sucking and nipping at his neck to take off his own shirt and have it join the other's on the floor.

He pushed the green-eyed boy further against the wall and moved his mouth lower on his body, giving a tentative lick to one nipple while his hands sneaked into the back of Arthur's jeans and into his underwear, heartily squeezing the soft flesh. Both actions caused the other boy to moan and pant harder, arching his body more into his partner's and wrapping his legs around his waist.

"Mmm… delicious…" the American complimented, smirking against the other's skin as shy hands trailed down his own torso, lingering over the taut stomach. But then he looked up and straightened his back, brushing his thumb to wipe off some of the black make-up now smeared over his lover's cheek. "You're so beautiful, baby…" he muttered grinning, his fingers pushing a few sweat-matted strands away from Arthur's eyes and glancing deep into the wide green orbs. "…are you nervous?"

"Nuh-uh…" As proof of his complete lack of nervousness, the smaller blond buried his nose in the crook of the other's neck, fingers gripping his bare shoulders in a mixture of anticipation and plain fear. But he would have rather died than admit the last part.

"Then… what are you waiting for, honeybun?" A playful bite to his ear.

The green-eyed boy undecidedly reached down between their bodies, fumbling clumsily with Alfred's belt buckle and, as the taller blond moved back to make some space, he tripped on something and fell on his back onto the plush rug on the floor, pulling Arthur down on top of him in the process. The American broke off into a drunken giggle at this, his fingers finding their way again into the back of his lover's jeans. And then, without warning, everything went still, a few moments of silence followed by something which sounded suspiciously like a… snore? Scowling, Arthur gave up on the troublesome buckle and looked up questioningly at the other boy's face. Surely, it couldn't be!

But the situation was clear - lips slightly parted and glasses askew, Alfred F. Jones was fast asleep.

Well. Damn.

To be continued

A/N – I know, I know, but don't despair completely, it will eventually happen… LOL.