Arthur's heart beat furiously, throwing itself again and again against the wall of his chest. The atmosphere in the room seemed to twitch and vibrate, urging Arthur's nerves into a panic. He knew Alfred would be at the door any minute now. He'd wrench it open, the door screeching as it was ripped from its hinges, and then he'd toss it away as if it were light as a babe.

Arthur hadn't the faintest idea of what would ensue after that. At best, he figured, he'd get a world class ass-kicking from the American. Not that he didn't deserve it. He was quite sure he did. To take advantage of Alfred in such a way, intentional or not, was a depraved act he thought himself incapable of until tonight. And what if Alfred had not drawn back? How far would Arthur have gone then?

Despite his actions, Arthur's guilt was not without an end. Alfred had been the one who had come to him, the one who had initiated their brief contact. He had been the one moving against Arthur's body in such an alluring fashion, enticing Arthur without end until it became too much for him to handle.

Arthur huddled at the foot of his bed, the previous moments playing through his mind. Alfred had been so warm, so welcome to his touch. Completely unresisting. Arthur licked his lips thoughtfully, his mind wallowing in the pleasant, if not fleeting, experience.

His thoughts moved slowly, twisting into indulgent fantasies, of what could have been if not for that sneeze. The warmth of Alfred's limbs intertwining with his, the whines of affection that would have graced his ears. If only─

Arthur's eyes snapped open, unable to remember when he had closed them. The faint creak of wooden panels traveled under the floor, grating against Arthur's ears.

Instantly Arthur was on his feet, his breath leaving him in the motion. He was sure he had heard Alfred as he stepped closer to the room. Perhaps he was already at the door. Waiting, his fists clenching and unclenching. Maybe he was going box Arthur's head in, give him a cauliflower ear.

No, that would be too merciful. Alfred was not cruel, but dealt with a certain enthusiasm when handing out his own self-approved justice. Arthur wondered if it would be okay to fight back. It wasn't his fault completely, he had already affirmed that. He had started nothing, only finished, or at least attempted to, what had already begun. The idea of attempting to fend Alfred off was not wholly appeasing, but the only escape option he could formulate was to flee through the window.

The idea of absconding from his own home left a sour taste in Arthur's mouth. This was his castle. He had been the one kind enough to let Alfred. Maybe he even deserved a bit of payment in return, and who was to say just what kind of payment he could ask for? To top it off Alfred had been the first to offer, after all. Arthur hadn't the slightest desire for anything in return for his hospitality up until Alfred had nearly pushed it upon him.

Arthur shook his head, cleaning the half-formed cobwebs of deviant ideas from his mind. He wasn't going to take advantage of Alfred in his drunken state, just as he wouldn't take advantage of Alfred if he was sober. He'd help Alfred out of the goodness of his heart, to leave the American with fond impressions of British hospitality.

Quivering metal sounded in the room. Arthur's eyes jolted to the source of the noise. The doorknob. It had moved. Only momentarily, yes, but it had. Arthur was sure of it. His eyes were locked now, refusing to blink. Silent mortification clutched at him as he watched the doorknob begin to turn again. It groaned loudly as it shifted, the moment dragging horrendously slow as Arthur stood rooted to the spot.

The knob stopped turning once it had hit the end of its allotted track. Alfred seemed to have opted against forcing the lock, from the silence that followed. Or perhaps he was weighing his options. Arthur was sure the other would have no problem playing a human battering ram if he felt it was justified.

The paneling creaked again as Arthur's lungs began to burn from lack of fresh oxygen. He saw the light squeezing through the underside of the door shift and twist into dark patches. He heard Alfred outside the door, moving about. He glimpsed an elbow, a forearm, a lock of hair. The glint of a blue eye.

Arthur nearly screamed. He was in a horror movie. He had to be. Alfred was on his hands and knees, peering under the door, trying to pin Arthur down with his gaze. Soon he would strike, soon he would be upon Arthur with flying fists and crushing kicks.

Arthur's heart clawed its way up his throat, desperate to desert its confines and what felt like an impending death. Arthur himself began to feel slightly dizzy, the blood rushing from his head and flooding his veins as it clamored to his limbs. Every hair stood on edge, deciding alongside Arthur's heart to attempt an escape. His eyes felt as though they were going to bulge from their sockets.

The shadows beneath the door began to shift again. Something was being pushed beneath the door, some mangled mass Arthur's eyes could not understand. Alfred continued to push the objects further under the door, only resting when they cleared the small gap. The process continued several times before Arthur heard Alfred get back to his feet.

For several minutes Arthur sat, waiting, knowing that there was more to come. Any second now he'd be fighting the American, to Hell with Matthew's claims that he wasn't s violent drunk. He passed the time by studying the lumpy masses that had been forced under the door, struggling without reward to make out exactly what he was looking at.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his boiling fear eased to a gentle simmer, weak enough for him to regain control of his body, strong enough that he was still on edge. He stepped lightly on the balls of his feet, making his way closer to the door, alert for any movements coming from the opposing side.

He lay his ear against the door, his eyes sealing themselves shut as he listened intently for Alfred's presence. A certain embarrassment gripped his consciousness. He was being silly. Alfred wasn't an axe murderer from a horror movie, and Arthur was no blonde and busty bimbo that couldn't go two steps without tripping. Clearly there would be no mortal wounds dealt out in his household tonight.

Still scolding himself for having reacted so poorly to the situation yet again, Arthur flicked on the light. He looked to the floor, curious as to what had infiltrated his sanctuary.

A handful of dainty tea roses littered the floor, fragile as a finch's bones, painted beautiful creamed colors of peach and champagne. Arthur instantly recognized them from his yard. They were dotted with droplets of water, no doubt having been brought in from the rain only recently. Their sweet fragrance brushed along Arthur's nose, striking up a certain calmness that only flowers could bring him. A clear peace offering.

Arthur's vision became blurred and watery as he stooped to pick the flowers up, unsalvagable petals spiraling as they fell to the floor. Alfred's childish antics always shot straight through Arthur. Leaving flowers like this, so innocent and pure. Maybe Alfred harbored no ill feeling against him.

Everything had happened so fast, it was possible in his drunken state that Alfred hadn't been able to piece together the information of what was going on. Only understanding that he had sneezed and in turn Arthur had bolted like a hare. Now he was probably confused, even scared, certainly unsure of why he was being suddenly shut out by Arthur.

Arthur wiped the back of his forearm over his eyes, resolving not to cry over something as simple as flowers. He looked about for an empty vase to place the flowers in, but found none. He moved to the window, pulling the thick curtains aside. Perhaps he'd hang them to dry instead. The flowers might not be the best reminder of the night, he knew, but they were a gift, and in Arthur's eyes all gifts were to be treasured.

Arthur's hand moved over the window's clear pane, his breath forming steamed patches as he leaned forward to view the outside world. The rain had not let up, but had instead become so fierce that the world outside looked as if it were going through a power wash, grass flattened from the force of the rain, tree boughs bent under the pressure. Arthur knew it would smell beautiful in the morning.

White lightning blazed across the night sky, splintering against the clouds. Thunder cracked through its wake, rolling from the heavens to the Earth before it traveled through Arthur's body, reverberating through his bones. The noise dragged on for nearly a minute, the world seeming to shudder beneath Arthur.

He immediately thought of Alfred, wondering if he would be slamming himself against the door at any minute, begging to be let in, to be kept safe from the storm. Arthur set the roses on the sill, tracing his fingers along the petals before going back to the door.

The door made a hushed click as it was unlocked by Arthur's hand. He opened it, only a sliver at first, curious green eyes peeking to see if Alfred was on his way. His head emerged from the gap after a moment. The emptiness of the hall before him blanketed his senses. Not even the slightest pitter patter of bare feet moving along the floor.

Arthur left his room, his hand trailing along the edge of the handle as he drew away. He wandered through the house, unaware of what a lost little child he appeared to be, looking for an invisible trail of bread crumbs back to Alfred.

He checked the storage-guest room hybrid at first, finding only a damp trail of water, reflective in the light that shone from the ceiling. Arthur followed the trail with complete vigilance, stalking it as it swung back to his door, where a barely noticeable pool had formed, complimented by the few petals that had been unable to make it under the door.

The trail doubled back, away from the few petals that remained. It began a new path, coasting towards the restroom that lay not far away. Arthur cautiously entered, his eyes straining to take pick out any human forms in the darkness. He flicked the light on the find Alfred's wet jeans and dripping shirt hung up.

Arthur looked them over, his hands scampering across the material, finally able to satisfy his urges by pulling at the holes, but he knew his true desire was no longer related to the jeans. It never was. Like everything, his urges were directly linked to Alfred. Arthur flicked the light switch off and continued his search.

As the threads of his thoughts frayed into a tangled mess, lightning flashed again. The followup of thunder was instantaneous, the noise, teeth rattling. A nervous clot began to roil in his chest. He was almost running through the house now, the need to find Alfred growing with every step. He'd begun to think that Alfred may have run out into the night before a lit room caught his eye.

The kitchen. Arthur smacked his forehead, unhappy with himself for not having thought of checking there sooner. Alfred always seemed to be floating about where food was to be found. Not that Arthur minded, as Alfred never let a single scone of Arthur's go to waste, no matter how much a fuss he would put up if someone saw him eating them.

Arthur took a moment to compose himself before going to the kitchen, blocking out the surrounding booms of thunder that had caused a bloom of discomfort in his stomach. He strode with a confident air, through the threshold and into the kitchen, chin held high and eyes clear of worry.

The first thing he spotted was Alfred, hunched on a high chair, his arms shielding his head which lay on the marble countertop. His shoulders shuddered in bursts, sobs scrambling from his throat every time he tried to breath. He spasmed in fear as another crack of lightning shot through the sky, crying out as another boom of thunder wrenched through the vacuum that had been left for it.

Arthur bit his lower lip as his heart crumpled, the scene before him too much to handle. As loath to admit it as he was, Alfred was a strong nation now, and had been for quite some time. To live his life in fear of an act so common to nature was a shame. A shame Arthur could not help but want to soothe.

He went silently to Alfred's side, without pomp or pretense. He placed a caring hand on the frightened man's back, running up and down the length of his spine in a repetitive motion. Alfred's shudders doubled at Arthur's touch, and his arms grappling in an effort to cover more of his head, guarding himself from both the weather and Arthur.

"Please don't cry," were the first that fell Arthur's lips, the first thoughts that came to his mind.

A distressed sob morphed into a strained cough as Alfred attempted to obey Arthur's request. Arthur's mind stumbled, unable to form a significant plan of action calm the other into a communicable state. He acted on instinct, removing his hand from Alfred's back, freeing himself to lay across Alfred's upper body.

He spoke softly and sweetly to Alfred, who had stilled in his arms when embraced. He prattled on about badgers, Renaissance painters, cross stitch trends, and every little subject that came to mind until Alfred began to loosen in his arms, until the horrible shuddering began to taper off.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked, voice concerned.

"What?" Alfred kept his head covered, face hidden from view.

Arthur was unsure as to what more he could say. He hadn't truly expected a response from the other, and merely felt obligated to say his name for comfort. He was sure there were no words that Alfred hadn't heard before regarding his fear and how he needed to overcome it. He'd have to take a different approach.

"It's okay," Arthur began, speaking only so Alfred would hear his voice. "If you want to be upset. I know when I was still small I wad afraid of lightning, too."

Alfred sniffled and mumbled through his arms, "I'm not little."

"I know you're no longer little," Arthur lied, "but I guess you can be allowed an irrational fear or two."

"I can?"

"Yes, you may."

Alfred's arms unfurled as he lifted his head. Arthur smiled weakly at the man's face, skin blotched with tears that had been shed, eyes watering with those yet to be. His lips quivered. Arthur reached out with a tender finger and touched the soft pink, the perfect Cupid's bow. It curled under his touch, still trembling, but now beginning to take the form of a smile.

"See? Everything will be fine, the storm will blow over soon enough." Arthur's smile became genuine as he drew Alfred's face to his own before lightly placing his lips against the other's forehead. His brow furrowed in confusion. Alfred's skin was still very warm, almost peculiarly so now that the sensitive skin of Arthur's lips were resting upon the others flesh.

He drew back, thumbing a stream of tears from Alfred's cheek. He attempted to look past the glazed emptiness of the American's eyes, to locate something buried deeper, but there was nothing to be found. Alfred blinked dumbly and rested his cheek against Arthur's hand, sighing heavily.

"Are you at all ill, Alfred?"

"I feel kind of warm," Alfred admitted shyly, drawing away from Arthur's touch.

Arthur recalled the feelings he had always experienced when afflicted with fever. The layer of heat one felt licking beneath their skin, the aches of one's limbs, the ever growing pressure that formed behind one's eyes, and of course general unease. Such heavy pressure, thick and lining the veins, heavy and without mercy as it struck at the sickened without thought. He felt great pity for Alfred. Fevered, drunk, and frightened of the outside world for the time being.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Arthur offered.

"Nah, I'm sure I can sleep it off." Alfred forced a sickly smile.

"Are you sure?" Arthur wandered over to the pantry. He nosed about within, pressing past towers of canned goods and expired cooking ingredients before finding something edible. A bag of sweet almonds. Arthur pulled the bag from the cupboard and shut it.

"What's that?"

"Almonds. Why not have a few?" Arthur poured a handful into his palm and approached Alfred. "It won't hurt to have something nice and light."

Alfred lowered his head obligingly, his lips grazing Arthur's palm as his gently lapped up the almonds. Arthur suppressed an uncharacteristic giggle, his eyes alight with childish joy. The ticklish brush of Alfred's lips reminded him of how the horses used to feed on sugar cubes straight from his hand without hesitation.

Arthur set the bag of almonds on the counter top, providing himself with a free hand. His face softened as he carded fingertips through Alfred's hair, a fair nimbus with a silken texture that kissed one's fingers. Alfred breathed into Arthur's hand when he had finished the almonds, content to rest as Arthur continued to stroke him.

"Would you like something to drink before bed?" Arthur's hands dropped back to his side, a tinge of red brushing his cheeks with a merry glow.

Alfred licked his lips as he rose, his hands pushing off his knees in an effort to help himself up. "Couldn't hurt."

Arthur made his way to refrigerator with a bit of a spring in his step, unable to smother his elation regarding how well things had smoothed themselves out. He pulled the magnetic door open and ducked his head low, reading out the beverage choices as he saw them. "Water, milk, pomegranate juice..." There was also a single can of beer residing in a corner, but Arthur decided that was not an option for Alfred.

"I want the beer," Alfred announced, his head making an appearance beside Arthur's.

"You've had enough to drink tonight."

"But I still want the beer." Alfred reached across and grabbed the can, jumping back from the fridge before Arthur could snatch it from his hands. He pressed it against his forehead and allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, a momentary bliss dancing across his expression.

"Have you ever considered I might want that?" Arthur pried the can from Alfred's fingers, which gave easily. He placed it back inside the fridge.

"I did, but I want it more." Alfred lay he hands on Arthur's chest, big, heavy paws. His face took on the characteristics of a kicked puppy. Eyes full of need for reassurance and love, brows furrowed with desperation.

"What are you doing?"

"Please?" Alfred began to knead Arthur's shirt, 'making biscuits', he had always called it.

"Give me three good reasons." Arthur turned his head away, his resolve wavering.

"Because I'm thirsty, and a guest should always have their thirst quenched."

"There are other drinks," Arthur countered.

"I want that one," Alfred whined in reference to the beer. His face held the greed of a child, one set on a specific plaything.

"You are providing terrible reasons."

Alfred changed tactic, furrows of frustration melting into a softer expression. He began to knead at Arthur's chest again, moving his hands rhythmically against Arthur, glossy lips parting slightly. "Pretty please?" he begged, pressing his body flush against Arthur's.

"I-I don't know..." Arthur backed himself against the open refrigerator, the contents within jangling as he bumped against the frame.

"I want it," Alfred moaned, his words hot and breathy as they tickled along Arthur's skin. Arms brushed alongside Arthur's torso, tweaking at the fabric with fluttering fingers.

Arthur sputtered out thin protests, his own arms awkwardly pushing at Alfred, but his heart was not in the movements. Alfred's lips were at his throat, murmuring pleading words to have his thirst quenched. His hands continued to move along Arthur's sides, sliding past and reaching within the fridge─

"Thank you, Arthur," he cooed suddenly, reeling back with can in hand.

"You sly little doxy! Sneaking about like that, I can't even fathom where you picked up such behaviors." Arthur smoothed the surface of his shirt, desperate for an outlet for his hands. They scrambled along his chest, creating more wrinkles than they erased. He was torn between throttling Alfred and ravishing him.

The beer can creaked as it was opened, a pleasant hiss following. Alfred tipped the rim to his lips and drank. Arthur watched as Alfred's Adam's apple bobbed, buoy-like with every mouthful. Arthur touched at his own throat, for want of touching Alfred, lightly grazing his skin.

Alfred let out a satisfied sigh as he lowered the can from his mouth, his eyes trained on Arthur's hands, a curious frown playing on his lips. "I didn't learn it from anyone in particular, but it certainly is useful." he lurched forward and smacked a sloppy kiss on Arthur's nose. "Thanks again," he chimed.

"Alfred," Arthur scolded, a furious blush stealing across him. He rubbed at his nose quickly as he spoke, "Listen to yourself, and look at yourself. You sound like a wanton woman, filled with lust now that her husband has passed, willing to please any many in order to indulge in her own unsavory wants-"

"You're right," Alfred interrupted solemnly. "I see the err of my ways. Please start the car up─" he took a hearty swig from his well-earned beer. "I shall fetch my wimple, and you must take me in great haste to the nunnery."

A bark of laugh escaped from Arthur, a rare occasion where he fell prey to Alfred's wit, his anxiety fading. "Really now, let's get you to bed, as Matthew prescribed."

Alfred went back to nursing his beer, looking at Arthur from beneath dark and spidery lashes, peeking out only just above his spectacles. "Where am I sleeping?" He gnawed slightly on the tin mouth of the can, a tiny metallic clang sounding with each nip.

"Er, well, wherever you'd best like to, I suppose."

Alfred continued to bite at the can, a nervous edge urging him on. His eyes flicked to the drapes he had drawn over the kitchen window. The can began to crumple loudly under his fidgeting hands.

"Don't do that." Arthur fished the can from Alfred's hands, noting with disdain that it was already empty. "You'll slice your fingers up."

Alfred clutched fruitlessly several times for the can, lips twisting and opening as he tried to communicate his wants. "Would your bed be alright?" His lips pursed immediately, as if the words were not meant to be spoken.

Arthur tossed the can in the recycling and offered a smile. "Of course."

With a relieved sigh, Alfred sidled up as best he could to Arthur, who held out his arm in a most gentlemanly fashion, poised and perfect in his stance. Alfred laughed at the sight before linking his arm with Arthur. "Lead the way!" he declared.

Arthur walked steadily down the hallway and towards his room, pausing every few moments to feel Alfred rub up against him as he tried to keep his balance. Arthur's heart felt a beating elation as he led Alfred, as if a band of birds had begun to cheep and hop about inside him, singing their wondrous birdsong so filled with joy.

Soon Arthur could not bear to have Alfred only hooked by the link of his arm. He relinquished the American momentarily, turning so that he could take both of Alfred's hands in his own. A grin spread across his face as Alfred squeezed his hands in return. They were both like giddy children. Skipping and giggling along the hall, Arthur pulling on Alfred as if he were taking him to a hidden clearing in the woods.

Lightning pierced the heavens, momentarily lighting there was. In the instant it took for the thunder to follow, Alfred's legs folded beneath him, turning to useless threads of twine. He hit the floor with an audible thunk, arms resuming their protective placement over his head.

Arthur was immediately at his side, kneeling upon the ground as he rested a hand on Alfred's back, murmuring softly, sweetly. His wits within his hold, he began to speak again, but with words he had not used since Alfred was a boy, the words that had always calmed him.

"My little lamb, lie peaceful," he began, ears turning red with embarrassment over the age of his words. "For the world outside is beyond the gates of our hearth, unable to lay not a single frigid finger upon your flesh."

Alfred twitched slightly at Arthur's words, faintly recognizing them from a time that had long since ceased to be. Arthur did not go on, the words conjuring up memories that made him want to scream for the past. He pillowed his arms on Alfred's back and concentrated on the rise and fall of the other's breath, quick and strained. The labored breathing of the fevered and frightened.

When thunder sounded again, it was but a distant roar. Alfred had refused to come out of his turtle-like position, instead content to shiver away as the night dragged, calmed only when Arthur would begin to lull his fears with delicate words. Arthur knew he could not have Alfred sleep in the middle of the hallway.

"Shall I carry you?" Arthur sighed.

"Impossible." Alfred raised his head to turn incredulous eyes at Arthur.

"I may be old, but I'm not decrepit." Arthur stood, his knees making a cacophony of crackling noises. "On your feet."

Alfred rolled onto his back, but made no effort to stand. Arthur begrudgingly kneeled once more, realising too late that if Alfred was willing to get to his feet, he'd already be in bed. He wriggled his arms beneath Alfred, who willingly raised his hips momentarily to make the task easier.

Arthur repressed a shiver at the feel of Alfred's thigh, against his forearm. He savored the weight of it, the warmth of it, how it rested so easily against his own flesh.

"What are you smiling about?" Alfred's expression was pensive.

"Was I smiling?" Arthur sputtered, "Can't fathom why." he carefully hoisted Alfred up as he stood, his lower back straining uncomfortably with effort.

Alfred curled in Arthur's arms, his heavy breath easing in the peaceful hold he was being held within. He turned his cheek to Arthur's chest, nose burying into the fabric of Arthur's shirt, who carried him onwards.

"You're so nice to me, buttercup," Alfred proclaimed as Arthur carried him through the doorway.

"Don't worry about it." Arthur hooked his foot about the door and pulled it shut. He thought they had moved beyond the drunken nicknames already.

"But I do worry about it─" Alfred let out a small gasp as he was heaved upon the bed, springing upwards from recoil. "I know I owe you for this. Just tell me what to do and I'll be like-" he snapped his fingers, "Bang! Your wish is my command."

Arthur's eyes slipped along Alfred's body in the low light provided by the window, Alfred's words sinking into his mind. He observed the fair and unmarred skin of Alfred's legs, how his thighs lay across the deep red sheets of Arthur's bed, beckoning to Arthur in their contrast. The way Alfred's hands playfully pulled at the hem of his shirt, tugging the fabric in such a manner Arthur could not bring himself to stop staring.

"I'm sure I can think of something," Arthur purred as he strode forward, pouncing upon Alfred is if he were a fly caught in his web.

To Hell with the consequences.