A/N: Just a warning, there will be smut in this chapter. It's my first time writing smut so I hope this'll be okay. Also, I changed the title of this fic to just "The Three Stages" because I preferred it that way :3

Enjoy :')
~BooksAreLikeChocolateButBetter


Chapter Three

The taxi ride had been torture. They had sat next to each other, yes, but on opposite sides of the seat as though the other's touch would cause some sort of physical injury. Alfred had begun to question his judgement. Surely it was bad to sleep with a stranger? Even if he was irrefutably attractive and had the sexiest voice he'd heard in a long time. Arthur was purposely avoiding Alfred's eye and Alfred wondered if he knew how he was feeling. He also found himself wanting to know what the Brit thought about the situation. Did he have sex with strangers often? He didn't strike Alfred as the type but then again, what was the type? Not to mention the fact that Alfred had awful observational skills; he'd thought that Arthur was interested in women, for Christ's sake. He wasn't the best judge of character, which only served to make him doubt himself more.

The vehicle pulled to a stop and Alfred cleared his throat as he gazed across at Arthur's house. "Uh, should we get out or…?"

"Well yes, that is normally what you do when the taxi stops," Arthur said, handing the driver a note, "keep the change."

Alfred took a quick moment to breathe- in, out, in, out- and opened the door. Arthur's house was, as Alfred had expected it to be, absolutely gorgeous. In the middle of a rural-esque street and close to the other houses, it seemed utterly welcoming and Alfred found his previous nerves dissuading a little bit.

Arthur headed towards the house and Alfred watched him as he walked. Arthur swayed slightly as he got the door and Alfred was assured by the realisation that Arthur had probably consumed a vast quantity of alcohol meaning that, if everything all went to shit, Arthur probably wouldn't remember.

"Are you going to just stand there or are you actually capable of movement?" Arthur's voice broke Alfred's thoughts and he looked up to see the Brit's narrowed eyes which accompanied his admonishing tone. Alfred knew that Arthur's blunt way with words should be a turn-off, an annoyance, but he only found himself liking the man even more for his brutal honesty and belittling mannerisms. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

"Oh sure I can move! I mean…" Alfred wanted to bang his head against a brick wall, "yeah, I'm coming." He walked through the threshold and Arthur, not quite smiling but not frowning either, pushed the door closed behind them.

It seemed that Arthur always looked at him in a mixture of both bewilderment (how could anybody be so stupid?) and exasperation (how could anybody be so damn stupid?) Arthur probably thought he'd met goldfish that were more conversationally adept than Alfred and, as much as it pained the American to say, he was probably correct in this belief.


Alfred fumbled with the lock, his hands stiff from the cold and his fingers trembling due to a strange surge of adrenaline which thrummed through his veins on nights like this. Alfred was aware of Arthur standing behind him, of the Brit's warm breath on his neck as he sighed impatiently. Alfred listened to the shifting of his feet and tried to focus on getting the stupid key to fit that damn lock.

"I got it!" he cried, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping through the threshold. Arthur followed suit, shutting the door behind him and locking it without thinking; the sight made the pit of Alfred's stomach warm.

Arthur's house always reminded Alfred of a warm breeze on a summer afternoon. Each room, even the kitchen, had some sort of bookshelf covered in dust, the books arranged in authored alphabetical order. Both the living room and the dining room had a fireplace, which Arthur lit on cold, winter Saturday mornings when he knew that Alfred was chilly. Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he'd make Alfred a mug of hot chocolate. Naturally, it tasted like sugary tar but Alfred made sure he drank the whole cup because it had been made out of consideration and affection and because Arthur had made it for him. He was sure that he'd drink a mug of lumpy gravy if Arthur presented it to him with a half-smile and eyes that were made of honey and sweetness when they looked at him in the mornings, all fond and dewy. Each room was both immaculate and messy and Alfred knew that the Brit treated his house with the upmost care and affection; it was a stationary part of him. If Alfred could believe in souls, he would have said that Arthur's house had managed to clone the Brit's and turn it into something warm and friendly- welcoming.

Alfred's house, on the other hand, was just a place where Alfred slept, ate and played XBOX. It was a literal mess and Alfred was sure that all Arthur wanted to do was wait until Alfred was asleep and clean the whole place from top to bottom. In fact, Arthur had already tried this: Alfred had slept in one Saturday morning and he had gone downstairs to find Arthur rearranging his kitchen cupboards, throwing out anything ridiculously unhealthy or past its sell-by date. After that, Alfred had found himself with no food and an emergency trip to Wal-Mart was required followed by a subsequent outing to McDonalds where Arthur, the self-proclaimed healthy-eating fanatic, refused to eat anything. Alfred's house was a mess but it was a liveable mess; you could see the carpets.

Alfred shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the hooks by the door, Arthur did the same. They stood in the hallway, allowing the awkward moment to pass. At first, there was always a mixture of anticipation and hesitation, the feeling before jumping off a cliff into the cool, blue sea. Then they would come together, collapsing into their insatiable need, their mouths hungry for the taste of the other's lips. Arthur pushed Alfred against the wall and Alfred shoved all of his insecurities to the back of his mind, allowing himself this moment, this loss of control to physicality, until there was only Alfred and Arthur, the world a simple backdrop against the scene taking place. Arthur began to unbutton Alfred's shirt, his pianist-like fingers gentle against Alfred's skin. Arthur kissed Alfred's neck as he slipped Alfred's now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Alfred ran a hand through Arthur's wheat-like hair, finding himself wondering what type of conditioner the man used as it was so damn soft, but realising that it would probably be an abrupt mood-killer if he asked and Arthur seemed to be most certainly in the mood. Alfred pulled Arthur's awful knitted sweater over his hand, thank God, and trailed his hands along the Brit's torso. Arthur was so slender that he was all angles and bone but he held a sense of finesse, like each angle was crafted to the perfect degree. Alfred could allow himself to wallow in jealousy if he wanted to. He was a combination of curves and muscles which, according to Arthur, was totally hot so he didn't need to worry. Yet, in comparison to Arthur, he could be made to feel inferior. Alfred knew he couldn't compare himself to Arthur. How could you think to compare chalk and cheese, sun and rain? It was sacrilegious and Alfred just wanted to lose himself in the feelings that Arthur managed to drag out of him, in the excitement that filled his body, making him realise that he was a living, feeling body and very much alive.

"Alfred," Arthur's voice was a husky whisper in the dim light, pulling Alfred from his thoughts. "We should probably take this upstairs now." Arthur's eyes were practically glowing, his cheeks were flushed and Alfred's eyes quickly flitted to Arthur's bulge in his pants which was considerably larger than what it had been before.

Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur's giving him a quick, no-frills kiss before pulling away. "Sure," he said breathily, more breathily than he meant to, causing Arthur to raise his eyebrows. "I'll show you the way."

Arthur smirked and his smirk was both terrifying and undeniably attractive. It was like he knew every one of the American government's secrets and was willing to tell you for a pint of your finest beer. It was that type of smirk. "You know," as he spoke the words seemed to travel down Alfred's skin, imprinting themselves on his body, "I'm pretty sure that I already know the way."

He winked, winked, and sauntered up the stairs leaving Alfred, topless and amazed, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with a smug gorgeous Brit named Arthur Kirkland.


"Are you going to take your clothes off too, or are you just going to stand there staring at me? Because you're kind of freaking me out." Upon entering the house, they had somehow ended up in Arthur's bedroom and this had somehow (Alfred was really not in the mood to question his morals) led to the pair making out which had again somehow (God, he was such a man-whore) led to Alfred being topless and lying on Arthur's bed. This was as far as they had got as Arthur had become speechless and, apparently, motionless. He had been straddling the American, and had pulled Alfred's shirt over his head.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, finally snapping back to life and Alfred became awash with relief, "I was just a little distracted, that's all."

"Yeah?" Alfred tried to whisper but he felt as though he were speaking through a megaphone, everything was so much louder when they were so close together. "By what?"

"Well…" Arthur seemed embarrassed, his gaze focused on his crisp, white bed sheets instead of the man who was lying beneath him. "I just think you should know that you're the most gorgeous person I've ever clasped eyes on."

Alfred could feel heat run throughout him, surging through his veins. Instinct told him that Arthur was lying, that he was mocking him but he knew it wasn't so; he was so sincere. "I, uh… Thank you?" Alfred should have said something mutual like "yeah, you're not so bad yourself" or ironic like "I bet you say that to all the strangers you have sex with" but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Arthur smiled. It was a proper smile that seemed to light-up his entire face, and Alfred smiled back. He pulled the Brit down by his shirt and kissed him deeply, running his hands underneath Arthur's shirt, over his smooth skin. Once Arthur pulled away, Alfred pulled the man's shirt up and saw that Arthur was beautiful, like something intricately carved. He had freckles all over his chest, which were really cute and his skin was incredibly pale under his clothes, like a vampire's.

They locked eyes and a silent agreement passed through their look. Arthur reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. "Have you done this before?"

"Yes. Have you?" Alfred asked, already aware of the answer.

"Of course," Arthur replied, his steady fingers beginning to undo Alfred's belt buckle. "Don't worry," Arthur's usual mirth had returned and his smirk was all that Alfred could see in the dimness, "I'll make this a night you won't forget."

Alfred was a sucker for a British accent.


"I want to top tonight. Is that okay with you?" Alfred wanted to pretend to think about it, but he loved it when Arthur topped and was pretty sure that his delight had shown on his face.

"That's fine by me," was all he said as took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand and climbing onto his bed, lying back onto the pillows.

Arthur chuckled, before joining the American, climbing on top of him. "I'm sure it is."

Arthur kissed Alfred on the lips once more before kissing Alfred's body. Arthur started at Alfred's neck then continued downwards, leaving a trail of kisses, scattering them all over Alfred. Occasionally, Arthur would focus on a particular spot, sucking on Alfred's skin eliciting gasps and moans from Alfred.

Arthur's wondrous mouth had now reached the top of Alfred's pants and Alfred fought the need to arch his back and thrust his hips upward, not wanting to seem as desperate as he was. "Mm," Arthur hummed, looking at the bulge in Alfred's pants, "somebody's happy to see me."

"Shu-shut up," Alfred replied weakly, "just get on with it."

Arthur raised his eyebrows but made no further comment as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, undid the buckle and the zipper on Alfred's pants freeing him from his tight restraints as Alfred kicked them off. He pulled Alfred's boxers down too and Alfred made sure that they weren't stuck around his ankles. He hated it when that happened.

Arthur kissed Alfred's thighs and naval area; his lips seemed to touch everything apart from the one thing Alfred so wanted them to touch. He knew that Arthur was teasing him, waiting for him to ask. Well, Alfred would gladly give him what he wanted.

"Arthur, d-don't do that," Arthur stopped kissing and looked up, blinking those oh-so-innocent eyes at Alfred, "don't tease. Just do."

"Do what?" Arthur's voice was silk and dancing and Alfred wanted to listen to nothing else. "What do you want me to do? Say it."

Alfred could feel his face heat up at having to ask. "Suck me." When Arthur didn't do anything, Alfred found himself pleading, "God please."

Arthur smirked but said nothing more as he lowered his mouth onto Alfred's cock. Alfred gasped as he felt the warmth of Arthur's mouth and, as Arthur went further, he found himself twisting Arthur's hair through his fingers trying to suppress the urge to encourage the Brit to go deeper. Arthur dragged his tongue up the base of Alfred's cock, swirling around the tip and the head causing Alfred to bite back a moan. God. He then began to suck. Arthur's tongue lay pressed against the underside of Alfred's shaft and his lips seemed to cover the cock in its entirety as Arthur's mouth worked hard and fast making Alfred feel as though he were in a blissful heaven. Alfred could feel Arthur's nails digging into his thigh as the other hand stroked Alfred, his wrist twisting different ways.

"C-Christ Arthur," Alfred allowed himself to moan, his back arched and hands were tightly grasping the bed sheets, "that feels so damn good."

"Mm," Arthur hummed, continuing his ministrations. His eyes were closed and Alfred wished wholeheartedly, for some inexplicable reason, that Arthur would look at him as though that would solve everything and Alfred could fool himself into believing that Arthur truly loved him and that this wouldn't be their last time together.

Arthur's eyes did open when he heard Alfred moan significantly louder than he previously been. "I'm gonna-I'm gonna co-,"

Arthur quickly exerted his mouth from Alfred's rigid cock which was now wet from his saliva. "Not yet," Arthur whispered, removing his own pants and boxers. He spread lube on his fingers and, making sure it was warm and evenly spread, he placed a finger at Alfred's entrance and slipped a finger inside him. Alfred took deep breaths (no matter how many times they'd done this, it still hurt) and waited for Arthur to insert a second and third finger.

"Mmph," Alfred shifted, uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Arthur was now thrusting his fingers, all three of them, deep inside Alfred, "this won't take long, I promise."

"Uh-huh, "Alfred gasped as Arthur's teeth tugged at his earlobe, the Brit trying earnestly to counteract Alfred's discomfort. Arthur's fingers finally found Alfred's prostate and Alfred began to moan as Arthur rubbed his fingers against the cluster of nerves. "Oh fuck. Fucking fuck, yes."

Alfred's hips bucked upwards but Arthur just continued playing with his prostate. Alfred's moans and gasps were practically incoherent mumblings as Arthur continuously managed to fill Alfred with pleasure.

Arthur removed his fingers, causing Alfred to release a whimper. "Don't worry," Arthur purred, "you'll be receiving twice as much very soon. We're about to start the main event, love." As Alfred looked at Arthur, who was currently coating his dick in lube (they didn't bother with condoms anymore), he tried to imagine what living with him would be like; what it would be like to be able to do this together every night. He couldn't imagine anything more perfect than that.

"Are you okay?" Arthur's concerned voice broke Alfred's reverie. "You seemed a bit out of it."

Alfred flashed him what he hoped was a dazzling, convincing smile. "I'm great! Don't worry."

Arthur, seemingly reassured by this, positioned himself. "Are you ready?"

Alfred nodded and Arthur eased himself into Alfred. Alfred let out a whine, arching his back completely, his jaw going slack. Arthur's hips began to rock as he thrust deeply inside Alfred who tried, fervently, to create some kind of synchronisation, some rhythm but he knew he was failing, he always did. Alfred gave himself up to Arthur entirely; he clawed at Arthur's back with every hard thrust and kissed at any part of skin which came in reaching distance to his mouth. During sex, Alfred found it hard not to notice how beautiful Arthur truly was; the man practically glowed. His eyes, usually dark and unrevealing were open, honest and aflame. Arthur's skin was coated in sheens of sweat, as was Alfred's, and every angle seemed more protruded, every dip more prominent.

"G-god Alfred," Arthur's voice was wanton, desperate and had lost all of its usual articulacy and God if that wasn't sexy as hell because Alfred was the one making that happen. "You're so fucking- ahhh." Alfred didn't get to find out what he was as he had ground his hips into Arthur's who was now moaning into the crook of Alfred's neck.

Arthur began to quicken the pace, evidently nearing his climax and wanting Alfred to join him. This surprised Alfred as he was usually the one arriving first. Their previous attempt at synchronisation was lost and the quest for rhythm was abandoned as their hips collided over and over and every one of Arthur's powerful thrusts was followed by moans, gasps and dirty talk which seemed to die at their lips.

"Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna- gonna come, ahhh," Alfred cried out and then the Earth stopped spinning and Alfred was made of electricity which seeped from him, releasing itself onto his previously clean sheets. He was both so aware and so damn unaware of everything at the same time. He could feel Arthur's warm breath on his neck and the way Arthur's thigh muscles contracted and relaxed with every thrust but all of this was overpowered with the feeling of breathlessness and bliss, a feeling only accessible in Arthur's presence.

"A-Alfred," Arthur's breath hitched as he pushed himself further into Alfred, "Jesus, fuck, I-I love you, fucking hell." He then came hard inside Alfred, his body tense and shuddering as he rode out his orgasm.

Alfred, however, was no longer feeling blissful and breathless. He was no longer looking at Arthur as though he were the most beautiful person in the world. He was very, very confused, bewildered, puzzled. He'd even go as far to say that he was discombobulated (one of his favourite words because it sounded funny when you said it out loud). Arthur couldn't love him. No, that wasn't right- Arthur could love him, but Alfred wasn't supposed to know about it until tomorrow when he told Arthur how he truly felt and that their Friday night arrangement could no longer work. Now just wasn't right. Why would Arthur say that now, during sex of all times? Alfred suspected it was just one of those heat-in-the-moment things but that only worsened matters as it meant that Arthur might not love him at all, he could have just declared it without thinking it through. Why were feelings so damn confusing? Alfred should have become a monk.

"Alfred? Are you okay?" Arthur had climbed off Alfred and was wearing one of Alfred's T-Shirts he had left lying on the floor; their shirts were still downstairs discarded on the hallway floor.

"I'm fine. It's just…" Alfred trailed off, unsure of what to say, of what to do.

"Did you not enjoy the sex?" Arthur's voice was concerned and his eyes were narrowed, trying to read Alfred's thoughts, his feelings. Alfred hoped he couldn't smell the fear that seemed so palpable these days: the fear of losing him.

"The sex was great, Arthur." Alfred pulled on another shirt from the floor (he should really put those away) and retrieved his underpants. He switched the bedside lamps off, cloaking the room in darkness. He then got under his comforter and Arthur followed suit. They both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, unsaid words buzzing between them like an electric current.

"You said you loved me," he spoke to the ceiling, not letting Arthur see the hope in his eyes. The pathetic hope which was suffocating Alfred.

"I know."

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Arthur's voice was a star in the blackness and it seemed to shine more brightly than ever in that one word, "Alfred, I'm bloody fed-up of this. All this repetitious one-night stands and sex with no strings attached. I want the strings attached, Alfred. " It was getting difficult for them to talk so seriously without looking at one another so they turned on their sides, facing each other as they both searched for something they never knew was there.

"You do?" Alfred could barely breathe and was finding it hard to speak using multisyllabic vocabulary. He felt as though he'd won the lottery and been elected President in the same day. "But, I thought you didn't want a relationship? That they were too much effort, too much unnecessary hassle."

"Everyone wants a relationship, Alfred. They just need the right person and," Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I can't believe I'm saying this but, by God, I think I've found him in you."

"Move in with me." The words came out of his mouth before he'd even thought about it and Arthur's sudden stiffness told Alfred that he had made a mistake.

"I couldn't leave my house," was all Arthur said and Alfred knew that he was just trying to be nice, that he didn't want to live with Alfred just yet and that was all right. "It does, however, have enough room for two. If you wanted to?"

It was happening. It was really happening. They were going to be in an official relationship and live together and Alfred was going to finally be so happy and maybe Matthew, his brother, would visit them and see how happy Alfred was and it would be perfect.

"Are you actually serious? Ohmygod, Arthur! I would absolutely love to! I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had, I promise and I won't leave my clothes on the floor and I'll help organise your kitchen cupboards," Arthur looked at Alfred dubiously, probably remembering the disgrace that was Alfred's kitchen, "and we'll get to have sex every single night. Ah, it'll be great."

Arthur chuckled and rolled his eyes affectionately. "Okay, but before all that, we need to get some sleep. I, for one, am absolutely shattered and moving house is tiresome work."

"Okay." Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, nuzzling his face into the man's shoulder. He was warm, contended, both loved and loving.

Arthur exhaled deeply and Alfred could feel the tiredness running through him. "Goodnight, Alfred."

"'Night Arthur," he closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come. "Ohmygod Arthur!"

Immediately, Arthur stiffened and his eyes flew open. "What? What's wrong?"

"I didn't tell you I love you!" Alfred kissed Arthur on the cheek, three times as he felt bad. "I do, y'know, I really love you."

He felt Arthur smile and felt better. "That's lovely Alfred, I'm glad to hear it. Please go to sleep now."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight."


A/N: And that's pretty much the main story. Ah, I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

There will be an epilogue, of course.

Thanks for reading :')
~BooksAreLikeChocolateButBetter