...So... yes. XD. Seven months or so without an update. Yes, I know.

I'm sorry, forgive me, my lovelies?

I'd be wrong if I said this chapter was a climax, but it is close to one. I think it's about time that I pull everything together to that it makes sense – for both Arthur, and you lot. From now on, we're working on making the ends meet.


Of everything that Arthur had expected to be in his closet - from his fluffier bedclothes to silkier sheets for special occasions, otherwise known as whenever he felt like immersing himself in cashmere or silk or at least whenever he remembered to give a flying toss about what he was sleeping on, to his towels and cloths - what he saw before him certainly was not what he expected. In fact, as Arthur gaped at it, he wondered whether he should shut the door and re-open it; expectant to see that it had transfigured back into its normal self and that he had previously opened a hole to another universe. To Arthur that explanation would have made a lot more sense - and certainly would have given him a lot more peace.

In front of him was equipment and wires. The sort of equipment that the origin of television national broadcasting was far, far too used to seeing. Sucking in a breath that seemed to clog in his throat, Arthur stepped inside his walk-in closet and examined the pieces. There was a small camera, for one, that seemed to be a webcam on an extending lead - one that was a lot larger than needed for such a tiny room. Curious. The Briton scowled when he found three walkie-talkies, ones that looked like they had been borrowed from an army. When he turned them on, he noticed quickly that they had not a blip of white noise or interference. Definitely not the type of quality you would find in any typical £1 shop. Even curiouser.

However it was the laptop on the side that captured his attention, sitting carefully on top another set of his canary yellow towels. It had obviously been tampered with recently, since the Windows icon was floating around the screen as if it had only just gone idle. With the American and the Frenchman intruding upon his house, Arthur had no doubt it belonged to one of them. But why on Earth were these things in his house? In his closet, furthermore?

As soon as his fingertips lingered over the top of the touch pad, the closet door was flown open once again to the frenzied faces of the aforementioned; both of them wearing a look of shock and stress combined, almost crazed with franticness. Arthur only regarded them with a sideways glance, just about to touch the pad.

"Wait, no, Arthur—Don't!" Alfred shouted at him, before rushing up and grasping Arthur's wrist tightly in his hand; a crushing hold that blocked the Englishman's circulation and made him audibly yelp. Meanwhile Francis - still shirtless and dripping with moisture down his alluringly structured chest - grabbed his other, trying to yank him entirely away from the electronic device.

"And why ever should I not - Alfred?" Arthur snapped back, spice clearly defined in the midst of upset vocals. "This is my house, and I therefore declare that anything inside of it is either my property - or something that should be removed immediately! Like you bastards for instance! Didn't I tell you to fuck the Hell off?"

With that, Arthur forced himself forwards; the sudden action was not particularly strong but the two holding him back were not entirely suspecting of it, and their reaction times were poor. As soon as the hold was, albeit temporarily, released Arthur dragged his finger over the little touch pad to wake the laptop up; monitor bursting back into full life. Alfred and Francis would have grabbed Arthur again to force him away, but now it was no use. Besides... what Arthur saw made the Englishman pause solidly, mouth agape, appalled.

"...You... you have to be... joking."

Upon the screen was an image; it was moving, silently since the little mute symbol had a cross through it, and looked... scarily familiar. Yes, far too familiar. Arthur recognised his bedroom instantly – although it was not the setting that Arthur was paying attention to. He gazed at the laptop, watching as if through a portal into the past and onto the top of his wardrobe, where it obviously was situated. The position of it had a fantastic view of whatever was going on in the bed, and... just. Oh no. Arthur was speechless as he saw a figure contort on the bed, erotically ramming two objects – green and blue vibrators – inside of himself; kicking his head back and opening his mouth in clear moans as he strove towards climax.

He could recognise himself immediately, and Arthur was not stupid. He knew what this meant.

Slowly, he turned around and stared wide-eyed at the American standing in front of him. Arthur allowed himself to briefly revel in the sheer fear and doubt in that boy's face; because frankly, he deserved it – every second of flustered embarrassment. Though Arthur was not going to give him much longer to come up with an excuse. He crossed his arms, temporarily forgetting that the laptop screen was still showing his naked self anally masturbating behind him. Francis received the same threatening treatment.

"You." Arthur stated, before seemingly deciding that he had said that with less venom than he really wanted to. He scowled deeper than before, and let his voice turn into something no less than vicious poison. "You."

"N-Now, Arthur—A-Aha—Look, we... uh..." Alfred fumbled with his words, glancing backwards over his shoulder – obviously seeking Francis's help. The Frenchman was equally stunned, although he realised quickly that Alfred was giving him a rather accusing look. After all, they had turned off the laptop last night before intruding upon Arthur in bed. Guess they just found out where Francis had been all this time.

"You know what? Never mind getting out of my house, just yet." Arthur scathed, and the two other nations stiffened. They might physically be more powerful, but to see Arthur act like a woman scorned was an occurence they knew was dangerous to mess with. This was more than petty anger that he gathers at meetings whenever Alfred spilt his coffee over his paperwork or Francis decides to flirt with the wrong ex-colonies. This was immense.

"...First, you tell me that you slept with me. You got me drunk and you fucked me." Arthur spat, taking a step forwards towards the two of them. Much as it hurt their pride to take a step back, they both did regardless. "Then you harass me, non-stop. Then, you accuse me of awful things; like messing with your—" A rudely sharp point at Alfred "—feelings and making a joke out of you. And then I find out that... fuck, it was all a lie – wasn't it?"

"Mon cher, we..." Francis started to speak, before Arthur shot daggers through his eyes at him and caused him to shut up.

"You made me think that you had used me, and then feigned ignorance. You made me think that I had given up something important to you two, and you don't even get it! Let me spell something out to the both of you—I loved you. And though I'm not a virgin, I don't just play around with the people I have feelings for. Why do you think I've never approached you before? I don't have meaningless sex with people who do have meaning for me!" Arthur snapped.

He was sexually active, had been for years. But the people that he did have sex with honestly meant nothing to him. Nothing but a little relief for them both and some sexual gratification. One night stands were his thing, except the few times he managed to hold down a relationship. Although none of those entirely lasted long. Mainly because Arthur's opinions towards other people tended to flip-flop between enjoying their company and not. Much like with Francis and Alfred, only... he felt both positively and negatively towards them at the same time. He had a million regrets, and a million problems with them both; for Francis, it was like he hated him so much that he fell in love with him. For Alfred, he had resentment from when he left him – but the negative fear that he would disband from him again was overshadowed by his fondness for him. He could not stop himself loving them; and he would stop if he could.

He would never have sex with them out of a relationship, because of how destroying it was. He felt used, yes, and he felt like there could not become a deeper connection – romantic – between them if all they looked to each other for was just sex. Fucking hell, he wanted Alfred or Francis to have the sense to take care of him rather than spin him like a web or a toy doll to manipulate in their hands. Even if they really did not sleep with him, did they have any idea just how harmful the thought that exactly that had happened was? You do not toy with people like that.

"So, I find out that, hey! It's all fucking good! I never let them ram their fat cocks in me, because that would have been a real shame! Well whatever brains you were thinking with when you decided to lie to me, it certainly was not the ones in your skulls!" Arthur growled, watching them frown as if wounded. They deserved it, he told himself. His heart was fluttering painfully at the thought of telling them off like this – but they did deserve it. "But, no—Instead, they just watched me masturbate and decided 'ooh, yes, let's get a bit of this action – he's a total push-over!'"

"Arthur, that is not—" Alfred tried to cut in. His elongated brows had furrowed at this point, rather than allowing the vulnerable and shocked look to remain on his face any longer. Credit to him; he had more strength than Arthur thought; but the Englishman was having utterly none of it.

"No. You listen to me, sir." Arthur said, directing his glare primarily to the tallest of the three of them. Furious peridots met sapphires and clashed unsteadily. Alfred was the first to look away in defeat. "I let you kiss me, forcibly too, because I thought you and I had already kissed before. You stole that away from me. And you," the Briton faced Francis, having watched the Frenchman leer at Alfred while he received the blunt of the punishment. Prior to now, that is. "—I let you finger-fuck me!"

It went without saying. Francis and Alfred were smart enough to realise that Arthur thought he had already let them violate him, and therefore anything more was utterly meaningless – he might as well have surrendered himself and let them do whatever they wished, be it good or bad. Arthur never would have done such an insensitive thing had he not thought insensitivity had been mutual between them. They knew why he was hurt – and this was without taking into account the violation of his privacy as well.

"...Just... get out of my house, will you?" Arthur said in a tight-lipped whisper. His voice had turned into a total and utter contrast to before; no longer filled with angry intent, but now more... disappointment. "...Right now, please, just... just go."

Arthur did not stop to see if the two of them were thinking of leaving. He just could not take this all anymore. The Briton turned left, disappearing straight into his bedroom without much more of a word. The door slammed fiercely, and Alfred and Francis's hearts both thudded to the ground.

"...We should leave, Alfred." Francis said. He hated to admit, but his heart was racing – and it felt more strangely hollow then he had felt it be for a long time. It was the same sort of feeling he had gotten when Jeanne, bless her soul, had died. It was that familiar feeling of defeat, but far more personal to himself than his country; after all, it was about him as a person – not for millions of lives back on another shore.

"...N-No. We can't, Francis—I ain't going yet..." Alfred murmured sadly, staring forth at the closed door that Arthur had disappeared behind. He tentatively reached out, splaying his hand on the wood. Francis, beside him, swallowed slowly. He knew that Alfred was a lot more emotionally unstable than him, and he was less used to the feeling of defeat. The eyes behind those silver-rimmed spectacles were lit up with hurt, and could Francis ever blame him? He was still a teenager at mind.

"Non, Alfred—We should leave him right now. It's what he wants." Francis persisted, moving over to rest a sympathetic hand on the American's shoulder. Alfred's spread hand tightened into a neatly formed fist.

"I'm not going..." Alfred said, sort of weakly.

Ah, Francis knew that hurt tone he was using. It was the same tone that Alfred had used just after he left Arthur's clutches for good for his independence. He and the world never regretted it – he doubted that even Arthur regretted it now, considering how strong Alfred had managed to grow on his own. Arthur was intelligent enough to realise his mistakes – maybe that was what Francis was putting faith in. If they left now, maybe in the future they could heal. After all, Alfred and Arthur had, since the day that that strong boy had left Arthur in the mud, sobbing as the rain and the world crashed in around him. Time was the best healer, not persistence.

"Alfred, we need to go." Francis said again, trying to do everything to get the American to agree. He went silent when he heard some noises from within Arthur's bedroom, past the closed doors. Were those... sobs? Mon dieu. Really, what had they done?

"I'm not going." Alfred repeated, much more firmly. It was this point where Francis knew he should remove his hand from his shoulder. He cleared his throat and then nodded slowly, knowing that it was not just Arthur had needed some time to himself.

"...I understand." Francis conceded, patting Alfred's back in a last ditched effort to comfort him. Any other situation and Francis would have taken advantage to the fact that Alfred was vulnerable and upset, but he had far more sense than most people gave him credit for. Nothing could break the tension in the air but time. "Do not be too long. I'll wait for you downstairs."


The world meeting had only just ended, and Alfred knew that there would be a gathering at the bar afterwards. It sort of sucked that he was one of the only nations that could not get a drink with everyone else, despite them all being in New York; his own country. It was times like this that infuriated him that he was not just that little bit older, physically. It was only two years worth, but he missed out on a lot. Though that was not the only thing that Alfred missed out on, because he was so physically young.

Being a teenager still, as 'nineteen' proved, associated him with the ten years worth of adolescence beneath him. Even though nineteen, for most humans, was only a few months away from being twenty; that two digit number felt like a whole different decade. Maybe it was, being in the twenties, but it was not exactly like there was a real jump between one number to the next. Then he had to take into account people living with their ages in that other decade. Francis, Arthur... they were only a few years older, four in the latter case, but it felt like a huge jump. To them, he was still a kid.

Honestly, that might be true. He was capable of making his own decisions now, but they were not necessarily the right ones. Others had so much more experience in that field. He was the one that matured so quickly; and maybe it was a little too fast. He was unused to his own mistakes. So being wrong about something important, as a young adult, hit him – the adolescent – harder than anyone.

It had been a long time since he was quite genuinely afraid of something. Maybe terrorism and his people dying could be included in that – but wasn't that everyone's underlying fear? That the people he relates to and cares about get hurt? But that was another thing entirely. It had been a long time since he, him, Alfred – Alfred, the person, not America the country – had been afraid.

Nation aside, his personal decisions did tend to sometimes suck. Like when he accidentally picked up the nasty habit of smoking literally a few months before they discovered it was seriously harmful. Or the time someone convinced him to try some LSD in the seventies and proceeded to watch light pornography appear in front of his eyes on the refrigerator door, and then ended up having a seizure and hitting his head off a sink. Pretty stupid stuff – and those were silly indulgences.

Coupled with decisions he needed to make that actually were important to him, Alfred, it was hard for him to know for sure if he got it right. So he sought guidance. Maybe it came in the form of chatting to his brother, or having a fully blown conversation with Kiku or Arthur. But right now... there was only one man to visit; the one best at figuring out love.

Little did Alfred realise, when he grabbed Francis's arm and tugged him out of the swarming mass of nations departing the meeting hall, that Francis had been expecting him. Nor did he realise that the Frenchman had been planning for years.

Fuck. Francis knew everything.


Once Francis was gone, having disappeared down the stairs and to an indistinguishable part of Arthur's house, Alfred sighed shakily and leant forwards; pressing his forehead against the cold wood of the Briton's door. He laughed slightly, realising just how pathetically he was acting. He sniffed, feeling an odd but familiar prickling in his eyes. 'Oh man...' Alfred thought to himself, exhaling a laugh. 'I haven't wanted to cry like this since forever...!'

He knew that this was his fault. He was the one that suggested to Francis that they could go intrude on Arthur and give him a surprise when he awoke – but when he did, Arthur's reaction was just so strong that Alfred could not fight it and continued with the lie. He had a reason for it; for lying and persisting with that lie. Although Alfred doubted that Arthur would believe him. It stung, internally, knowing that the only reason they had screwed up so much was because of him. He ruined everything. He was like a bull in a china shop – crashing into everything on his way to escape. Certainly didn't help now.

Alfred had no clue how to fix this, or indeed if it could be fixed at all – because Arthur; shit, he had seen Arthur pissed like that before, but never quite at him. Even when they used to argue in the revolutionary days, Arthur was never like this - never quite this strong. It was not that he was scared, far from it, but Alfred could tell that he had been far too hurtful to be forgiven. Fuck. He smiled; not out of joy, obviously, but out of worry and nerves. The opposite reaction to how he should. It was like he was trying to laugh his worries off. He had always done this; been too cheery when everything was going to the dogs. Who exactly was he trying to lie to?

"...Wow, Jones. Seriously, pull yourself together..." Alfred muttered. It was time to tell the truth. "...No more excuses."

The American bit the bullet and knocked on the door. There was a long silence, and even the slight shuffling noises inside of the room had ceased entirely. Alfred took himself off of the wooden panel and stepped back, so if the door swung open he would not embarrass himself; but that never came. Even when he knocked again, gaining some confidence from his newly formed determination, there was no answer. "Arthur?"

Still no answer. "...Um. It's just me, Francis is somewhere else. Look, I, uh. Dammit, listen to me sound like a—what do you usually say? A pillock or a git or a moron or sommat?" Alfred tittered awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, his nervous habits were beginning to show through again.

Still no answer. "I want to talk to you." A long period of silence. "...Arthur, I want to tell you why I did what I did and why I lied to you – okay? You don't have to believe me. You don't have to suddenly make up with me, even though I really, really don't want to leave it like this. I just want you to listen to me, face to face, 'aight? ...If you want me to leave right after, I'll do it."

The shuffling behind the door re-continued, but it sounded like it was getting closer – right before it stopped. Alfred swallowed slowly, realising that Arthur had ceased before opening the door, having temporary second thoughts. Alfred knew he was literally words away. "Please, Arthur. I want to tell you that I'm sorry. At the very least, let me do that."

The door was slowly slid open, and a shaken up Briton stood behind it; his face was wet, and Alfred was appalled that it was himself that did it. He knew Arthur was a sensitive and emotive type of person – why else would he get so infuriated a lot of the time – but seeing the evidence right in front of him did not help. Alfred wanted to move forwards and simply swamp Arthur in his arms, to murmur to him how sorry he was and how he wanted to fix it all; but the situation was not kind enough for that. He merely let an empathetic smile appear on that chiselled jaw of his. "Ca—May I come in...?"

"...Knock yourself out." Arthur mumbled, extending the door further to invite the American in. Inside, the room was a bit less of a mess than it had been before. Those faithful gold silk sheets that Arthur had ruined by cumming on them the night before had been stripped off of his duvet and abandoned beside the bed. The sex toys that had been spilled that morning had been tossed back into the box Arthur had specially attributed for it, though not stashed back into his closet yet. Otherwise, it was the same place; musky and hot still with the scent of Arthur's orgasm last night and three bodies from all of them sleeping in that room together.

The Briton left Alfred to his own devices, turning and moving over to sit on the bed. Alfred had expected him to cross his legs and arms and pull a sceptical face that made it seem like Arthur thought nothing but doubt towards what Alfred was going to say to him, but he did not do that. He sat and stared down at the floor, frown too present on his face. Alfred wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. Instead of coming to sit on the bed besides Arthur, the American walked over and descended onto the floor – exactly at the spot the Englishman had been staring at. As he knelt, Arthur looked up, taken aback.

"There's a few things I want to tell you." Alfred began. "Number one... I don't want you to blame Francis. I was the one that decided to come in here and sleep next to you, and tell you that we slept together. It was stupid, I know. I thought that... okay. Um. Fact is... I was doubting myself. I heard you say that you loved me last night when you were using the vibrators and everything and I... I wanted to know if that really was true. And what did you think I was going to do, Arthur? Waltz in during the morning and tell you that I was really happy you said my name last night while we were watching you on a webcam?"

The Briton looked like he wanted to interject, but Alfred raised a hand to silence him. Normally Arthur would have ignored it and continued regardless, but the other blond appeared staggeringly determined right now. "Just wait a few secs, okay? Just a few," Alfred urged, until it looked like Arthur would not want to interrupt again.

"...'Kay. So, yeah. I know that I could probably have waited a while and confessed to you in a few days from now – but... Francis... he's better and more romantic than me, Arthur. He would have gotten to you quicker than I would have. Because, I gotta face it – I would have been running around in circles in nerves and might have chickened out, last minute, if I did not act boldly now. Then Francis would have run away with you, and I would be hanging out to dry. And, yeah. I'm selfish, Arthur. I know it. But I could not have been able to watch the two of you be happy together while I was kicking myself, lying in the dust." Alfred explained.

All through, he was getting mental images of Arthur and Francis together, acting so happily. Maybe it was hard to believe that they would be acting like everything was sunshine and daisies when they were together, because conflict was a part of them as a pair as much as it was with him and Arthur; but that was how he imagined it all the same. It made him feel jealous whenever he imagined Francis hugging Arthur, holding him in the middle of a French field or maybe even marrying him. Who knew what was possible in the future. Cute as it might be, and happy as Arthur might be... he was not sure if he could actually contend with that.

"...Arthur, I know that I should have been smarter. I shouldn't have let you run with the lie, and I know it was so, so wrong. I'm a big kid now, y'know? I can vouch for my mistakes. Bet you didn't think I could do that, now, didja?" Alfred teased, laughing a bit to encourage himself at his failure of a joke, and to help warm the atmosphere around him as well. "I know that I screwed up. And though it is my fault, I'm certainly not stupid enough to run with the concept so much to actually let you let me touch you. Unlike a certain guy I know."

The jab towards Francis was relatively unwelcome, but it was true. Fine, he stole kisses; though their first kiss was romantic enough for him. He had no idea how Francis had managed to get inside Arthur, but he guessed he should not have been surprised at the Frenchman's supreme ability to get in another person's pants. The fact that it was Arthur's made Alfred that bit more unstable towards his emotions. He did not blame himself for snapping once he discovered them together. Even now, thinking about it made him give a slight guttural growl.

"...So, uh. To conclude..." Alfred continued, reaching out and snatching Arthur's hand up, taking it out of its crossed-arm position. If he did not do it right then, upon instinct, then he might not have had the confidence to do it at all. From the beginning of his existence, Alfred had always been a very instinctive person; he acted upon impulse before he could take account of the regrets. He sought out Arthur's reaction.

"Alfred—" Arthur started to speak, and Alfred looked up at him. The Briton's mouth casually opened and closed a few times, before the more snappish of the two realised he had nothing quite to say. Perhaps he did not entirely understand Alfred's motive, but he had already told him off for what he had done. He was annoyed, yes, but the American's long-winded apology was helping.

"Just listen to me, darlin'." Alfred asked gently, rubbing his thumb across the top of Arthur's hand. Seeing the Englishman gaze down at the action, Alfred squeezed those delicate fingers lighter still. "Yeah, I did badly. I lied to you, I admit it. And I did it for a real, real stupid reason. And I was an idiot and kissed you before you really knew how much it meant to me. So... aha. Arthur?"

"...Al?" Arthur said, quietly. The American could see Arthur's heart racing quickly; his exposed chest jittering up and down so fast. His own heart was acting the same.

"...I want to start over. Okay? Arthur, we've never had sex. And for the purposes of this... I've never ever kissed you either, alright? Just pretend—you're imaginative enough for that. I know you are." Alfred reached upwards, cupping Arthur's cheek into his hand. He gave a goofy laugh, his glasses going a little bit askew, pleased that Arthur did not smack him away like he had expected. Yeah, he could do this.

"Arthur Kirkland, here's my confession. I, Alfred F. Jones, am wholeheartedly and foolishly in love with you. And I am going to do everything I can to steal your heart so that it's all mine. Cause I'm selfish, and I'm no better than a child, and because I love you more than anythin'." He said this in a light-hearted chirrup; he had never been good at speaking his feelings seriously. It was another of Alfred's obvious nervous ticks. The American then gauged Arthur's reaction, and saw that he was not running away. Yes. That was good.

Carefully, Alfred reached in and captured Arthur's lips; kissing him ever so gently. This time he did not chase after Arthur's tongue or go too hard – keeping it romantic and simple. A second or two in, he felt extra pressure placed on his lips, and Alfred knew Arthur was starting to kiss back. He stroked the Brit's cheek, before his hand fled backwards and cupped the back of his head. The bespectacled blond deepened the kiss until he started getting urges for more – that was his cue to get back, before he lost track of what he was doing. He huffed for breath once they had parted, fingers still tangled in Arthur's hair and hand on his hand.

"...I know I'm not Francis. I'm not too sensible; I'm a klutz when it comes to things like dates and such. And, okay, I admit I like teasing you till you crack. And I know you might be thinking 'Oh! He's just a child—that boy has no idea what he is feeling!'" Alfred added, creating his own very bad cockney accent that sounded more Australian than English – he could not quite get the right feel to his 'ah's. "'Cause, sorry. That's bullshit. You don't live for a few hundred years without picking up some sense every now and then. I know for a fact that this, this little inkling feeling, is all 'cause o' you. And I'm sorry that I'm an idiot. Forgive me?"

Arthur stared at Alfred in a stupor, looking as if he was conflicted by so many options. It was like the one he really wanted was being dandled in his face, but he was being held back by invisible bonds. The nation swallowed bitterly, trying to come up with some sort of decision, and fast. "...You... bastard," Arthur gritted out with difficulty, and Alfred started to let go of his hand. Both of them now looked wounded. Green eyes hardened. "You think I could forgive you so easily? Alfred, you and Francis clearly toyed with me and my feelings. Shouldn't you be more sensitive than that? You are an intelligent man, Alfred. A bit of a moron at times, but intelligent."

"You know what?" Alfred said, cracking another smile and withdrawing his hand away totally. He stood up from his knees and sat next to Arthur on the bed, though this time he was not facing him. Blue eyes glanced upwards to the skies – as if looking straight through the ceiling and roof of Arthur's house and seeing past into the warm azure clouds. Arthur would not put it past Alfred to be that much of a dreamer. "Yeah. I really am a moron. A total doofus. But hell, you always appreciated honesty."

"...Aye," Arthur said, furrowing his eyebrows and glancing upwards towards the same section of sky that Alfred seemed to be looking past at. "That but I do."

"And I know you don't forgive easily. It was stupid of me to think you would, huh?" Alfred chuckled, before adjusting his glasses. He slipped them off, rubbing away some pesky dust from the shaped lenses with the sheets of the bed. "Bet you've never really forgiven me for my revolution either, have you?"

"...No, no, I haven't." Arthur replied simply.

"But you still loved me, right?" The American said, placing his glasses back over his bright, shining blue eyes. Eyes that are shining even more alight now than ever.

"...Yes. Yes, I did."

"And you love me right now, too, don't you?" Alfred asked of the Briton, watching him now expectantly.

"...Yes. I do." Arthur added, looking over.

"But you love Francis too, don't cha?" The plucky American asked, shifting over so he was sitting up on the bed with his legs crossed childishly. His dopey smile only increased, and he could detect the warmth now radiating from Arthur. Those reddish cheeks of his only turned more reddish. "...Yeah, I thought so."

Arthur peered over, quirking an eyebrow at Alfred. It was like a challenge, 'what are you going to do about it?' – Of course, who was he to back down from a challenge?

"So, I a'reckon that if I got Francis back in here, you'd say the same things to him, huh? He violated you and your privacy, so on, so forth." Alfred queried, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. The Briton's brows tightened, forehead wrinkling slightly as he gazed at his spectacled equivalent. "Yeah, you would. And he'd probably say the exact same things back. Love ya, Arthur - I'm a dick, forgive me – so on?"

"Alfred, what are you trying to lead up to?" Arthur exclaimed, before he flinched. Alfred had suddenly grasped his hand again, tugging it up towards him. He placed Arthur's hand against his heart, letting the man feel his heartbeat. Surely enough, there was the light throbbing and evidence of life underneath Arthur's hand. "Alright, now I am curious."

"I'm gonna say this clearly, Arthur. At some point, you are going to have to make a decision between the two of us – Francis and I. Because, Hell, the decision is not going to be made up for you," Alfred said, and knew Arthur was blinking up at him in confusion because he did not expect him to be making so much sense. "Until then, I don't mind sharin' your affections – y'know, just in case... Heaven forbid an' all... it's not me that you choose. But I won't wait around forever. And I don't much like the idea of us being a three-way. Sorry. Understand?"

Arthur bit his lip and slowly nodded, and Alfred squeezed his hand lightly while it rested over his heart – of which was now beginning to oscillate at a faster pace. It did not take Arthur long to realise that both of their hands were shuddering slightly – some sort of... nerves?

"So, here's the facts: I'm a lot younger than you – almost to the point of it being ridiculous if I'd never hold the same feelings that you might hold for me. But I do, and you can feel it right now, can't cha? Underneath your fingers?" Alfred waited for Arthur's eyes to flick down at his chest. Surely enough, Arthur did exactly that. "I'm also a bit of a dick, yeah, I know. Am I going to get all of your jokes? No. Will I enjoy everything you do? No. Will I take you treating me however you want me to...? Hell, no. I'll do what I want and I'll do what I need. Even if I need a lil' help. I mean, why else would I have asked Francis to help me with you? But..."

Alfred cleared his throat, and winked theatrically at Arthur – seeming kind of amused when the Englishman looked a bit taken aback. "...Maybe when it comes to my emotions, I ain't – sorry, am not – the most sophisticated person ever. Which is why you should know that what I've got for you is real; because I can be raw, and I can be simple – I get angry when there are things to be angry about, and I get upset when there's something to be upset for. I also get annoyed when you or other people try to hold me back, but hey—That's only because I know I can do more. And it's that which tells me, without hesitation, that I am in love with you. Eat your heart out, Brit."

"...Alfred?" Arthur interrupted, and Alfred raised a long eyebrow.

"Yeah, space cadet?"

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" He demanded, and Alfred was honestly surprised at the outburst. Arthur snatched back his hand, frowning deeply. "I know, Alfred. Of your and Francis's feelings, I know yours are the most believable. And I know that of the two of you... you'd take rejection hardest. Because you're the golden boy—The boy that got handed the world on a silver plate, and hates not getting his way. And don't puff your cheeks up like that, Alfred, it's unsightly."

Alfred released air through his lips and deflated his shoulders. Arthur scoffed at the action – could he be acting any more like a child? Though that was the boyish charm that Alfred gave. He still looked handsome, even when he was playing up like a complete berk.

"I'm aware that you love me. And I'm aware that I, against the odds, love you too. But, and it's a very big 'but'—" The Englishman said, reaching over and stroking a few locks out of Alfred's face, to better expose his young and handsome features. "—I also love Francis. And I... I just don't know..."

As Alfred saw Arthur sigh in defeat, terribly conflicted between the two of them, he chuckled.

"Then the course of action is simple, ain't it?" Alfred stated. He moved so that the smaller man was positioned in front of him, and he grasped at Arthur's hips – tugging his body towards him. Revelling in the noises Arthur made, Alfred waggled his eyebrows teasingly. He laughed louder when Arthur abashedly looked away and blushed. "Can't have you making the wrong decision, so, you've gotta experience us both, right? And watching you last night – you're real open to that, aren't cha?"

Arthur pulled a scandalised expression, but Alfred interrupted him before he could get in a snappy comeback.

"Nope, no denying it cutie—" Alfred played. It felt like he was painting as Arthur's cheeks burned a more intensely raspberry colouring. "—Stay with us now, and we'll leave you be to get on. Who knows? Maybe you and I could go on a date or something, and you and Francis could do the same, and you could figure out exactly who you'd rather be with. It's up to you. You up for it?"

Arthur gave a long mumble and started to rub at his cheeks, trying to get the heat to disappear from them. Not that that would happen, while Alfred was hugging his body around the waist now. "...I don't know..."

The mumbling was replied to by a soft kiss at his neck, followed by another. The taller blond had begun to nurture him by nipping at his jugular and Adam's apple, trying to make him feel at ease. "Come on, darlin'..."

"...Oh, for goodness sake!" Arthur groaned aloud, wiggling out of Alfred grip and throwing his arms in the air, disbelievingly. Hearing Alfred snigger adolescently at the grumpy way in which he said it made him roll his eyes. "Fine – we're never going to solve this if we don't. And I have a feeling you two won't leave me alone till you get some of what you want."

Alfred fist-pumped the air, which made Arthur sigh even more. "Don't make me regret this. ...Go get Francis, will you?"

"Never, Cap'n! And sir, yes, sir!" Alfred said loudly, giving a mocking salute to the Briton. He quickly got to his feet and stamped his foot, pulling the whole military facade. They had had plenty of practice of that throughout the years. He started to march out while Arthur collapsed his head in his hands. He was at the door before Arthur made a noise that forced Alfred to stop.

"One more thing, Alfred..." Arthur added in a slightly suspicious, devious voice. "...I'm just curious..."

"Hm?"

"When you and Francis were... watching me, last night..." Arthur coughed, still embarrassed about the fact that they had spied on him doing such dirty things to himself. Giving himself anal and using vibrators was embarrassing enough, but double penetration was a very... particular kink. One that he supposed Alfred and Francis shared, considering it was their voices through microphones that gave him the push towards doing it. "It would be reasonable to assume that you two... well. Should I put this euphemistically? You both needed seeing to?"

Alfred choked, leaning up now against the door frame. It was his turn to blush. "A-a-aha... uh. Yeaaah... about that. So, maybe I was... um. Maybe I lied a bit, when I say that Francis and I don't... er. Co-operate, sometimes..." He cleared his throat several times into his fist, making a point in not looking over – knowing he would see a smug face. He held his hands up defensively. "It was only hand-jobs, I swear! We never did anything more—I mean, it's big making someone else cum and everything, but that was it...!"

"...Alfred..." Arthur said carefully, and Alfred tentatively looked at him. Yes, there definitely was a knowing, smug face. "...You were in my pantry. I was only going to ask if you got any mess on my linens."

"O-oh." Alfred deadpanned. So – he just realised that he admitted to giving Francis a hand-job and receiving one himself, for utterly nothing. He coughed again, scratching the side of his cheek as it quickly turned hotter. "Yeah, um. I'm, er, I'm going to go get him... Aha..."

As Alfred disappeared into the house to fetch the French blond, wherever he may be, Arthur flopped backwards and laid on the bed; covering his face up in his hands as he tried to get his head around this. He wished that he could split himself into two. Two that could love each of them – because Alfred was right; there was no point leading either of them on only to turn them down at the last hurdle. "...You idiots," Arthur murmured sadly to himself, curling up on the bed. "As if I could choose between you..."


The next chapter will be M-rated. Guaranteed.

Love, Zoe. X

...Also, I tend to make up a lot of words. Or use words in places that words should not really exist in. I'm not sure who said it, but I remember watching an Author on television say that for writing, making up words that go with the feel of what you are writing is perfectly fine. Good, really. So, maybe 'nurturingly' might not be a word ('he stroked his cheek nurturingly' – to act nurturing). But it should be. And 'intentive' should be one too ('An intentive smile appeared on his face' – full of intent). So for me, it is. Eat your heart out.