A/N: I. Am. SOOOOO sorry that this wasn't posted earlier, but I've been so busy lately. DX I'll try my damn hardest to get the next chapter out within a week. ANYWAY! Here's the continuation of chapter two and for anyone who's been looking for the USxUK amid the FrUK, this chapter might please you! But...only so little. XD

DISCLAIMER: I do not own HETALIA, or the characters represented in this fic. They belong to the WONDERFUL Himaruya Hidekaz. :3 ENJOY!!!

~*~*~*~

CHAPTER THREE

Arthur watched in honor as the young man fled from his home. A soft whine escaping his lips, he went with his first impulse; to scour his room for whatever piece of clothing he could find and explain himself to Alfred before it was too late.

"Why am I such a bloody idiot?!" Trying to find clothes to throw on was not an easy task with his eyes so full of tears. He pulled on the first pair of pants he could find and grabbed a blouse from the bed, slipping it over his arms as he ran down the stairs. "You better be gone when I get back, Francis," he yelled, nearing the door.

"Wait, Arthur, that's my shirt…"

Francis would've been better off speaking in his native tongue, because his words never reached England.

Out of the house, England looked around the surrounding area frantically, noticing, to his dismay, the large patch of woods in his home was located.

"Shit," he cried softly, not sure where to start looking. Winter had just ended, so it was easy to look around the still barren trees, but his issue was the direction. "Alfred!" His cry was desperate and echoed out among the wooded terrain. He swallowed thickly, setting off to his right and hoping to God his young guest ran this way.

The thoughts running through England's mind left him distracted in his search for America: how could he let such a stupid thing like this happen? True, this had been something he and Francis did for years, but to go along with it when Alfred was in the house? What a fool. "Alfred!!!"

By the time the sun began to set, there was still no sign of Alfred. Leaning against a tree to catch his breath, Arthur spotted a familiar blue glow, highlighted with miniature stars of twinkling glitter. "Titania!"

The small fairy flicked back her long raven hair, glaring at her long time friend. "I'm ashamed of you, Arthur," she scolded, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You've…seen Alfred, I take it," he said softly, embarrassed.

The fairy nodded and pointed towards a tree, just meters from the two. "He's been there for hours."

Following her finger, Arthur slowly made his way towards the tree, listening intently to the silence of the forest. Rounding the tree, he spotted the young blonde, resting his back against the bark. The Englishman was surprised to see such a look on his face, furrowed brow and a prominent lip pout, but soon realized that it was appropriate. "Hey, Al…"

"How long," he interrupted, his voice filled with a biting tone, "have the two of you been having those…meetings?"

England's cheeks flushed red; he always complained about France, but usually from his experiences with him. It hurt, how he hid something like that from America, but not half as much as it hurt the younger man. He tried to speak, tried his damn hardest to explain the reasons for his shameful act, but he couldn't. "I'm…so sorry, Alfred," he said, choking back those desperate sobs.

Alfred looked so disappointed, his eyes a scolding blue. They pierced through Arthur's quivering frame, and the Englishman could feel them reading and analyzing every filthy secret he kept from young teen. Although he made sure to clothe himself before running out to chase America, England felt incredibly naked, France's love bites visible even in the glimmering sunset. "It's…n-not something I'm proud of, Alfred," he said softly, keeping his head low, finally noticing Francis' blouse draped over his shoulders. Tears started to slowly tread down his cheek, his fingernails piercing skin in his tightly clenched palms. "A-and it's not like…I ever wanted to do it, either."

His voice trailed off as he swallowed thickly. No, he never wanted to sleep with that perpetually intoxicated man whore, but France had such a way in bed and it always felt so good. England whined loudly, more tears streaming down, the realization of how he truly felt bruising his mind; he failed America as an older brother.

"Arthur?"

The sound of his name stung at the blonde's heart, but Alfred's voice sounded lighter than earlier. A light tug at his shirtsleeve forced England to look up into those big blue eyes.

"He's not forcing you to do this, is he?"

His green-eyes grew wide and Arthur seemed to notice how tall Alfred was; in just a few months, maybe a year, the young blonde would tower over him. The boyish features that once lingered on his face seemed to fade and shape into the more masculine lines along his cheeks and jaw.

A hint of pink rose to Arthur's cheeks, the tears drying against the blush. He wanted to speak, to answer, but Alfred had grown too handsome for him to think straight. How come he never noticed this before?

America gave a concerned pout and wrapped his arms around England to bring him close, resting his chin in the crook at the bottom of the older man's neck. "He's hurting you," he whispered softly, his gentle voice layered with a tinge of pain. "I can't let him hurt you, Arthur, I won't."

Hurt? The word sounded so strange, but England failed to retort, much too comfortable in the arms of the growing teen. "Alfred, please," he began to say meekly.

Alfred shook his head, tightening his hold. "No, he is, Arthur, I can see it in your face. But I won't let him, I promise," he voice grew stronger at a steady pace, a sense of conviction making each word louder than the previous one. "I'll grow up and be more than a perfect gentleman, I'll grow up to be a hero, to be your hero. I have to protect you, Arthur. I have to grow bigger to keep you safe, to protect you from harm."

England froze, those words nipping at his tender flesh. It felt wrong to accept this gesture of protection when he didn't need it. France wasn't hurting him, not in the slightest! It was England hurting America, for allowing this absurd notion of security. But Arthur choked back any words of oppression, failing to speak the truth and instead to indulge in what felt good, the very feeling that got him in this mess.

He nodded and forced a smile to his lips, weakly bringing his arms around the other blonde. "Thank you, Alfred," he said, barely audible.

A light squeeze assured Arthur that he was heard. He sighed, and looked up at the now navy-blue sky above the trees, his mind a hazy blur of the day's events. How he wished he never left the parlor with Francis, regretting ever walking up to his room and stripping off his clothes in the lustful way he did. His eyes managed to produce another small tear, which dropped carelessly onto Alfred's golden crown.

It felt too good to be in Alfred's arms.

~*~*~*~

...to be continued.

Sorry if anyone didn't like the fairy bit. I was just...SO tempted to make a Shakespeare reference. XD THANKS FOR READING!!!

~erbby