Retribution by Mist Over Water

Chapter Warnings
USxUK smut (around two pages non-stop. You're welcome) and vomit inducing fluff (you're also welcome). Also done this watching an Amnesia play through, so I was alternating between pissing myself out of fear and writing—that's my excuse for if something doesn't make sense xD

Chapter Two
The Hawthorn Effect

'Heart beats fast, colours and promises…'

The American tradition had spread across to their transatlantic cousins generations ago, and although it was generally a more well known practice for the female of their last year of high school, the custom that they had entitled 'Senior Prom' had carried on through the all-male society. Wallflowers grew from the sides of the venue, generally with one of their feet planted against the solid division from the room to the outside; drinks faithfully in their hands. Two hundred years ago, the citizens would be in divided minds about such an event. Feminists would say that the dance to celebrate classmate's achievements was just a way of men getting an opportunity to subjugate women in a theory that "all sex is rape". While men would say that it was indeed a place where they would lose their virginities, in a respectful manner. Stopping if ever their date presented signs of discomfort.

'How to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall…'

Arthur was pleased that the pain Francis had inflicted that night little less than a week ago had subsided; though there was still a slight discomfort when he sat down. He pushed his head against the soft chest in front of him, feeling the back of a black suit with his left hand, whilst his right was held gently, being comforted with the slight stroke from his lovers thumb. Although he knew he should have been happy with their current situation, he could not help but think about what Alfred had planned after. Would he be able to tell that the night that would forever be cast in their memories as their first time would be based on a lie? A part of him knew to tell Alfred, but at the same time, he found himself being locked in eye contact with Francis the majority of the night. The smirk playing about his lips making him too aware that Alfred would live with the falsehood that he held Arthur's virginity.

'Watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow…'

He thought about that word as he closed his eyes, listening to the music, which was barely able to overpower the heartbeat of the taller, yet slightly younger boy. The dictionary defined it as being the state of which a person had never experienced a sexual encounter; and where someone had been pure and innocent. He felt his heart and stomach drop at the fact that he was no longer a virgin; that he had had it torn from him unwillingly. At the same time, his mother had always told him that losing your virginity was more than just the act of penetration. Losing your virginity could only happen if you had enjoyed the act; with someone that you loved. I came though; doesn't that mean I enjoyed it?

'One step closer…'

The couple continued to sway in time with the music; a slow cliché rhythm that the elders of the room rolled their eyes that. He felt eyes burning on his back; eyes that belonged to a long-haired Frenchman whom he was trying to ignore the presence of. He tried concentrating on the sweet whisperings of the lips above him that were teasing the roots of his hair, but somehow managed to concentrate solely on Francis. The memories that burned with the pain of being held against the wall, penetrated over and over again—back then, he tried to imagine it was Alfred mouthing at his neck, feeling over smooth skin. But the slight groaning to the deity whom was sure not to exist was in a foreign language; not one of which was upon his lovers tongue.

'I have died everyday waiting for you, darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years, I will love you for a thousand more…"

They made a full circle again, with green eyes meeting blue; but not the darker cobalt of which he was looking for. The owner of the light oceans he was gazing into sported the blond hair to his shoulders, the slight fluff on his chin giving him a more masculine appearance. He was growing as a wallflower, although the other boys in the hall were eyeing him in interest; his eyes were squarely set on Arthur. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into the suit and inhaled the scent that made up what would one day be home. A comforting scent, the comforting warmth. No rain. No being taken against his will. He was safe. It was prom, not that night. He pulled away slightly, stealing a kiss from the American. "What was that for?" Alfred questioned, smirking slightly.

"Just letting you know I love you." He held the others hand, "Want to go get a drink?"

Alfred just laughed, taking his hands again, "Can't we just dance for a bit longer before you get completely hammered?" It was times like this, where he held the small form closely, he remembered how much he loved everything about Kirkland. From the wall that he put up around himself in order to keep people away (of which he had affectionately called him upon saying "to see who loves you enough to break through, huh?" to which Arthur had scoffed and replied, "no, git, to keep people out"), his looks and when he warmed up to certain individuals how honestly adorable he could be. They danced in this position for a short while, Alfred remembering nights when they had fallen asleep in each other's embrace, where he would indulge himself in the sight of those facial muscles that were generally tense being soft; those overgrown eyebrows for once not furrowed. He wanted to glance down to look at them now, but his face was pushed against his chest.

'Time stands still, beauty in all he is…'

He smiled against the dark blond hair, taking in the scent that he found himself at times yearning for, the scent of Arthur Kirkland that he knew so well, and stroked his back under the black jacket that he was wearing. He thought back to all those years ago when they had first met. Back at the beginning of high school where neither of them knew anyone, and the world was scary. In English class, where they were forced to work together, trying to figure out the meanings of the writings of poet Sir Alfred Tennyson (where the American had taken great amusement in the fact that the author they were studying shared his name—Arthur had just shook his head and rolled his eyes). Since that lesson, they had become friends, and spent most of their days together.

Then came the day in their second year of high school; rumours had been flying around about the two, although, what would be expected of the institution that was filled to the brim with adolescent boys who were fuelled with testosterone to jump to conclusions. They had managed to remain unknown to Arthur, who spent most of his time with his nose in a book, ignoring the existence of the world outside of him, but Alfred was too aware, and spent the majority of his school day denying these accusations of being in a relationship with his best friend, despite the thoughts that crossed through his mind at night; or sometimes in the morning.

Although he spent his days fighting these accusations, each part of his thoughts screamed that they should be together. Arthur Kirkland was an almost perfect specimen of a boy, who would probably grow into an impeccable man. If it was not for a certain clique in their physical education talking too loudly about what the two of them had supposedly done, then it would have remained a secret. That misunderstanding had led to the argument in the locker room whilst the others had gone to partake in the sports they were forced by the Education Board to join in with. If not for that misunderstanding… Alfred never would have yelled his feelings for the shorter boy, who would stand in silence. As Alfred was about to walk away, Arthur had grabbed his hand, pulled him close and whilst standing on tip-toes, pushed their lips together. It was an awkward first kiss to say the least; they both just stood, doing nothing but staring into each other's blurry eyes. Their noses so close to colliding and their lips pursed too much; an example of the most imperfect of the perfect kisses.

They smiled awkwardly as they pulled apart, and joined the rest of their class hand in hand, shy smiles upon their faces as their classmates conversed among themselves. And each year on that date, they had celebrated and reminisced about such an awkward kiss.

'I will be brave, will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me…'

They had come a long way since that day; they had perfected the art of kissing, and everyone knew that there was no Alfred without Arthur, no Arthur without Alfred; sitting beside each other in each of their classes, which they chose to ensure their timetables would be identical (well, Alfred chose, he realised with a grin). They knew that it was just a waiting game now they had left school until the postman would deliver letters to the house of Kirkland-Jones. His hands travelled down to those small hips, imagining seeing them widening as his body prepared for the foetus inside of him to grow into a baby.

He moved his face down to the shoulder of Arthur, kissing it slightly, grazing it gently with his teeth as he lusted that the flat stomach pressing against him would be larger. Their son growing inside; calling his lover home. Where Alfred would go to work to make money for the nursery next to their room, and spend their weekends working on, preparing for the arrival of little Alfred Jr. and spending the evenings carefully washing him in the bathtub; paying special attention to his extended middle as the life inside kicked its greeting at the sound and feel of his father. A smirk twitched onto his lips as he imagined making love to a very pregnant man—and making love to Arthur in general. Trying to find a position that would work before Arthur would offer to ride him instead, and from his position, he would be able to see everything. See his stomach moving with each bounce, feel the kicking against both of them, and play with those overly-sensitive nipples as they prepared to feed Alfred Jr.

Less devious thoughts did run through his mind; it was no secret that Arthur had a love for embroidery, and so wondered if their child's room would be decorated with the sewed patterns that his husband had slaved over, or would he spend his nights knitting clothes for the small baby? Would Alfred be permitted to read to the baby, and form an unspeakable bond through layers of skin, fat and womb? And when it was time for the child to be born, would Arthur let him hold his hand, and give words of encouragement as he pushed and yelled through the night before finally bringing the most loved and most beautiful infant into the world full of subjugated hatred and conflict? His breath hitched and his heart paused momentarily for the thought of seeing their son for the first time; Alfred's hair and looks, but Arthur's eyebrows dominating his features, while his mother's evasive attitude would be his most infamous attribute.

'Every breath, every hour, has come to this; one step closer…'

Sometimes though, biology would betray the gender neutral society; sometimes, the baby would be of an opposite sex, and at birth, the parents would be given half an hour to bid farewell to their child, before it was taken to their adoptive parents in the female society an ocean away. His stomach lurched at the thought, threatening to stop moving to try and get rid of any idea that that was even possible. He wished that there would be the choice of keeping her; hiding her from the world, home schooling her, and dressing her in masculine clothes. Although, would the consequences be worth it? Would it be worth the fate of capital punishment?

Or would it be a punishment enough, failing to reproduce correctly to grow attached to the baby and have to say goodbye to her?

'I have died everyday waiting for you, darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years; I'll love you for a thousand more…'

Ironic, really. The social policies that the Feminists put forward after the successful March of Progress in order to stop oppression of women, and instead ended up oppressing every social actor; but as long as the women were away from men, it was a perfect life. Although many had tried to stop this ideology, this indoctrination, there was little that could get through to their leaders, and before any revolution could be upheld, they had grown use to the way of life. No one knew who to fight anymore, and so just stayed in their place. And so for two hundred years, whenever a baby of the opposite gender had been born, the parents were forced by punishment of death to give it up.

'And all along I believed I would find you…'

"Okay," Arthur pulled away, patting his hands on Alfred's chest, "I think we've danced enough, can we please proceed to get utterly pissed now?"

His only reply was to be kissed; an open mouthed kiss where Arthur melted into his arms, and tried his best for them to become one. Hoping that they could slink away into the shadows and stay there forever, away from civilisation, and away from other people that he hated so much; to live in splendid isolation with Alfred. Alfred, whom knew how to make him moan ever so quietly with the tongue that was probing the inside of his mouth, the appendage that seemed to know every area of Arthur's skin they had allowed to be touched and caressed by one another so far in their relationship. The two pulled away eventually though, allowing Arthur to have his wish of being inebriated fulfilled.

'Times has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll love you for a thousand more…'

They did end up drinking. A whole lot in fact. Arthur found himself hanging off of Alfred as they attempted to continue dancing; Jones being blissful unaware of Bonnefoy's vision never leaving the form of Kirkland. The more the staring intensified however, the more intense his gaze became. Alfred laughed, catching his boyfriend by the elbows as he nearly fell to the ground again; tripping over his own feet as he tried to maintain the intimacy that can only be found in dancing with one's partner. "Dude, you need to go sit down," Alfred laughed, holding the small frame close to him; which in turn pressed the side of his head against the chest and glared once more, before being led to the seats that outlined the wall; just in front of the wallflowers.

"Piss off, you wanker!" Arthur yelled as the two were in front of Francis—coincidentally, the only two seats that were not being taken up by the students of the high school. He pushed his way through people and furniture to the holder of his innocence. "You think you can fuck with me! How about we take it outside, you tosser! Been staring at me all night—I'm not alone now! What the fuck do you think you're going to do this time, huh?" He grabbed the jacket and pulled him close, "Gonna do it again? I dare you. It'll be the last thing you ever do." He felt himself being pulled away by two strong arms about his waist, but still tried his hardest to stay attached to the Frenchman, but his attempts were in vain as his fingers slipped and he found himself over the tall teens shoulder and carried out of the room.

"Artie, what's wrong?" Alfred asked, placing his boyfriend onto the toilet when they had entered the bathroom, he knelt down in front of him (although, he would later regret it as he thought about the amount of germs that may have been present on the floor), and began running a hand through the darker blond and trying to see through his thick drunken aura and into the deeper meaning behind his actions. He knew that Arthur and Francis never had gotten along, but never had they even come to verbal blows. Let alone threatening to physically injure the other. "Arthur, listen to me." They looked into each other for a moment, "You have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

Something snapped inside of Arthur that night. All of the restraint that he had shown when Alfred attempted to start a more intimate relationship left in an instant. What was the use? He was tainted. He was a house bought and enjoyed, robes bought and worn; not what Alfred had wanted, but now his fear of being penetrated had gone initially, what was the point in waiting for their wedding night? Instead he leaned down, cupping that slightly chubby face in his hands and kissed. Smooth lips met chapped; no tongues, no fighting for dominance, just a sweet and tender kiss. Alfred was the one to pull away slightly and make the transition into an open-mouthed kiss. Just their breath mingling with each other's mouths as they closed and pulled away slightly before continuing the cycle again.

The dynamics of their relationship were clear; although they were not sexual, whenever they talked about their future, it was obvious to see what roles they would play. Both going out to work, but Arthur agreed that he was happy to be a mother to their children; be the one to carry out what the feminists once called a 'dual burden'; where they would both go out to work as society expected, then come home to be a wife and mother. Did they not realise that no matter what the circumstances, whether in a same sex relationship or a heterosexual one, there would always be the same dynamics. Children would always need to be socialised, and families would always need to eat. However, I digress; the two of them had expected that whilst it would not be rare to share the roles of 'topping' and 'bottoming', there would be a more definite appeal to Mr Jones being the one of whom would be more dominant in their love making.

Arthur allowed his hand to travel to the buttons of the tuxedo suit, pulling away from those imperfect, damaged, lips that he knew how to use so well, to look at his shaking hands fiddling with the buttons. After a moment of failing to get them undone, Alfred just chuckled, "Let me…" He went back to kissing, licking those suave lips (how does he manage to keep them so awesomely smooth!). He closed his eyes, slipping his tongue gently into the others mouth; caressing the others, and hitting all of the spots he had gotten to know over the years. Though there was something different about it now; somehow knowing that it where it was leading to made it so much more intense. Somehow knowing that they were going to lose their innocence to one another in this bathroom was forcing moans of pleasure from the two.

"Keep our clothes on." Arthur mumbled during a slight break in their caressing, his hand going from the side of Alfred's face the flies of his trousers; where a half-erect member was pressing against the zipper. He pulled it down slowly, watching the bulge in his boxers emerge, biting his lip in anxiety. He tried to remember that it was someone he trusted doing this, and not Francis, as his imagination kept telling him, as he too was slowly becoming free from his confines. Alfred pulled away from the lips and kissed down to the others chin, worshiping every inch of skin that was on show. Soft kisses over the side of his neck, biting down gently as a hand wormed its way inside the dress shirt, feeling for the flat breasts that he had become accustomed to being felt when they found themselves lost in the moment. Arthur opened the shirt for his better half, and moaned through an alcohol fuelled haze as his chest was attacked.

Alfred chuckled slightly, latching onto one of the dark nipples and sucking slightly; gently tugging, while he lifted his other hand to rub the palm over the other and mimicking the actions, "Alfie," He whispered as the mouth and hand of the said male switched places; his voice slipping into a feminine groan. The touches worked their way down to the stomach that would one day home their own children; tongue diving into the umbilicus before pulling down the boxer shorts quickly like a child on Christmas, but he was distracted by Arthur speaking again. "Alfred, do you have everything? Lube? Condoms?"

Alfred smirked; the same smirk that he had always pulled after he had been drinking as he threw his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of the lubricant, and freed Arthur from his underwear; pulling him down slightly on the seat of the toilet spreading thin legs apart in order to set his sights on the prize, he could see Arthur's panicked expression, and he realised that in his haste to get read and excitement of what was going to happen, he had forgotten to buy a packet of condoms. "Babe—" yet another way of showing the fact that he was intoxicated, although not as much as his boyfriend was; 'babe' was one pet name that he only used when equipped with Dutch courage, knowing that Arthur hated it "—Don't worry so much. I'll pull out when I'm about to cum, yeah? Don't worry about it." He kissed the forehead of the small, shaking teenager and opened the bottle; slicking up his three middle fingers.

"Promise me," Arthur pulled Alfred's head up so that they could continue pushing their lips together, wrapping his arms around his neck, and legs around his waist, "Promise me you'll pull out. I trust you." Alfred nodded in confirmation; his right hand pushing away fleshy globes that were stopping getting to the puckered entrance, before running his index finger down the crease of his backside. The pad of his finger felt the flesh, and gently pushed through the tight ring of muscle, watching for any signs of discomfort appearing on his boyfriends expressions—he did wince, but Alfred was sure that he felt no pain. He kept kissing, alternating between the lips, the face and chest as he pushed through to the knuckles, taking in the sensation of his partner's insides clenching around. Although, he noticed that there was not near the amount of the pressure that he had imagined. He just shrugged, and began moving it out and then back in.

All Arthur could think was that it felt better, a lot better, than being taken dryly and unprepared, and although he hated himself for thinking, Alfred was reasonably… Smaller than Francis. He breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, hoping that it would relax himself enough. He smiled to Alfred, making it known that he was ready for the next finger, and he received what he wanted. Alfred pushed a second wet finger inside, and curled once more pushed through to the knuckles, grimacing at the sensation of the muscles being pulled away to accommodate for the oncoming invasion. He began to scissor his fingers, hearing Arthur gasping in pain however made him think twice about participating in the tradition of prom night. He bit his lip in guilt and tried to remember all he had read up about, that secret spot inside men that would make him feel amazing. He poked and prodded in all angles he could get his fingers to move in such a compressed space. He stretched his fingers as far as they could go, and watched for any signs of pleasure being sent throughout his body; but it was only when the two intrusions were curled upwards that his back arched and his expressions twisted into one where pain and pleasure met in a strange spectrum; even more so when the third finger was added.

Alfred did momentarily wonder whether his member was going to be okay in such a tight heat, but each moan that Arthur threw forward after having his prostrate being struck sent pleasurable shudders of anticipation straight to his cock. He continued to pull out his fingers slightly before pushing back in, making sure to hit that secret spot; but as Arthur began to push back down against the intruding digits Alfred pulled away, chuckling at the groan of disappointment. Under watchful green eyes, he marinated himself with the clear liquid, and placed himself at the quivering entrance. Upon noticing the shaking form of his lover, Alfred held both of the small hands, and kissed the chest gently, taking in the feeling of the muscle beating frantically against the bone-prison. "I'll go slowly, just tell me if it hurts, okay?" Arthur nodded, and gritted his teeth as he felt the head of the length being pushed inside.

Although he breathed in deeply, Kirkland's mind went back to that faithful night in the rain, against the building. There was no sharp burning sensation ripping through each molecule of his body; only the slight pain as Alfred pushed his hips forward, and the feeling of the soft dress shirt against his back, and not the uneven scratching of the structure. He bit his lip harder as his chest was played with again to distract him from the pain; however, the attempts were futile. All he could think about was the intrusion slowly entering him, and the Frenchman who had shown him and his body no mercy. The guilt made the discomfort amplified, and he half thought about allowing the tears to fall and sobbing to Alfred the truth; and beg to stop, to never make this step, to forever take a vow of chastity in their relationship. However, as he felt himself being filled to the hilt, he opened his eyes to stare into those blue eyes that he found himself knowing better than any image he had come across in his eighteen years.

There was a moment of silence, with just the world spinning on its axis around them as they forgot where they were, forgot the risks that anyone could hear them and in their drunken haze not caring that at the moment, timing would mean everything. They were still; but as Arthur's muscles clenched and relaxed as they got used to the feeling of another man's member inside of it, a subconscious hint that it was ready for movement—regardless of the mental state of its owner. Alfred kissed those lips again, saying gently to them, "I'm gonna move now, 'kay?" With a nod in reply, he did so. Pulling back slightly, and pushing forward; their bodies sliding over one another in perfect harmony. For a moment, Alfred's mind entered a state of cliché where he thought that maybe—just maybe—he had been created to fit perfectly in this velvet tunnel.

Arthur's eyes clamped shut; as soon as the sot and slow rhythm began, each time he looked to the boy he was sure to be his soul mate, he saw Francis. It was him pulling his legs apart and toward his shoulders, trying to get deeper. It was him who was grunting ever so quietly, either from concentration, pleasure or forcefulness as the thrusts grew harder in an attempt to find that ball of nerves, the Briton was never quite sure. Alfred knew that he had found it however, when the man below him arched his back and let out a small cry, proclaiming that he should go faster, should go harder, should do anything to make sure that the feeling never ended. Alfred gripped his hips, holding him in place as he pounded over and over; pulling back until just the tip was in the tight heat, before delving back in, feeling even more intoxicated as he drank in the sounds his lover emanated from the back of his throat, eyes and head rolling back in pure bliss as he tried to find something to grip onto before just opting for the alternative of digging his nails into the material that stopped him from feeling the soft skin of the American underneath. Wrapping his arms legs around the others waist, he could not help but praise him as a God.

Alfred continued thrusting, increasing his speed and intensity; the sound of skin on skin, the slight squelching sounds of the lubricant being pushed around inside of the small hole echoed around the bathroom but still relentlessly pushing in and out until the hardness pressing into his stomach was becoming a nuisance, and he forced himself to let go of his hip with his right hand, and stroke the length relentlessly in time with his thrusts. "I- Bloody hell, Alfred!" Arthur breathlessly cried, "I'm gonna—" Before he could finish, the slit in his tip was toyed with simultaneously with a piece of skin under the head, making himself thrust into the hand as he arched his back with a strangled cry and threw his head back; smacking his head on the tank of the toilet as he came with a cry. Alfred collected the stream of white ribbon in his hand, and lost himself as Arthur's body tensed; and the muscles around him clenched, almost holding him in place as he sheathed himself in a now unconscious Arthur, and found his release.

It was only when he was looking to his hand, feeling the stickiness of his boyfriends fluids that he realised the conversation they had had years ago when they had first started dating, and although he was drunk enough to make his decision, he was sober enough to regret his actions as he looked down to the peaceful face, stuck in an almost lifeless afterglow. Arthur's religious upbringing would commend him for the events of the night, and thus he would himself, yet why was it so easy to change his mind? He had said—oh so long ago—that under no circumstance did he want to lose his virginity before the two had married (at which time, Alfred had gotten down on one knee to propose, which only ended with him waking with a bruise the next day).

Hells yeah Alfred is classy! Losing his v plates in a bathroom ;) but I'm gonna go die now k. -so embarrassed- and ugh. Ending. Thanks to chapter 1 reviewers~
Englandaru—Thanks! I was quite unsure whether to keep going, but a lot of people (well, more than I imagined) are liking this so far, so here we go! :D If you've got any questions about the plot, feel free to ask! :)
BishieHunterReno—Thanks, I'm rather partial to it myself! If you have any questions about the theories/references/beliefs feel free to ask :)
beastie—Aha, yeah, I've got a few stories like that on my 'non-perverted account', and it somewhat got to me that I never had a reason for the guys to get pregnant. But I thought that this is my first multi-chaptered story in around three years so I might as well go all out there, seeing as the pregnancy is going to be the main storyline…
Thanks to everyone who put this on their alerts; don't be afraid to leave a comment! 3

Completed 26/06/2012