Alfred sat on the soft, beaten up old couch in the middle of the main room of his dorm. He sat with every muscle in his body relaxed, arm, strapped firmly in the wrist brace, draped over his knee, feeling the worn carpet under his bare toes.

The night had claimed the room for it's own. It's shadows draped and pooled over every surface, under every table, in every corner. The air was still and silent, it almost felt like the entire world was asleep, or underwater, until a car drove passed on the streets below.

Alfred didn't feel the creeping dread that usually accompanied these nights where he found himself alone in the dark. And if he felt those sensations of lurking demons crawling towards him through the darkness, he found that for the first time in what felt like years, he could blink, and banish them before the fear could grip and spiral out of control. There was a peacefulness in the quiet of the night, the tic of the clock counting the seconds deeper into the lateness, or perhaps earliness. Alfred's limbs felt too heavy to get up and check.

Instead, Alfred let himself sink further into the comfort of the threadbare couch, letting familiarity surround him.

As all the mayhem and terror finally seemed to be ebbing, Alfred found himself yet again unable to let his eyelids slide shut and let him sleep. It was as if every time he felt himself slipping into blissful unconsciousness, he lost his grip and fell back into his seat, eyes snapping open again, thoughts tumbling to the front of his mind, to circle and repeat themselves like leaves picked up and sent spiralling by the wind.

Alfred didn't mind though; because instead of waking up in a tangle of sweat-drenched sheets, alone in the dark with just the ringing of his screams, and the pang of pain in his mending hand, it was the constant play-back of recent memories that demanded his attention at stupid-o-clock at night.

Whenever Alfred gave up on keeping his hold on sleep he allowed himself to slip under the surface of the memories and re-live them.

Once again he could indulge in the surge of pride that swelled within him when he received a graded paper back from his psychology lecturer, the grins from his teachers and class-mates as they congratulated him on getting back on his clumsy feet.

He could remember little things, like the numbness in his legs after he had been sitting on the sofa, or at the counter for too long, papers and books scattered around him, pens behind his ears and ink streaked across his jaw.

He had finally unpacked all his posters, his comics with those creepy covers, and his normal alarm clock from that deep, dark recesses in the back of his chest of drawers.

And he could go full nights of restful sleep, in his bed, with his arms around Arthur.

Alfred let a little sigh huff out of him and he leaned his head back, resting it on the back of the squishy, old sofa.

He wasn't completely free. There would be a sound, a sight, or even a smell that would drag him back to that drizzly, dank night, making his bound arm twinge and his muscles tighten in fear.

But Arthur always broke him out of it. One time it was the sudden realisation that smoke was billowing out of the kitchen, causing the sprinklers to come on. Alfred had dragged Arthur out into the hall, ignoring his yells about saving the scones, with all the other, damp and angry students.

Another time it had been the simple press of Arthur's shoulder against his own, making him realise that he was still in his dorm, a ball-point between his teeth and Arthur reading, or scribbling on sheets or note-pads in a strange hand that looked elegant and flowing, yet decidedly messy, and very 'Arthur'.

And Alfred had learned the full extent of the healing power of touch. Nothing quite felt like the comforting drag of Arthur's fingertips, the press of his lips...

He felt his own tingle at the memory and he spared a thought to all the papers he had read about the grounding effect of touch. Well Arthur's was so much more then grounding. It stabilised him when his world span out from under his feet, when he blinked and all he could see was that man's eyes, glinting out at him from the dark, it soothed the jarring pain that flared up from his knuckles when he fell too deep into an intrusive recollection that fell like a screen before his eyes.

The pressure of Arthur's hand on his arm breathed a warmth into him when the cold took hold to drag him back into the panic. He could blink away the images and see Arthur's green eyes looking deep into his.

Alfred thought of the man sleeping in his bed, infusing his scent into the sheets. He hoped that Arthur wouldn't wake up and find the space Alfred usually occupied empty and cooling.

Alfred had made up his mind when he had shifted a little too sharply in his bid to sleep, and seeing the twitch of Arthur's brow, he decided to take his sleeplessness somewhere it wouldn't be contagious.

Alfred couldn't sleep though. Not after a happening this monumental. He was going to mark this day as a yearly celebration. Or this night... Anyway, he was going to make sure this day was remembered every day of his and Arthur's relationship. No. His life. And maybe he was getting a little overexcited by this, but it just showed the level of trust that Arthur had placed in him. After it had been so difficult to reassure Arthur in his security, to let him feel safe to take his shirt off in front of Alfred...

But there had been no regret in Arthur's eyes. They had been clear, gazing at him with what could almost have been determination, through the dark of his night-shrouded bedroom. Alfred had swallowed nervously as he sat on the bed, facing him. He could just make out the smirk that Arthur gave him at that, he had told him not to be apprehensive. Needless to say that hadn't helped.

Alfred felt completely justified to feel apprehensive; sitting in his boxers opposite the man he adored who seemed completely relaxed and practically embodying sensuality. He had confidence, he knew he looked good, hell he looked fantastic, and he knew what he was doing.

Alfred felt the cold bite of self-degradation when he realised that he didn't even know where to put his hand. The thought forced his gaze to the bed covers and a burn in his cheeks.

A cool touch to his chin brought his focus back to the man kneeling in his underwear with him.

"Hay..." Arthur was so close that Alfred felt the word against his face. He caught a glimpse of concern in Arthur's eyes. "Do you want to stop?"

Alfred shook his head a tad too vigorously and a smirk tugged at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "So what?" He inquired "You feel as stiff as a board, and not in a good way."

Alfred felt the flush spread across his face and he tried to loosen his muscles under Arthur's hand.

Arthur's squeezed Alfred's bare shoulder and placed his other hand on his other shoulder. "Well?"

Alfred tried to meet his gaze and school his face into a joking expression but it just came out twitchy and every bit as awkward as he felt. "I'm just a bit nervous..." he said into the night, quietly.

A soft 'hmm'ing sound escaped Arthur's lips as he looked over Alfred's body casually. "Just relax." he said, voice dipping to match Alfred's tone.

Alfred felt his heart pick up the pace as he felt the cool drag of Arthur's hand down his chest. "You're so confident." He replied, and it would have been a whine had he not said it so softly.

A strange expression flickered over Arthur's face as he paid particularly close attention to Alfred's right pec, then the smirk was back and Alfred could almost feel the sensuality rolling off him in waves. His breath stuttered as Arthur leaned close, he lost himself for a moment in the heat of Arthur's body, the puff of breath on his neck.

"It's a mask." The admittance was a caress against his ear and Alfred sat, blinking stupidly for a moment in the dark.

He leaned back a little bit, catching the smudge of red across Arthur's cheek, and the glint in his green eyes. Alfred was abruptly awair of the cool press of Arthur's hands on his chest. Cool, while the rest of him was blazing hot...

Alfred took Arthur's hands in his, rubbing his slim, soft fingers with his own, as if the transfer of heat would help, unconsciously attempting to take care of Arthur's every qualm and lay his worries to rest.

Alfred caught the flash of confusion on Arthur's face and opened his mouth "Your hands are cold."

Arthur blinked. "Yes." he deadpanned.

Alfred smothered the nerves under the comfort of talking about something he was familiar with. "Some people have a reaction in their 'fight or flight' mode where blood is redirected away from their hands so that it can be centred somewhere more important. Like the larger muscles in your body or something. This is so they can fight the reason for their response or run from it. This happens when the person is scared or angry or..." Alfred looked up from his dedicated rubbing, catching the look on Arthur's face before it flickered out and was gone under the smirk.

Alfred blinked at Arthur, the crack in the mask obvious now, the cool glint in his eyes. "Arthur" He said "Are you scared?"

The crack widened and the smirk turned into a grimace. "Not scared..." he said to the wall.

A small flicker of confidence blossomed in Alfred's chest. He let Arthur's hands slip from his own so he could wrap his arms around Arthur's body. "I just said I was nervous too." He reminded.

Arthur was silent, but he returned the embrace. Alfred nuzzled against his neck "At least your not angry at me." He grinned.

Arthur pulled back, a genuine grin on his face "I won't be if you shut up and kiss me."

Alfred couldn't force the grin off his face even as he pressed his lips to Arthur's. The swell of heat in his chest only seemed to grow when Arthur framed his jaw with his hands and seemed to be trying to kiss the smile off his face. Well that certainly wasn't going to work.

Alfred enveloped Arthur in his arms and felt the mattress dip as the man shuffled closer to him. He ran a curious hand over Arthur's soft back, letting his fingers trace the slight rises of the scars he had all but counted and memorised.

He felt the soft brush of a sigh against his cheek and then Arthur was tugging and they where falling onto his bed with a soft 'whumpf'. Arthur's mouth was stealing the breath from Alfred's lungs, making his eyelids flutter, his heart to swoop and his stomach to perform backflips and a dance routine.

Alfred's body was on fire and the heat only rose with the damp drag of Arthur's lips and the leg he flung over his thigh.

Peppering Arthur's face with quick kisses, Alfred let his hand wonder the rises and slopes of Arthur's body. Their curves fit together and whatever didn't settle they tangled; their legs, their bumping fingers, and their wriggling toes.

Suddenly Arthur rolled Alfred on top of him, and his breath stuttered into a moan drawn out from the deep recesses of his body, electric at his cock and squeezing volts somewhere near the base of his spine. When the wave rolled over and passed, his neck gave out and he hung his head, arms just about supporting his body with a gentle tremor.

When he lifted his head Arthur's green eyes met his.

"Like that?" He asked in the dark.

Alfred huffed "I've...I've never..."

Arthur blinked his eyes wider. "Ever?" He asked.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. "Why didn't we have this conversation before?" He complained, almost to himself.

"Well it's not too late to have it now." Arthur stated, businesslike beneath him. "So you're a virgin." It wasn't a question.

Alfred nodded, he knew he oozed Romantic from every pore.

"And your clean?"

Alfred decided he felt grateful for Arthur's relaxed, practised bed manner, because option two was just too dark, sick, and twisting; something like jealousy, but not. He nodded again.

Alfred lifted his head and asked the question he promised himself he would ask when he was fifteen and aching for this. "And you?"

Arthur smiled. It had a twist of bitterness, but mostly it was a strange sort of proud that Alfred found himself grateful for, proud that Alfred was asking the sensible questions. "Yes." He answered, his voice like his smile. "I have routine check-ups and certain rules I enforce."

"Had." Alfred said, in a quick sort of hiccup of a word.

Arthur blinked. "Sorry?"

"Had." Alfred repeated. Emphasis on the past tense.

Arthur blinked again but slower, letting his eyelashes time the refreshing of his face as it shifted from being laced with dark practice to gentle, clear contentedness. He let himself sink further into the soft pillows supporting his head and let an equally soft smile grace his lips, melting under Alfred's body. "Had." He agreed.

Arthur moved his hands to rest against Alfred's full biceps, slow, like the air was full, like water. "We don't have to do everything tonight." His voice lazy. Alfred blinked at the man under him and Arthur let the smile stretch over his mouth, enjoying Alfred's youthful innocence. He drew the smile under control with a breath "There are plenty of other things we can do until we're ready for the final jump." He let the words slide, allowing Alfred a few moments to process what he had said and it's loaded promises. The smile broke back onto his face as he watched the meaning hit and short-circuit Alfred's brain.

Alfred's head dropped onto Alfred's shoulder, brushing the smooth skin with his hair, letting the warmth transpose into his forehead. Arthur shifted beneath him, sliding his dry hands across Alfred's shoulders, to his broad back. They took a few moments to paint each other with their fingers, to stretch their muscles across each other under their skin, to sink into each other and hold it until the electricity built up too much and it had to be expelled.

Arthur let his fingertips glide over the rim of Alfred's boxers, enjoying the tiny shiver just above the band of cotton. Blindly, he slid the fabric down over the curve of Alfred's ass and let them wrinkle at Alfred's thighs when his arms couldn't stretch any further.

The rush of cold air wasn't welcome when Alfred lifted himself to remove the final barrier, dropping his boxers onto the carpet. Alfred only remembered to feel embarrassed when he had pressed his warm palms to Arthur's hips to remove his boxers as well.

Arthur hauled himself up and slung one arm around Alfred's shoulders, pressed his lips to Alfred's and let his free hand slide appreciatively, possessively down Alfred's ribs, the small of his spine, to press against his ass.

Alfred's mouth opened under Arthur's and the air between them mingled, shyness overridden, Alfred put his gym-time to use and lifted Arthur bodily into his lap and slipped his underwear down his thighs.

Arthur released him and fell back into the downy pillows and let Alfred pull his underwear from his ankles, watching him drop it onto the floor to join his own.

Alfred felt the self-degradation bite back with a vengeance. He fought against the swarming voices in his head, but still his gaze was fixed to the floor. Amongst the clamour was his own mental voice, asking him what he was doing and to just man up for godssake.

"Hay." Arthur's voice was soft, yet it cut through all the others in his head. He found himself blinking at Arthur's soft green eyes. He didn't want Alfred to be afraid, and he reached up and pulled Alfred to him, trying to kiss away the nerves.

Alfred's body relaxed and melted against Arthur's. His stomach muscles tensed under his skin and his lower lip escaped Arthur's in a gasp as their skin and dicks came together, hard and smooth besides the drag of hair and dry skin.

Arthur slid his legs out from under Alfred's and spread them, framing Alfred's hips and bringing them closer.

In another wave of sparks Alfred's neck gave out again, his forehead pressing against Arthur's. He let himself ride it out with the heat of Arthur's skin and the flutter of his eyelashes against Alfred's burning cheek. As the wave faded again it left behind a burning ache that dug a hole in his stomach and had him seeking out Arthur's lips.

Arthur patted Alfred's back in an almost bizarrely comforting manner, setting his heels into the mattress for grip, and rolled his hips upwards.

The jolt that racked through Alfred's body seized up all of his muscles, wrenching his head up, eyes wide, gasping. The pleasure shots ringing from his chest to his toes.

Alfred shifted his arms beneath Arthur's body, gripping tighter and buried his head in the slope of Arthur's neck, his pulse fluttering against his lips, the warmth radiating into his face. The next time Arthur rolled his hips up, he pressed down. There was lightning in his blood and Arthur was setting the air in his lungs on fire. The fire coiled and tensed with his muscles, pressing with him and Arthur and growing. Alfred realised that his mouth was open against Arthur's neck and an unbroken moan was being drawn from him, teased from his body by Arthur. He was playing him like an instrument.

Alfred clamped down on the moan, choking it off into muffled groans. He wanted Arthur to moan like he had. He wanted Arthur to loose control to him and not have to be the one guiding him by the hand. He wanted Arthur to be swallowed by the pleasure with him, pressed against him and as close as possible.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut tighter and pulled one arm from under Arthur's hot back. He slid his hand firmly over Arthur's ribs, over a dotting of scars, over his curving, rolling hips, to grip Arthur's thigh. He pulled it up, causing Arthur to loose his purchase on the mattress, exposing him and letting their skin connect in so many more ways. Alfred held Arthur's thigh up with the crook of his arm, and rocked his hips.

Arthur's stomach muscles spasmed beneath Alfred's and at last his mouth opened and a cry was wrenched from his throat.

Alfred rocked harder, feeling the wetness grow between them, and pressed his lips to Arthur's, trying to stifle his grin.

Their bodies had become hot and damp and finesse didn't seem to matter any more. They kissed open mouthed, sweating, and gripping each other. Alfred let his head fall to the side of Arthur's jaw as the inferno blazed hotter, harder. He pulled Arthur's leg tighter to their chests, letting himself moan with Arthur.

He had to speak, but he couldn't breath because the air was electric and his lungs where fire, somehow he reconnected his tongue to his brain and stuttered out; "I love you."

Arthur's body convulsed, jarring his legs, curled his toes and throwing his head back as he cried out clear and loud and came between them.

Arthur's jerking, spasming muscles beneath Alfred set the coiling, sparking, writhing grip inside his body exploding into blinding pleasure. He's pretty sure he screamed, he must have screamed. It rolled through him, relentless and wonderfully destroying, until it ebbed and left him riding out the after shocks against the body under him.

He's almost sure he blacked out. He may have even fallen asleep if the squirming hadn't brought the world crashing back into place. He blinked his vision clear and rolled off of Arthur, letting their sensitive bodies have a moment to relax.

Their breathing was so quiet that the sound was nearly swallowed by the night. A few muscles still twitched out the pleasure-tension as he lay there in damp sheets. Then he looked over and met a pare of green eyes that reflected all the caring and love that he felt.

He grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it up over them, then he settled his hand against Arthur's cooling waist and flexed the arm still under his body. They settled against one another and closed their eyes.

Alfred breathed deeply, his mind reconnecting. He let his breath ease out as he shifted his aching muscles, sore from where he was sitting on the couch. He must have fallen asleep after all. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that sleep might claim him again and keep him until morning.

His mind refused to shut off. Alfred frowned in defeat and let his eyes slip open.

Ivan Braginski was standing before him.

Alfred blinked slowly up at him from his place on the couch.

He observed the man stood in his university dormitory, seeming to make the room small in his largeness by simply standing there. He was exactly as Alfred remembered him. Tall, imposing, cold. He wore a scarf and long jacket even though they where supposed to be indoors and his face was pale in the dark, his hair was fine and washed out yet, Alfred mused, Ivan Braginski's glittering, violet eyes where still the objects of terror that haunted his dreams.

He couldn't wake up and get Arthur, he was asleep and they had had such a good night. He couldn't wait to talk to him in the morning. Tease him about sex hair and what his voice sounded like, desperate and broken.

But right now he was asleep and dreaming.

He hadn't had one of these dreams in ages. Much less those particular dreams where he was awair he was dreaming, unable to wake himself up.

Like this one.

He watched the man that haunted him raise his arms, a smile on his face, and a roll of duct-tape in his hands.

Ivan stepped out of his field of vision. Or perhaps out of the dream completely. Alfred supposed that was possible.

There was a ripping sound and Alfred felt disappointed that the dream was not over. He really didn't like these dreams.

Suddenly a harsh strip of cold tape was stuck over his mouth and in a swoop of gut-wrenching fear Alfred realised that he wasn't asleep.

Screaming almost soundlessly into the duct-tape, air simply forcing itself from his nose, muted, Alfred flung himself from the couch and landed painfully on the floor. Ivan grinned down at him.

He scooted away in terror, then turned, forced himself to his feet, and made a run for the door that led to the hall, to help, safety, a place away from Ivan Braginski.

Alfred screamed silently again as a relentless grip wound into his hair, yanking him back. Ivan smiled at him, pale lips softly curving, as he sunk his fist into Alfred's stomach.

Alfred went still. Eyes wide and almost blinded in pain. His body went lax and Ivan dropped him onto the floor.

Another plastic, ripping sound cut the air and Alfred just about registered the feel of his ankles being strapped together beyond the white wall of agony and the smell of blood.

He felt one of his arms being lifted but he grit his teeth and pulled it away, making a last-ditch effort for the door.

A foot on his back put a stop to that, crushing him, unforgiving and too hard to breath, to the floor and Alfred struggled weakly as his wrists where bound.

A wave of nausea rolled over him as he was hoisted off the floor and over Ivan's broad shoulder.

Alfred screamed behind the tape as he watched his dorm slip away, the door closed, and was spirited away down the halls that where supposed to be his haven.


A/N; you dont know how excited i was for this chapter XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

And not just for the end scene. I too find that evil enjoyment in torturing characters.

Well. they get sexy tiem for their troubles...

Oh dear sexy tiem...it simply didn't want to be written. You know how it is.

Reviews are my crack, my heroin, my smeaky ciggarette, and my cup of tea.

...

Might just stick with the cup of tea... XDD

(also short review is short because i is sleepy. it's like, the middle of the night XDDD )

(also #2; i have started sixth form! so much fun, still waiting for the crushing work load XDDDDD )