Chapter Four:

Arthur awoke with a warm and fuzzy feeling buzzing inside of him.

But that warm and fuzzy feeling soon abandoned him as he saw no signs of his lover around him. Cold fear gripped at his heart, and shivers ran down his spine.

Oh god, what if Alfred is going to kill me? What if he was just lulling me to a sense of security and-

"Arthur! You're awake!" A voice called out from behind him, footsteps loud- Arthur didn't know how he didn't hear them a while ago, and he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. "Well, look at you, Alfred. You're a very… physical person aren't you?" Arthur said; his voice muffled because of the mouthful of shirt he had.

Alfred let out a good-natured laugh- he seemed awfully happy today. "I got the materials!" He said, waving a sack around like it was food or something. Speaking of food…

Arthur hadn't eaten lunch or dinner yesterday. His stomach was oddly not growling and he knew that wasn't a very good sign. "You have? But it's so early in the morning, and have you eaten?"

"Oh, yeah. I did! Here, I got some for you." He shoved bread into Arthur's hands. Arthur took the bread with a thank you, and promptly stuffed it into his mouth. "Alright, Alfred now let me see your wound again. Give me the needle and thread, and hand over that bottle of alcohol." Arthur stood up and accepted the materials, gesturing for Alfred to get his shirt of, and started to fix the mark.

After a few moments, Arthur was finished. He told Alfred to sit still as he washed off the dried blood surrounding it, murmuring words to the younger man as he flinched in pain and salty tears trailed down his face. "Alfred, Alfred. Look at me, Alfred." Arthur murmured, brushing his thumb gently across the tear stained rosy cheek of his lover's. "It's all fine. I'm done, I'm done. It's not going to hurt any longer, Alfred."

Alfred's tears had long since stopped, the man staying quite, gazing down to the ground. His eyebrows were knitted tightly together, as if contemplating something. His lips moved, whispering the ghosts of words that Arthur could not hear.

"Arthur… I- I have to go." Alfred said, clear blue eyes laced with an emotion that Arthur did not recognize on the American. "W-well, alright. I'll be here, don't you worry."

Alfred stumbled away, footsteps growing distant and soon Arthur could hear nothing but the fluttering of wings high above in the trees, the trees themselves moving with the slight breeze of spring, and his own heart beating. Thudding through his thin chest, pumping blood into his veins. It wasn't as if he could smell danger, but he could swear that his skin prickled with what felt like it, danger.

Keeping himself calm, he reminded himself that it was probably because of his close-to-death experience just a couple of days ago. He of course calmed down, taking a seat close to the body of water near him. He gently cupped his hands and brought them into the water, splashing his face with the cold substance. Smiling now, he checked his supplies and his gun. Making sure it was fully loaded, and also noticing that his pack had a lack of bandages, he sighed.

The sun was already high up in the sky, and Alfred was still not back. Arthur was gradually starting to get incredibly bored, as he promised the American that he'd be waiting for him in this place. He started walking around, making sure that he was in near vicinity to the clearing. His musket was in his hands, though, just so he wouldn't be caught off guard at all. His footsteps were light and steady, his lips twitching a bit every now and then, trying to form a sort of grimace or smirk.

From the corner of his peripheral vision, Alfred could see a dash of blue here, and the wooden butt of a musket. Green eyes widening, the Brit quickly stumbled back to the clearing, musket held up, glancing back every few seconds. Upon making it safely back to his and Alfred's temporary camp, he took a quick swig from the canteen of water, sighing contentedly after hearing the gulp of water rushing down his gullet.

It was nearing nighttime, the sun was already setting and Arthur was on the brink of tearing his blond hair out of its scalp, and he was pacing back and forth, back and forth, worrying about that bloody Yank. His Shakespeare book was strewn beside his pack, he had read a rather large number of pages before the sun begun to disappear.

He decided that when, if Alfred gets back, he'd throw a big, giant tantrum and yes, he was definitely, positively mad at the stupid boy. Refilling the canteen of water for the fifth time, Arthur's eyebrows were bundled together in frustration, and his fingers fiddled with each other, not knowing what to do.

An hour or so passed. Arthur contemplated whether or not he should make a fire, and after a moment of indecision, he decided better to not. There was a chance that he might set the place on fire, and a bigger chance that his flame would lead the Yanks to him.

Arthur was already getting incredibly tired of waiting for the goddamned fool, and he was grumbling words to himself, throwing loud curses here and there, to nobody in particular. His brain had kept itself company by creating dozens and dozens of angry lectures he could give to Alfred, and Arthur was currently running some more not-so-good thoughts in his mind.

A crack.

Arthur's head shot up, and he met a familiar American's gaze.

His brain quickly brought forward a sense of déjà vu, and his eyebrows furrowed lightly.

A twig snapped, and an American rebel emerged from the woods. "Well, when they told me to scout the area for redcoats, I didn't think I'd actually find one." The man, holding his rifle up, said. "I hope this was a lovely surprise, then." Arthur said, his lips tilted up into a smirk.

"It sure isn't a very nice one," The American said. Arthur noticed that he was pale, and sweating. "I got nicked by a, I don't know, maybe a small knife. The others sent me out hoping that you know, I'd just die here instead of bother any of them." He shrugged, a grin appearing on his face. "Well, if you're going to die, then why are you even bothering to actually scout?" Arthur replied, his gaze fixed on the much taller man.

"I don't know; maybe so someone could just shoot me and get it over with?" The American said, suddenly dropping his rifle. "Shoot me, then." He pointed to his chest. "Shoot me right here." He said, in defeat.

It was difficult to believe that it was the very same Alfred now than before. This one was so cheery and warm, blue eyes reflecting the glint of the sun and teeth not far off. The other so depressed and with lost hope, eyes steely, their blue dull and lifeless, like a ragdoll's.

Now Alfred stood before him, in the same woods but not clearing, and in the dark, not light. A pretty smile graced his lover's lips, and Arthur found himself returning the favor. His lips tilted up slightly, and he quickly found himself in the American's embrace. All anger washed away, like writings on the shore of a beach and the sea water coming to wipe it off. A clean slate. Lucky Yank, Alfred was. "Hi, Alfred." His voice muffled, face burrowed in the chest of the taller man. The smile still playing on his lips, worry lifting itself off the small statured Brit's shoulders.

Alfred chuckled. "Hmm… Hi Arthur." He let go of the Brit, and placed a chaste kiss on the other man's pink lips. "I'm sorry I took long, I just had to confirm some things, and stuff. So, Arthur… You missed me, didn't you?"

Arthur spluttered. "No, I did not." He said to defend his deflating pride, and not wanting to seem like a clingy wife or some sort. Alfred laughed at this, loud, boisterous and ringing. "Ha! Keep telling yourself that, Artie. Don't worry, I missed you!" Alfred leaned in, lips capturing the other's fingers tangled in hair, and soon Arthur found himself leaning backwards.

Alfred hummed appreciatively, and their tongues danced together, one chasing the other. It was not a battle of dominance, yet it was lustful, passionate and every single touch felt like a flame was being ignited on Arthur's body and his skin prickled with heat as the cold air touched them and- oh.

Alfred's hands wandered down, hovering over the crotch of the green eyed Brit's. "Arthur… Can I…?" Alfred's voice was too breathy, too dreamy, and Arthur found himself hardening with that. His eyes were already hooded over, and Alfred's mirrored them. Arthur's head moved in a nod. He was fine with this; he'd done it before, of course, with a man, nonetheless.

"Hmm… Go ahead, lad." Arthur leaned back, letting Alfred undo his pants, and when it came off, he shuddered slightly at the cold. Their lips melded together again, and Arthur's fingers found themselves skillfully fumbling with the American's buttons.

Clothes found themselves strewn away into a big mess, Alfred and Arthur's breaths were harsh and quick, they were panting with heat and lust and love. Alfred was buried deep inside Arthur, and the Brit's eyes rolled back into his head, the man moaning with pleasure.

Alfred's lips wandered across the Brit's body, trailing up and down his smooth jaw, warming up his collarbones, and teeth marking his neck. Arthur gasped at this, and his nails dug into the tanned back of the younger man, earning a hiss from Alfred.

Time flew, moans were traded, gasps were heard, sweet nothing were muttered. Alfred and Arthur were still hazy, the Briton in the American's arms, face buried in the space between his neck and shoulders.

They held each other for a few more moments, and then Arthur wriggled free from the arms that held him prisoner- a happy one, but nonetheless, a prisoner- and started to put his clothes back on. "What are you doing?" Alfred queried, and Arthur just shot him a look. "What does it look like? I'm putting my clothes back on, of course."

"I know, but why?" The younger man whined, and pulled Arthur back down with him, receiving a yelp with a kiss to accompany it. They cuddled again, Arthur's small form completely engulfed by Alfred's bigger one.

"Alfred," Arthur began, voice soft and soothing. "Hm?" The other man replied, head still nuzzled into the nest of pale blond hair.

"You really should let me put my pants on. It's freezing." As if proving his point, Arthur shivered a bit. Alfred laughed, and placed a chaste kiss on the Briton's forehead.

"You don't need pants when you have me!" Alfred exclaimed, and Arthur replied with a soft noise, cuddling closer to Alfred.

"Hm… Maybe that's true."

And they fell to sleep, unaware of the pair of eyes watching them.

God, guys. I'm really sorry. I didn't really get any inspiration for this goddamn chapter... and it still turned out bloody awful. And I recently (okay, maybe around a week ago) just posted the prologue of a new story I'm writing. It's called 'Monochrome', and is set Modern times. Basically, that story is a milestone darker than this one. Only, it isn't angsty, at least, I don't think it is yet. So if you guys wanna check it out, go ahead! It'll be much appreciated.

See you all soon,

Jan