AN: The last chapter was from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat"

Scot is Scotland

TRIGGER WARNING: Bullying and the use of homophobic slurs.

Chapter Fourteen: I Could Have Danced All Night

"I love acting. It is so much more real than life."
~ Oscar Wilde

Running his fingers through his hair, Alfred let out a huge sigh. He was so incredibly nervous about the dance. He wanted the entire night to be spectacular. Everything had to be perfect for Arthur. He wouldn't stand for anything less than a perfect night with his amazing boyfriend. Unfortunately for Alfred, he tended to mess up at the last moment and tonight was no exception.

"The flowers are all wrong," Alfred wailed at Matthew as they drove home from the florist. "I ordered a green rose to match his eyes and they gave me a plain white one."

"To be honest Al, I don't think that Arthur would have appreciated the green rose. It's a sign of fertility." Matthew pointed out.

"How do you know that?" Alfred asked.

"I researched before I bought my own flowers for Gilbert and me." Matthew explained patiently.

"Well what do white roses mean?" Alfred asked blinking.

"I think it stands for purity or something like that." Matthew replied.

"Well that doesn't work," Alfred huffed. "I don't want him to be pure. I want—"

"Please stop," Matthew cut off. "I don't want to hear about you two doing the nasty."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks in frustration. "We haven't done the nasty. Not yet anyway. I was hoping to tonight though."

"That's absurdly clichéd," Matthew echoed Arthur.

"Well what about you and Gil? Have you done it yet?" Alfred glanced over the steering wheel and slid his eyes toward Matthew.

"That's none of your business," Matthew replied. "Siblings don't talk about their sex lives with each other Alfie."

Muttering under his breath, Alfred turned his attention back to the road. "Do you think Artie will like the white roses?" His voice sounded small and childish, so concerned about the flowers that Matthew didn't have the heart to tease him.

"I think he'll love them Alfie," Matthew reassured.

Once the boys arrived at home, there was the inevitable fight over who got to use the shower first, with Alfred winning. Alfred locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the hot spray of water. He knew he didn't have much time before Matthew would begin pounding on the door and whining that it was his turn, so he hastily shed his clothes and stepped in the shower. The hot water sliced over his body, relaxing his muscles. Clenching his eyes tightly, Alfred conjured up an image of Arthur on his knees in the locker room. Roughly grabbing himself, Alfred jerked himself to a finish, knowing that he would be better on his game after a quick session in the shower. Hastily washing his hair and skin, he then stepped out, feeling relaxed and loose.

"Come on Al, hurry up," came the plaintive whine of Matthew behind the door. "I have more to do to get ready than you."

Wrapping a towel loosely around his waist, Alfred stepped out of the bathroom and relinquished the room to a pouting Matthew. Heading to his room, Alfred ran a hand through the wet locks of his hair. Despite the mix up with the flowers, he had to admit that he was feeling pretty confident about the upcoming evening. Mattie was right, Arthur would probably like the white roses more than green anyway. Maybe the florist had done him a favour. Toweling off in his room, Alfred went to his closet to look at the tux hanging on the inside of the door. His dad had taken him and Matthew to rent them the week before. Alfred had picked out a blue tie to match his eyes and he was excited to see Arthur's face when he picked him up. He knew the Brit would enjoy seeing him all dressed up, a change from his normal attire. Arthur seemed like the type to appreciate big fancy events and Homecoming was surely that. Not as big as Prom, by far, but still enough glamour to appease the small English boy.

Now dry, Alfred began to carefully dress himself. He could hear Matthew getting out of the shower down the hall. Wearing only his tux pants, he made his way towards Matthew's bedroom and opened the door expecting his brother but instead finding Gilbert lounging on Matthew's bed.

"Gil?" he asked dumbly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick up Birdie for the dance, duh," Gilbert swung his legs onto the floor and looked at his friend.

"It's early." Alfred said.

"I had nothing better to do." The German boy's tie hung loosely around his neck and his tux jacket was slung over a chair in the corner. "I wanted to see how long it takes mien leibling to get ready."

"Seriously?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"No," Gilbert grinned. "I told you, I don't have anything better to do. My brother and his date already left for the restaurant they were going to and my grandfather is busy making dinner for Antonio and Coach R. He didn't want me in the way."

"Your grandpa is actually making them dinner?" Alfred said impressed.

"Ja," Gilbert smiled. "That's the only way to ensure that Coach R will come over—home cooked meal."

"I guess I just figured your cook would do it," Alfred tugged at his tux pants.

"Nah, we gave her the night off. She doesn't get along with Coach."

Suddenly the door opened to reveal Matthew, wearing only a bathrobe, and a towel on his head. "What are you two doing in my room?" he asked looking a little upset.

"Just waiting for you," Gilbert smiled, reaching a hand out toward the folds of Matthew's robe.

Slapping his hand away, Matthew went over to his dresser where he proceeded to towel off his hair and being applying different lotions and potions to his longer locks. "And you Al? What did you need?"

"I'm just…you know," he stammered. "Nervous."

"About what?" Matthew flicked his hair.

"Arthur."

"What do you have to be nervous about?" Gilbert quirked an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Alfred stammered. "It's just…we were gonna…tonight…"

Smirking, Gilbert jumped off the bed. "Oh ho! You were gonna…tonight? Ja!" He slapped Alfred hard on the back. "Good for you buddy."

"I don't think it's gonna happen though," Alfred said. "I just don't want to mess anything up."

"The first time is always the hardest," Gilbert said wisely.

"How do you know?" Alfred looked sideways at his erstwhile friend.

"I've been around the block before," Gilbert evaded.

"Not with me," Matthew said snidely from the other side of the room. He had stepped into the closet to remove his robe and was now dressed similarly to Alfred with just his tux pants on.

"Damn Birdie," Gil whistled. "I hope I get to see you like this again later tonight."

"You just might." Matthew winked.

"Ew, gross," Alfred protested. "I don't wanna hear about you two getting it on."

"See Alfred," Matthew pointed out. "I told you that earlier. Siblings don't talk about their sex lives. Now if you will both excuse me, I have to finish dressing. Gilbert why don't you go help Alfred."

Grinning as he stood, Gilbert slapped his hand lightly across Matthew's ass before following Alfred down the hall. As Alfred dressed slowly, he talked about his concerns with Gilbert who did his best to comfort the less experienced boy.

"You just gotta take control Alfred," Gilbert advised. "Show him how much you want him and he'll go along with it."

"I hope you're right Gil," Alfred sighed. "I hope you're right."

Meanwhile, across the neighborhood, Arthur was having a similar crisis of his own, although he had no one to vent his feelings to, as his older brothers were all out. As if summoned by magic, the front door of his house slammed announcing that someone had come home. Calling down the stairs, Arthur asked who it was.

"It's me, Scot," came the reply.

Arthur's oldest brother, the professional golfer was in town for the week to visit with their parents and Arthur felt instant relief that it was Scot at home instead of his mother or father.

"Can you come up for a moment Scot," Arthur called down the stairs. He was fully dressed and had taken care of business in the shower earlier, so he was pretty much ready to go, simply waiting for Alfred to come pick him up.

Arthur could hear the heavy clomping of his brother's feet as he ascended the stairs and knocked on Arthur's bedroom door.

Whistling, Scot leaned against the doorframe, "That's right kiddo, it's the big night tonight isn't it?"

"Homecoming Dance."

"And you're going with your new little boyfriend," Scot grinned. None of Arthur's family had a problem with his sexuality, they embraced him. Although sometimes one of his brothers would tease him for being a 'poof' it was mostly all in good fun and Arthur didn't mind.

"Yes, Alfred," Arthur responded.

"Why do you look so down," Scot asked.

"Well, it's just that I think Alfred may have some expectations for tonight and I don't know if I'm ready to go there just yet." Arthur blushed fiercely.

Scot bristled. "He better not have any expectations if he knows what's good for him."

"Scot," Arthur sighed. "We're practically grownups."

"No one is defiling my baby brother," Scot insisted.

"A little late for that," Arthur grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look Artie," Scot said, "Don't let him talk you into anything you aren't ready for."

"I know," Arthur slumped his shoulders, defeated. "I just really love him and we've done other things," Arthur flushed as he spoke to his older brother. It was easier saying things like this to Scot than it would be to their parents. But there was no way in hell Arthur would ever open up like this to his mum and dad. "I just don't want to ruin the night if I'm not…feeling it."

"It won't ruin anything." Scot said gently. "You're a grown boy, you tell this Alfred how you feel and he'll be fine with it. Trust me." Scot cracked his knuckles.

"What are you going to do? Threaten him?" Arthur laughed.

"Possibly." Scot grinned. "I will be here when he comes to pick you up after all."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

"That will be him." Arthur sighed.

"Well, let's get this over with," Scot patted Arthur's shoulder affectionately.

The doorbell rang again as the two brothers descended the stairs. "He's so impatient," Arthur smiled. When he reached the door, he took a deep breath and opened it to the most stunning sight he could ever remember seeing. Alfred F. Jones stood on his doorstep in a form-fitting tuxedo, his hair styled perfectly, except for the wayward tuft that always seemed to escape. The American boy's bright blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses and Arthur felt his breath catch.

"Hey Artie," Alfred spoke softly, almost shyly. "You look amazing."

"So do you," Arthur managed to breathe out.

"You must be Alfred," Scot stepped forward and extended a hand toward the taller boy.

It was the first time that Alfred had met anyone in the Kirkland family and he was a bit nervous to make a good impression on Arthur's relatives. "I sure am," he said brightly taking the proffered hand. "Alfred F. Jones at your service."

"This is my brother Scot," Arthur said without needing to.

"Yeah, I recognize you from all the Sports Illustrated covers." Alfred grinned. "I play a little golf too, maybe sometime you, me and Artie could go out for a round."

"It would be my pleasure," Scot managed to smile. "Well come on inside," Scot invited. "Mum will kill me if I don't get pictures for her to see when they get home."

"Oh no," Arthur blushed hotly. "We don't need to take pictures."

"Come on Artie," Alfred laughed. "It'll be fun!"

"It most certainly will not," Arthur insisted. But he opened the door further for Alfred to step inside.

"Come on, stand over by the fireplace Arthur," Scot tried to coax his younger brother to cooperate. "Mum will kill me if I don't have at least one picture."

"Fine," Arthur scowled and grabbed Alfred's hand leading the taller boy toward the large fireplace that set in the center of the family room. "Just one picture for mum and you're not to post it on any social media site. I don't want to see anything on your Twitter account about your 'adorable baby brother going to the dance.'"

"Scout's honor," Scot held up two fingers and Alfred laughed.

The two boys posed together in front of the blazing fireplace, Alfred in the back and Arthur in the front with Alfred's arms around Arthur's waist. Scot clicked a few pictures with his phone before he let them go. "Perfect, all done," he finally said.

Arthur immediately dropped the pose and stalked toward the front door. "We should probably be going or we'll be late for dinner," he said.

"Just a moment though," Scot said, reaching a hand out to place on Alfred's shoulder. "A quick word, if you will."

"Um, sure," Alfred grinned, not seeing the coming signs of a protective older brother.

"Lay one hand on my wee baby brother, and you'll have to answer to me," Scot said, gripping Alfred's shoulder tightly. He practically whispered the threat, it was so soft, Arthur had no idea what he said. He just saw Alfred's tan face go whiter than Gilbert and a quick stiff nod.

"Um, yes sir," Alfred nodded. "No touching. I promise."

Scot grinned as the door closed behind him, confidant that he had put a little fear into the Jones boy. Nobody was going to mess with his baby brother.

The dinner out was pleasant enough, with Alfred pulling out Arthur's chair and making small talk about how gorgeous his boyfriend looked. Arthur was glad that they were eating alone instead of with Matthew and Gilbert. Although they could see the other couple at a table not far from theirs, it was pleasant to spend the dinner with Alfred's complete attention. And, boy did he get attention.

Everything that Alfred said was about how beautiful and sexy Arthur looked, which caused the English boy to scoff and blush. Everything Alfred did was sweet and kind and chivalrous. Arthur felt truly cherished in their time together at the restaurant.

"Hey Artie," Alfred asked shyly.

"Yes Alfred," Arthur took a sip of his water. "What are you thinking that has that mischievous smirk on your face?"

"How serious was your brother?" Alfred rested his elbows on the table.

Pushing Alfred's elbows back onto his lap, Arthur inquired. "Serious about what?"

"About me not touching you?" Alfred said with a sad puppy dog look in his eyes.

"Is that what he whispered to you before we left?" Arthur shook his head. "He just doesn't want you to take advantage of me."

"I would never!" Alfred insisted.

"I know dearest," Arthur smiled gently. "I just…voiced some of my concerns about the night to Scot and he took it a little further."

"What kind of concerns?" Alfred cocked his head.

"Well," Arthur took another sip of water to clear his drying throat and began. "I'm a little concerned that you were insisting that tonight we could have sex."

"But Artie," Alfred smiled. "It would be romantic to do it on Homecoming Night."

"I'm not saying that it wouldn't," Arthur pressed. "I'm just saying that perhaps I'm not ready."

"But you've already had sex," Alfred pouted.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Yes I have, but it wasn't what I wanted and it didn't make me feel very good about myself afterwards. I just want what we have to be special and right. We don't have to rush things do we?"

Alfred sighed. "Of course not." He gazed into Arthur's eyes deeply. "I would never want to rush you. I just want to catch up to you."

"Look," Arthur pursed his lips. "My first and only time I had sex wasn't a great experience. I still feel bad about it some days and I don't want that with you. I want our first time together to be perfect."

"I want that too Artie." Alfred nodded enthusiastically. "And it will be perfect, I'll make sure of it!"

"We can of course make out in the car after the dance if you wish," Arthur relented.

Alfred beamed.

Unlike the Prom, when the school rented out a ballroom from a local hotel, the Homecoming Dance was held in the gymnasium. Tacky, colourful streamers rained from the rafters and balloons floated merrily through the air as they were batted around by enthusiastic students. Entering the gym, Alfred shyly took Arthur's hand, and squeezed it lightly. Arthur grinned softly and squeezed back. He was so happy and proud to finally be at a dance with his boyfriend. The fact that they had to fight to make it there made it all the more sweet.

"Come on," Alfred grinned. "Let's go and get another picture."

"Really Alfred," Arthur groaned.

"My parents will want to see it," Alfred insisted. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"The first picture wasn't fun," Arthur grumbled. But he allowed the energetic boy to drag him over to where a professional photographer had his set up. There was a cheesy backdrop of flowers and a balloon arch for the couples to stand under. Striking a similar pose to the one they had in Arthur's living room, the boys got their picture taken and then Alfred rushed them off to the punch bowl.

By this time of the night it had definitely been spiked, but neither boy seemed to care. Arthur gulped his down greedily, allowing the alcohol to burn his throat. He tasted scotch and what was probably tequila, which made him smile. At least two separate people had spiked the punch—he was betting that one of them was Gilbert.

"Wanna dance Artie?" Alfred asked, tugging on the shorter boy's hand, pulling him in the direction of the dance floor.

"Perhaps," Arthur smiled gently. He allowed himself to be taken into the sea of writhing students.

Alfred carefully placed a hand on his hip and pulled Arthur closer. A slow song began just as their chests met and Arthur allowed himself to get lost in the music and the feeling of another's arms around him. A few feet away he could see Gilbert and Matthew swaying gently together. Over in the corner, Roderich and Elizabeta did a solemn waltz. Arthur smiled against Alfred's shoulder. So far, this night had been utterly perfect.

Pressing closer to Alfred, Arthur rested his head on the taller boy's shoulder and swayed slightly to the music. It was soothing and comfortable. The dance ended and Arthur felt himself shift to look up into Alfred's eyes. He leaned on his tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his boyfriend's mouth.

"I'm going to go get some more punch," Arthur said softly.

"Okay," Alfred grinned. "I'll be waiting for you."

Making his way toward the table where the punch was set up, Arthur felt as though he was walking on air. Suddenly he felt a rough shove from behind him.

"Hey faggot," the voice snarled as Arthur was pushed again.

Arthur found himself staring up into the face of one of the basketball players. A tall, muscled boy whose ill-fitting tux did nothing to disguise the beginnings of a beer gut.

"Excuse you," Arthur snapped at the taller boy.

"I'm talking to you, butt muncher," the basketball player glared at Arthur. "Where do you get off making our captain gay!"

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. Him making Alfred gay? What in the world?

"He's joined that faggy musical and now he's out on the dance floor kissing you," the basketballer snapped. "It's fucking disgusting and I don't wanna see it."

"Well then don't look," Arthur replied waspishly. "And I didn't turn him gay, Alfred has always been bisexual. I thought most of you were open-minded seeing as your coach is gay."

"None of us will stand up to coach, but I'll sure as shit stand up to a fucking pansy like you." The other boy's eyes were gleaming with a dangerous light. Arthur was beginning to wish that someone would notice what was happening—a teacher, or even Alfred.

"That is a shame," came a light voice from behind Arthur. He turned to see none other than Anya Braginski standing there, looking like she came directly from heaven. The girl's gown clung to her like a second skin and shimmered in the darkness. Her beautiful face was contorted in a look of rage as she slightly cracked her knuckles. "I don't appreciate the way that you're speaking to my friend."

The basketball player flushed and took a stumbling step backward. "I'm sorry Anya, I didn't realize—"

"Shut your mouth, I never want to hear anything come out of it again, unless it is screams of pain if you ever speak to my friend again." The cold glint of the girl's eyes seemed to make the tall bully shrink in on himself. No one wanted Anya Braginski as an enemy. Silently, the boy turned and walked away. "Are you all right?" Anya asked, her voice taking on a childlike lilt to it once again.

"Yes, quite," Arthur breathed. "Thank you for that."

"Not a problem." Anya smiled and turned away. Arthur watched her part the crowd with ease as everyone she passed stopped to admire her beauty…and ruthlessness.

Abandoning his need for punch, Arthur went back to Alfred's side and immediately enveloped the larger boy in a tight hug.

"Woah, babe," Alfred slung his arms around Arthur's waist. "What's that for."

"I just want you to know how much I love you Alfred Jones," Arthur breathed into Alfred's neck.

"You're usually not this affectionate." Alfred smiled. "I like it though."

Arthur couldn't bring himself to tell Alfred what had happened to him. It felt dirty and sordid and he didn't want to associate Alfred with any thoughts like that. He just decided to cling to his boyfriend and pretend that the night was still perfect. Because as long as Alfred was there and loved him, it was.

Breathless, Arthur arched up into Alfred's hand. He could feel the press against his groin and it was maddening. Torturous and perfect and wonderful all at the same time. Rolling his hips, Arthur pressed a soft kiss to Alfred's throat. There wasn't much room to move about, as they were smashed in the backseat of Alfred's car. The location wasn't doing anything to stop the rush of teenaged hormones that was steadily rising in the backseat.

"Oh god Artie," Alfred grunted as he pressed himself hard against the smaller boy. Alfred hovered over the Englishman, his arms braced on the rough leather of the seats. Arthur's back felt sticky from the heat that was building up in the car, but he pushed that thought out of his mind to concentrate on the lovely body pressed against him.

Alfred reached up to loosen his tie and gazed down at the perfect boy beneath him. "You're so hot Artie," he whispered as he came back down for another kiss. Their mouths melded together as they left small nips and licks over each other's skin.

Alfred reached down and deftly unbuttoned Arthur's pants. "What are you doing?" Arthur breathed out.

"I'm just making us more comfortable," Alfred grinned. "Trust me Artie, we won't go farther than you want."

"I do trust you," Arthur said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Alfred's lips. Reaching down himself, he began to unbutton Alfred's tux pants as well, watching what his hands were doing as Alfred showered his jaw and neck with kisses.

Once both boy's pants were undone, they continued their original assault on each other's mouths as their erections slid against one another, trapped only by the thin cotton of their underwear. Gasping, Arthur slid his hands down Alfred's back as he thrust his hips upwards, enjoying the friction of his boyfriend.

Moving his hand, Alfred coaxed Arthur out of his boxer briefs and began to lightly fist the smaller boy's hardened prick as they continued to kiss, steaming up the car's windows. Running a finger over the moistened tip got the reaction he craved as Arthur moaned deeply into Alfred's mouth and twisted his hips beneath him.

"Oh please," Arthur moaned, 'do that again!"

Alfred obliged. The car was filled with the sounds of grunts as the two boys ground together, their erections straining for release. After a few minutes of rutting against one another, Arthur stiffened as he came, spilling himself all over Alfred's rented tuxedo pants. Alfred followed moments after, collapsing onto the heavily breathing boy below him. They lay in the quiet, Arthur running his fingers through Alfred's hair as the American boy caught his breath, whispering against Arthur's ear. "I love you."

"That," Arthur sighed, "My love, was the perfect Homecoming Night. Thank you."

"You ruined my tux," Alfred laughed.

"I'm sorry," Arthur blushed.

"Nah, its fine," Alfred smiled down at him. "I'm sure they see things like this all the time."

"Still," Arthur looked away.

"Come on babe," Alfred grinned. "I'm just teasing you."

"I know," Arthur leaned up and gave Alfred a small, chaste kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too."

AN: I hope the fluffy smut makes up for Arthur getting bullied. The bully isn't a country, just a random bully because no country is that mean and awful. And no Anya is not a villain! She's a hero! She has forgiven Arthur for not taking her to the dance is not planning on any revenge as of right now.