Alfred laughed uproariously as he rolled along the bed, rendering Arthur's pounce short of its intended target. Arthur hit the bed with a whumph and sighed, exasperated. Alfred seemed to be treating this as a fun little before-bed game. Arthur would not allow that illusion to last. His arms flew out in the darkness, honing in on Alfred, clutching at the fabric of the other's shirt.

Alfred wriggled happily at his touch, his mindset that of an excited child. Arthur dragged him closer, as if he were dragging a lifesaver towards himself. "Oh no you don't," he muttered between gritted teeth.

"You caught me," Alfred chittered as he was pulled across the bed towards Arthur.

Arthur lashed his arms to Alfred as soon as he was within his reach. Alfred's face bumped into his chest, the frames of his glasses digging into Arthur's flesh. "Take those things off."

"I need my hands for that." Alfred's arms were pinned to his sides by Arthur's grip.

"Right," Arthur conceded, loosening his hold just enough so that Alfred could slide an arm out.

Alfred wrapped his free arm around Arthur's shoulder in a floppy hug, his glasses still perched upon his face.

"Texas," Arthur reminded.

"I wear them to bed."

"Not tonight you won't." Arthur clutched Alfred as close as he could, ignoring Alfred's arm as it flailed about, signaling that Arthur was holding him too tightly, that Arthur was crushing him in the embrace.

The two of them stayed as such, Alfred too stubborn to take his glasses off, Arthur unwilling to let Alfred go. In the time that passed, Arthur began to garner the beginnings of second thoughts. If Alfred was trying to get away from him so quickly, he'd surely go through the roof if Arthur were to press so much as a kiss to his lips.

"Okay, okay, you win," Alfred quailed, "I'll take them off."

A smug smile traipsed across Arthur's lips. His first victory of the night. "You have a free hand, go on."

Alfred made a great show of removing his spectacles, mumbling under his breath that they were part of his identity, that being forced to take off his glasses was 'an act of public injustice'. The tipsy slips of his tongue told Arthur he was merely whining to be difficult.

"Now, let's have a look at you." Arthur balanced himself upon the bed, sitting on his knees. He held Alfred at arm's length.

Alfred blinked in the darkness, liquid blue eyes flickering. The low light of the room washed over his face, accentuating the childish roundness that had never faded. Without his glasses, Arthur was struck by a distinct rightness in Alfred's appearance.

It was how he imagined Alfred would have looked if he hadn't left Arthur. If Alfred had stayed under his wing, been more open to Arthur's guidance. If he had trusted Arthur's judgement, and had understood that the limits Arthur had placed on him were for the best.

Of course so many others had implanted ideas in Alfred's head, telling him that Arthur was holding him back from greatness for no reason beyond wanting to keep Alfred under his thumb. Arthur had always known that Alfred hadn't been capable of forming such notions without help, and seeing Alfred without his glasses once more only strengthened his belief in that.

Alfred fumbled his glasses in his hands as Arthur looked him over, holding them close to his chest.

Arthur frowned as he continued to think over Alfred's spectacles. He had always hated those things. He hated how they made Alfred look as though he might have an inkling of what he was doing, the false symbol of intelligence that so many fell for. He hated how Alfred would always play with them during meetings, making it nigh impossible for Arthur to pay attention to the subject matter at hand. The way Alfred so lovingly stroked the arms of his glasses, how he'd buff the lenses with the utmost amount of attention and perfection.

Arthur wanted Alfred to treat him like that, to pay such undivided attention to him. He had put his blood, sweat, and tears into this idiot. He had invested his personal time, energy, and emotions. He wanted to reap the fruit of his efforts, and now was the perfect opportunity.

"Oh, Alfred," Arthur crooned darkly, taking his glasses from him and tossing them aside. They landed on the floor with a clatter, the noise bringing Alfred out from under his stupor.

"What the heck, why did you chuck my glasses?" he gaped.

Arthur sighed, removing a hand from Alfred's shoulder to affectionately stroke the side of his face. The tips of his fingers skimmed the delicate skin about Alfred's eyes, and he involuntarily flinched away.

"Have I ever told you how positively lovely you look without your glasses?"

"I think my glasses make me a strapping young buck. But, uh, no. I don't think you've said I look nice without them before."

"Lovely," Arthur corrected.

"Lovely," Alfred echoed in return, his eyes downcast with modesty.

"Because you do look lovely without them, and I most certainly mean that." Arthur gave a feather-light press on Alfred's shoulders, sending the other flat on his back.

Alfred sprawled on the bed sheets, taken in by Arthur's compliments. He touched at the absence of his glasses, his cheeks reddening. He paid no notice as Arthur silently straddled him, a knee flanking either side of his hips.

A throaty chuckle rumbled in Arthur's chest as he went unopposed. Clearly Alfred needed only the slightest sprinkle of sweet words to turn to putty, willing to put up with any sort of outrageous behavior, if only for more compliments.

Arthur positioned himself, resting his backside on Alfred's stomach, delighting in the dazed rise and fall of the breathing beneath him. He drank in the warmth of Alfred's body, shivering in anticipation of what he knew was to come, even if Alfred was unaware.

"What are you doing?" Alfred whispered.

Arthur answered him by leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on Alfred's mouth. He could smell the alcohol emanating from the other. His tongue darted across Alfred's lips, tasting the excess. He nipped greedily at Alfred's lips, ignoring how the booze repelled him so. Alfred made to speak, but the moment his lips opened, Arthur took advantage of the opportunity and deepened the kiss.

Alfred's back arched upwards to meet Arthur, and Arthur drank in his startled gasp. His tongue snaked around Alfred's mouth, exploring the heat and wetness of it, flicking along his teeth and intertwining their tongues, urging the other to reciprocate his affections.

Alfred continued to writhe beneath Arthur, but feverishly turned his head away, breaking the kiss. Arthur pulled back, a thin thread of saliva snapping between them. He clenched his knees against Alfred's hips, rutting slightly with need. He wouldn't allow this to end so abruptly.

Alfred covered his face with his hands to ward off any further advances from Arthur. "The window is open," he hissed, clearly distraught.

Arthur's head involuntarily swiveled to singular window of the room, which looked to be securely closed. "Don't tell such lies." He had not the patience for interruptions.

"Well they're not 'open' open, but anyone could look in and see us. Anyone."

Arthur wondered if Alfred had any particular person in mind when he said 'anyone'. "That's it? You're worried because the curtains haven't been drawn?"

"Yes," Alfred murmured, and Arthur knew from the flustered tone he used that it was the truth.

"Fine," Arthur grumbled as he dismounted, making no movement to hide his own arousal. "I don't have to do this for you. Of course I still will, but only this once." He ripped the curtains closed, staring at them for a moment, his eyes moving along the heavy folds as he waited for his anger to subside. He did not take kindly to being refused.

He turned back to Alfred, who was still lounging upon the duvet. He saw the anxious tension radiating from Alfred, how his fists clenched into nervous balls, knees brought together tightly. His eyes avoided Arthur's at all cost, becoming engrossed in a spot above Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur knew he'd have to move more slowly, to refrain from inundating Alfred with his lust. He'd take it one painfully slow step at a time. But, he reminded himself, the results will be more than worth it. Lazily, his head lolled to the side as his honied tongue set to work once again.

"My sweet, strong Alfred," he began, taking deliberately listless steps toward him, "Do you know what my favorite thing is about heroes?"

Alfred's knees loosened at the mention of heroes, his eyes bouncing to the ceiling, wracking his booze-addled mind for the correct answer. "They save lives?"

"That's part of it." Arthur took a seat at the head of the bed.

"Everyone likes them?" Arthur questioned innocently, looking to Arthur for the correct answer, his body lax and unguarded.

"They make people happy," Arthur purred, deep and throaty, leaning in so that his words tickled the side of Alfred's face.

"They do," Alfred agreed, his balled fist slapping the flat of his palm, as if the information were a sudden revelation.

"Do you want to make me happy?" Arthur nuzzled the alabaster skin of Alfred's neck, his smile pressing against his quickening pulse.

"Of course I do," Alfred's voice cracked with surprise, unsure of where Arthur was heading with their conversation.

"Good." Arthur's lips molded to Alfred's neck as he began to pepper his skin with fleeting kisses.

Alfred laughed slightly, the noise humming against Arthur's lips as it moved up his throat. Arthur's hand made its way to the end of Alfred's shirt, covertly raising it as his lips continued to distract Alfred. He can't help but suckle at Alfred's Adam's apple, unable to stop himself from luxuriating in the rise and fall of it as Alfred gulped back enthralled cries.

Before Alfred could make the slightest of protests, Arthur reared back and drew Alfred's shirt from over his head in a movement so quick his eyes were hardly capable of measuring it. Alfred immediately pulled his arms to his chest, shielding his bared skin out of instinct.

Arthur dropped the shirt to the floor, his hands moving to Alfred's own. He pried Alfred's hands away, eyes gleaming with lust as he took in every centimeter of Alfred's exposed body. Every hitch of his breath apparent, every drop of sweat visible.

"Is this alright by you?" Arthur asked cheekily, his tongue leaving a trail of slick saliva as it drew across the skin of Alfred's collarbone.

"Pfft, I can handle whatever you throw at me." Alfred's voice was full of bravado, his arms wrapping around Arthur as he continued to taste his flesh.

Alfred tasted of salty sweat and hormones, of cloudless summer skies and freshly hung laundry. Arthur etched the tastes into his mind as his hands moved along Alfred's sides, reveling in the touch of skin against skin, in Alfred's yielding body.

His lips traveled upwards to Alfred's lips, nipping at the corner of them, teasingly at first, but then with a certain roughness when Alfred tried to speak. He won't let Alfred ruin the moment, and coaxed him into silence with hungry kisses, allowing only gasps and moans to escape.

Arthur laughed into Alfred's mouth when he felt Alfred begin to return his kisses, an artless meshing of lips, a tentative touch of tongues. He's so very inexperienced, Arthur thought to himself, but oh so willing to please.

He adored Alfred's inexperience. It reassured him that there are still things in which he is better at than Alfred, things he can still teach Alfred. No matter how much Alfred ages and grows, he'll have to come back to Arthur to learn, because Arthur knew that even after all these years, Alfred still considered him as a kind of teacher. A very unorthodox, hands on type of teacher.

Arthur cradled Alfred's face in his hands, tongue invading every bit of Alfred's mouth. He loved the impossible warmth brought on by the fever, and hips began to buck against Alfred's skin, straining at the confines of his pants.

Arthur seized Alfred's hands in his own, pulling them down with a calmness that was betrayed by the heavy panting of his own body. He rested Alfred's hands upon his loin, urging Alfred to rub his hardened length, both by the involuntary curl of his hips towards the other, and by guiding Alfred's hand in circular stroking motions.

At first, Alfred tried to pull his hands away, startled at the realization of what he was feeling. His body froze. Arthur ignored the lack of response from his partner, continuing in his all consuming kisses, teeth skimming and clinking against Alfred's, the sound of wet, open-mouthed kisses filling the room.

Arthur nearly roared with delight when he felt Alfred's hands stir under his, no longer trying to draw away as they had before, but instead continuing in the movements Arthur had taught him. Arthur's hands shot to the button of his slacks, his insides searing with lust and need with no room for self control.

Alfred swatted Arthur's hands away. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." He began to inelegantly unbutton Arthur's pants, breathing deeply in his drunken effort.

"You'll take too long," Arthur muttered. Alfred had not the skill in his state to take anyone's pants off in a timely manner, as he had already demonstrated with his own jeans. "If you want to make yourself useful, get on the floor."

Alfred slipped to the floor without question, his back resting on the cool wooden floor. He folded his hands upon his stomach, but his head turned to search the floor, presumably for his glasses. Arthur shed his slacks with the slightest expenditure of effort, shaking his head at Alfred.

"When I told you to get on the floor, I didn't mean to lay on it."

Alfred looked to him. "Then what did you mean?"

"Don't play games with me, you know exactly what I was asking you to do," Arthur sputtered, a moment of prudishness stopping him from a graphic explanation.

"Maybe you should be more clear then," Alfred argued back, his words coated in a drunken halo.

"Fine. Get on your knees," Arthur snapped as he removed his briefs, shuddering with relief as it was released from its confines. He situated himself at the edge of the bed, his thighs opened.

Alfred brought himself to balance on his knees, body swaying with the influence of booze. He positioned himself between Arthur's knees, hands hesitantly perched upon Arthur's thighs. Alfred looked at Arthur's length, taking in the solidity of it, the enlarged veins that ran along it, the slight gloss of pre-cum that trickled from the slit of the head.

"I don't know what to do," Alfred stuttered shamefully, looking up to Arthur for direction.

Arthur was not a sex-ed teacher. "I'm sure you've seen enough videos." His lips curled at the end, twisting the word into something both sensual and devious at once.

Alfred's cheeks burned red, eyes refusing to look at Arthur, but his left hand moved its way up Arthur's thighs. It curled around the base of Arthur's cock, and Alfred startled slightly when Arthur's hips jerked to meet his hand.

He stroked slowly at first, fingers touching with a timid edge, gentle in fear of error. Arthur urged Alfred on with an animalistic growl, the ecstasy of Alfred's touch blinding him to all else. Alfred grew bolder, his grip slightly stronger, more empowered.

He raised his eyes to Arthur's, leant his head in. Warm breath pulsed against Arthur's cock, and he threw his head back with a wild moan. His jaw clenched as he felt Alfred's tongue lap at the pre-cum, fisting his hands into the sheet to stop himself from entangling his fingers in Alfred's hair and forcing him down.

Alfred's lips moved along Arthur's member, spritzing it with kisses and curious licks, investigatory in its movements. He responded to Arthur's guttural noises with enthusiasm, his kisses lingering longer, his tongue coating Arthur's cock with warm saliva, sending spirals of scorching euphoria up Arthur's spine.

Arthur's hand released the sheets, his body attempting to fold at the waist. His fingers wove themselves into Alfred's mussed locks, gripping his skull. "Go on," Arthur snarled, unable to control himself.

Alfred carried out Arthur's wish, his mouth enveloping Arthur. His head bobbed up and down, clumsily at first, getting his bearings. Arthur clamped down on the urge to force more of himself into Alfred, the all encompassing warmth and wetness hammering at his determination to be patient.

He felt Alfred's cheeks hollow as he sucked, the lewd sight and obscene sound of his suckling mouth bringing him to the edge, breaking the last of his resolve.

Arthur forced Alfred's head down, keening gruffly as he felt the back of Alfred's mouth, the contraction of his throat in resistance. He pumped against the delicious friction of Alfred's mouth. Alfred gripped Arthur's thighs, struggling to move his head in pace with Arthur's thrusts, desperately repressing his compulsion to gag and rear away.

Arthur relinquished his hold on Alfred as white spasmed behind his eyes and Alfred pulled away, gasping for air. Arthur came on Alfred's heaving chest, milky white streaks smattering his skin. He felt the heat of his body uncoil pleasantly, lulling him to a comfortable and blissful state.

Arthur sat back on the bed and gave a contented stretch of his arms, raising them far above his head, which contained a gratifying buzz. He wiggled his toes happily and relaxed his muscles. An amiable smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked to Alfred.

Alfred's legs were folded under him, making his thighs look only more delectable. His expression was one of mild surprise, but not panic or fear. He touched a hand to one of the white smears on his chest, testing the consistency between index finger and thumb. Slowly, he raised his fingers to reddened and swollen lips, pale tongue snaking out in an instant to taste Arthur's seed.

A short pause followed, Alfred's expression calculating, weighing the taste. Again his tongue slipped from between his lips to taste, sweeping along his fingers now, clearing away the rest of the cum that covered his hand. Arthur shivered at the scene before him, screaming inwardly at himself to stop resting, for blood to rush to his cock again. He needed more of Alfred, and more of what he was witnessing.

A small voice answered him back, chiding that he was too self absorbed, and to take care of Alfred's desires as well. Arthur was quick to respond, on his feet in but a moment and pulled Alfred up by his arms. "Your turn," he told him.

"I, uh, n-no," Alfred stammered, staring at Arthur's hands, the hands so tightly gripping his arms. "I don't want anything. Honest."

Arthur's grip tightened, but his voice was a song-like cadence, "Now is not the time to be bashful, Alfred." He eyed the remaining white splotches upon Alfred's chest. "Truly, it is not."

"It's not like that," Alfred insisted.

Arthur wrestled with Alfred's wrists for a moment, managing to capture them both in a single hand, marveling at how slim and strangely dainty they were. His unengaged hand trailed down Alfred's chest, fingers splaying against smooth skin as they swept downwards in long, languid strokes.

His fingers hitched on the elastic band of Alfred's boxers, playfully tugging and pulling, but not quite removing them. Arthur kept Alfred still by locking eyes with him, giving him the look, the one that said if he so much as utters the smallest peep he will ruin everything that this moment is, and everything that it can be.

Arthur cupped Alfred through the fabric of his boxers, expecting to come into contact with Alfred's own need, to hear desperate, choked noises for more. What he finds is that Alfred is limp. Not the slightest bit of arousal.

Arthur's stomach turned to ice. Had he been so wrapped up in his own wants that he missed the fact that Alfred was not at all into their exchange? No. No. That wasn't possible. Alfred had been whining and whimpering the entire time, he had returned Arthur's touches, his kisses, his affections.

"I'll give you five seconds to explain before I kick your useless arse out into the storm." Arthur rattled Alfred by his wrists. He could sense Alfred's reaction in the darkness, the tremble of knees, the threat to buckle under shame and fear. Arthur knew there must be something he was missing, a vital piece of information beyond his grasp.

"I had too much to drink," Alfred cried, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I gathered that much already." Arthur's heart was not softened by Alfred's distress.

"But you don't understand," Alfred's words became more slurred in his muddled state. "I can't..."

Arthur stared hard at Alfred, watching him try to explain through blubbering words what the problem was. Arthur's eyes lost their focus, vision blurring as he mind set to work. Alfred had been drinking, quite a bit indeed, and for some reason that meant he couldn't be aroused.

It all fell into place.

"Ah." Arthur's hand slipped away from Alfred's wrists, setting them free. "I see."

"Yeah." Alfred anxiously rolled the flesh of his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

The embarrassment that coated the air smothered Arthur's wanton desires, reducing them to smoking embers. A certain shame crept through his veins and into his thoughts. Maybe it had been more wrong than he had previously thought to lure Alfred into slaking his desires. Arthur knew that Alfred was drunk, but from the scattered occasions on which he had gone drinking with him, booze seemed to have a fleeting effect on him. Arthur wanted to believe that Alfred was only feigning drunkeness, despite the signs indicating otherwise.

Arthur tried to recall how much alcohol it took for himself to be rendered impotent. Not that he'd had many experiences like that. A gnawing voice, shrill and unshakable screamed in his head, screamed at him for what he had done. If Alfred was so drunk he could not become excited, there was no doubt he had not the state of mind to give consent.

Arthur looked at Alfred, his eyes scrabbling for any hint of sobriety. One of Alfred's shoulders was lowered slightly, as if he were resting it. His stance was slouched and unsteady, completely without the structure of one with a functioning mind.

"What now?" Alfred had begun to rub his upper shoulders, petting himself without realising it. With every movement Arthur could see what remained of his seed on Alfred's chest. It had lost any aphrodisiacal effect on him, now only a reminder of the horror he had committed. He needed to get rid of it.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up," Arthur provided, his voice still but breathing shallow. Alfred nodded in agreement.

Arthur crouched to pick up the shirt he had so thoughtlessly pulled from Alfred earlier. He blotted at Alfred's chest with the cloth, murmuring noises that were not quite words that Alfred returned with more apologies.

When Arthur deemed Alfred's chest to be adequately clean, he disposed of the shirt by placing it in a clothes hamper. He slipped his briefs back on, exchanging not a word with him aside from noises of acknowledgment when Alfred would say his name. He straightened. Why was Alfred repeating his name?

"Alfred, what is it?" Arthur pulled on warm cotton pajamas with an argyle print.

"Did I mess up?"

"No," Arthur answered flatly, forcing emotion from his voice. I messed up.

Arthur worked the buttons of his shirt off, impressed by how still his hands were. It was replaced by a plain black tee without pattern or design. The flat soles of his bare feet slapped against the floor as he purposefully made his way to the bed, completely blocking out Alfred's presence.

He pulled the duvet back and slipped into bed, his head hitting the pillow with a frustrated smack. He turned on his side, his back facing Alfred. He hiked the blanket up to his ears, sending the silent yet unmistakable message that he did not wish to interact in the least. Arthur can't sully Alfred if he's not touching him, that much he is sure of.

The pounding rush of blood in Arthur's ears was louder than the rain outside, and his eyes refused to close. They stared at the wall, tense and unseeing. Arthur waited for the rustle of covers as they are lifted, for the dip of the mattress and for Alfred to scooch into bed next to him, loud and bumbling. The act never happened.

Arthur raised his head, awkwardly craning his neck until the muscles were pulled painfully taught. Alfred was standing where Arthur had left him, emitting not the smallest of noises, still poised in his ungainly and drunken style.

Alfred spoke up when he noticed Arthur watching him, "Should I sleep on the couch?"

Despite knowing it would be better for them to sleep in separate rooms, Arthur was not selfless enough to allow it. He still wanted Alfred close.

"No, just get in bed and go to sleep."

Alfred did as Arthur told him, his hands raising the covers enough so that he's able to sneak under them. Arthur returned to staring at the wall, listening to Alfred curl and shift in an attempt to make himself comfortable. He heard restrained sniffs mingled with the tossing and turning, stirring his sympathy into life. He rolled to face Alfred.

"Are you crying again?" Arthur asked.

"No," Alfred told his pillow, a hiccup following his words.

Arthur's body started to gravitate towards Alfred's, moving in small, stealthy increments, encroaching on Alfred's restless form. Alfred peeked at him, face almost entirely hidden in his pillow. His eyes are bloodshot, the thin skin beneath them an irritated red to match.

"What did I do wrong?" Alfred croaked.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He didn't want Alfred to feel bad, he only wanted him to stay away. To have enough sense to know that Arthur had wronged him, and not the other way around. But such was Alfred, always getting things twisted around, seeing them from the wrong spectrum.

"You did nothing wrong," Arthur assured him, gingerly patting Alfred's bare back.

"Then why are you all angry and ignoring me?"

"I'm not angry."

"Okay." Alfred buried his face fully in the pillow.

"And now you're the one ignoring me," remarked Arthur.

The pillow filtered Alfred's response, reducing it to a garbled mess. Arthur closed the small distance between them, telling himself he was only moving closer so he could calm Alfred. Nothing more, nothing less. He tugged on the pillow, trying to pull it from Alfred's face, but Alfred only gripped it tighter and kicked his feet about.

"Fine, keep the pillow if it makes you feel better," Arthur relented.

Alfred shoved the pillow away from his face, his automatic reflex of doing the opposite of what he was told to kicking in. "It doesn't make me feel any better," he pouted.

"What would make you feel better, Alfred?"

Alfred rolled onto his back, his skin mere inches away from Arthur. Warmth seemed to pour from his body. "You."

"Beg pardon?" Arthur cocked his head to the side.

"You would make me feel better," Alfred clarified.

"Nonsense."

"I mean it," Alfred whined. "Just, just hold me. Only this once, I promise I won't ask again."

You can ask as many times as you'd like. "Don't make a fuss, I'll do it, I'll do it," Arthur pretended to be disinterested as he took Alfred in his arms, the fevered body a wonderfully warm blanket pressed against his chest.

Alfred exhaled a breath of pure relief, his muscles slackening as his eyelids fluttered faintly before closing. His cheek pressed against the dark fabric of Arthur's shirt, the skin near his nose crinkling as he smiled contentedly. Arthur gave his hair a friendly ruffle, his own eyelids becoming very heavy.

"Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Did I make you do anything you didn't want to? Tonight, I mean," Arthur quickly tacked on.

"Don't be silly, of course not." Alfred yawned loudly.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure as a Sunday morning."

Arthur ran Alfred's words through his head several times. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You don't make any sense," Alfred responded, his words tired mumbles.

Arthur gave up on trying to talk to Alfred. It was no use speaking to a man who was more asleep than awake.

Undeterred by physical exhaustion. Arthur's mind continued to carry on, replaying how he had taken advantage of Alfred. He mulled over the possible outcomes the morning would bring. Alfred would be upset, that much Arthur was sure of, the question was how he would display such emotions.

Probably with his fists. Maybe with a kitchen knife. Chances are he would ring Matthew up and bleed his heart out over the phone. Arthur really didn't want to find out how Matthew would react to the news. But maybe, just maybe, Alfred would be too ashamed to tell anyone. In spite of how horrible a thing it was to want, Arthur hoped that would be the case.

Alfred kicked him.

"What?" Arthur barked, feeling oddly uneasy that Alfred, regardless of how impossible it was, might be reading his mind.

Alfred wriggled, his face a sleeping mask. "Nothin', tripped."

Arthur rolled his eyes. The daft boy was already on the cusp of dreaming. He supposed he should be too. I'll figure it out in the morning, Arthur told himself, chanting it as an inward mantra to keep him mind from firing off into more disastrous predictions. When sleep finally claimed him, it held only a deep and dreamless void.

A/N:

First off, I want to mention that this chapter gave me a lot of grammatical problems, specifically tenses. I made two more corrections while flicking through it really quick, but I am sure there are countless more mistakes. Please, pleeaaase, if you see a mistake, tell me and I will fix it as soon as I can! Also, I will love you forever in exchange.

Secondly, i have never written any kind of sex-type scene before, and I did totally rush it just to sneak back into my comfort zone, and I apologize for that. Of course I could give you a bunch of excuses, but that wouldn't get us anywhere.

Thirdly. . . thanks for hanging in so long! I hope this chapter wasn't too depressing, and I can assure you that the next (and final) chapter, while not composed of sprinkles and kittens, is happier.