Author's note: I've been inspired by a song! I haven't been inspired to write a fic from a song in a looong time but this idea hooked me and wouldn't go away until I had written it out. So in case you couldn't guess it, this fic is based on the music video and song "For Your Entertainment" by Adam Lambert. I had this sudden thought when listening to it: What if England was part of this underground gothic cult? So I worked off from that, using some of the scenes and lyrics from the music video for added inspiration. Basically, England lets himself free at night. Hope you like it ;D


It was that time again.

Arthur Kirkland fixed the leather trench coat around his shoulders and placed the black lenses over his eyes as he stared into the mirror. He pulled on his fingerless gloves, gave himself a final nod, grabbed his cane, and walked out the door.

Once outside, he walked swiftly down the bustling streets of London before stopping in an alleyway. There were several people dressed in gothic leather standing there. As he approached them, they looked up and made a path for him before following along behind him in silence. Arthur smirked, but the high collar of his coat made sure no one could see it. They made their way down several steps. Down, down, down into the London underground.

Arthur continued on, removing the lenses on his eyes and swinging his cane so that it was tucked under his arm. He pushed back a large curtain and saw the dimly lit room full of people, his people.

At once, they all glanced at him and he smiled. "As you all were," he said softly. Several women moved forward, one removing his trench coat and the others pressing themselves against his front. He did nothing to make them stop, instead encouraged their touches and lifting their chins with his hand so that he could place ghost kisses along their lips.

He breathed happily as he continued to walk forward. He was finally back in his element. These people were his; his to command, his to enjoy, his entertainment. He took a seat on his 'throne,' making no complaint when a man in a fishnet shirt crawled towards him on his hands and knees. The sight made Arthur wont with lust. He leaned down and lifted the man's face up with his cane.

"You're new tonight, aren't you?" he whispered.

The young man nodded, nervously sitting back on his knees. Arthur smiled cruelly and stood. He motioned for the other to follow him. The music was playing low all around them but one flick of his wrist, and it was turned up as high as it would go; a resonating thrumming beat. Arthur stopped on the dance floor and waited for his new partner to join him. The boy was at his side in seconds, pressing flush against him.

Arthur let his hands roam along the other's hips, letting the music control his actions. He turned the boy around in his arms, leaning in to let his lips ghost over his. His partner moaned softly, grinding into him. "Once you join, you can't escape, you know," Arthur whispered into his ear. "I own your heart now."

The boy's reply was a gasp; Arthur had let his hands down to grab his ass. He buried his face in the boy's neck, smelling the cologne there. As they moved, their hips as one, Arthur saw all eyes on them; Envious, lustful eyes. He smirked and braced his hand on the boy's shoulder as he leaned back and ground his hips more fervently.

A girl moved forward from the crowd, swaying her hips and stepping in between him and the other male. She glared over her shoulder at the newcomer before wrapping her arms around Arthur's neck. He allowed her to thrust against him, having no reason to stop her.

Eventually more came onto the floor, each reaching out to him, wanting his attention solely. He obliged, letting their hands roam across his body. Entranced by the music, he pulled away and began to dance on his own. But they followed him once again and he smiled, beckoning them forward and into his private room.


Arthur tried to keep his yawn low enough so that no one would notice during the meeting. The night had been long but completely worth it. But now he had to revert back to his everyday guise; as a nation.

"Tired today, Angleterre?" Francis teased. "Did you have a long night knitting?"

"Hmph. As if you could appreciate the fine art of embroidery, frog," he snapped. He yawned again and scowled at the grinning Frenchman.

"Oui, it must be very difficult for you to be this tired, mon ami."

"Oh sod off."

"Are you two through arguing?" Ludwig growled from the front of the table. "I want to actually get something done today."

During the break, Arthur went to the restroom to wash his face and to hopefully wake himself up more. Francis walked in shortly after. "Mon cher, you look horrible," he noted.

"Thanks, but you're not a bouquet of roses yourself, no matter how much you think you are," Arthur hissed.

He frowned. "What were you really doing last night?"

"Doing my bloody embroidery, what else?"

Francis narrowed his eyes. "I cannot believe you would get so tired from just that."

"Leave it alone, frog. It's none of your business." That said, Arthur hurried out of there, leaving Francis confused and curious.


That night, Francis decided he would pay Arthur a visit. Or he would have if he hadn't seen Arthur leaving his house wearing a heavy black trench coat, dark shades, and a cane. He blinked in shock but figured he'd follow after him. He found himself at the mouth of an alleyway and swallowed hard. Arthur had gone down there; why couldn't he? As soon as he had stepped foot into the alley, several people dressed in dark leather stopped him.

"You plannin' on joining?" a dark-haired woman asked.

Francis nodded, suddenly realizing he was getting himself into something horrible. She seemed to accept him, even if he wasn't appropriately dressed, and guided him down the rest of the alley until they reached some stairs. He followed her and wanted to cut his nose off from the stench of alcohol and sex and smoke all around him. She explained to some more that he was joining; joining what, he had no idea. But whatever it was, Arthur was part of it. He peered past a curtain and saw bodies moving, heard moans, and loud music.

"Find the Master," said the woman who had allowed him in. Francis blinked and looked to where she was pointing. There, sitting on a blood red throne, was Arthur. There was a woman riding into his lap and he wasn't even pushing her off. Francis walked forward into the room of people, feeling all eyes on him. He was strangely aroused by all the attention and this Arthur that he had never seen before.

Arthur looked up then and Francis saw his eyes widen just a little bit. He was angry, possibly, but he wasn't yelling at him. That confused him even further. Arthur would normally have been strangling him or cursing at him; not giving him a lazy once over. He stood up, not caring that the woman on his lap had fallen to the floor.

"You're new here?" he asked, acting like he didn't know who Francis was, keeping his cool in front of the others.

Francis felt just a little bit frightened. He didn't know this Arthur; this new personality of his. He nodded and swallowed hard, feeling the other's green eyes scrutinizing him.

"Come with me," the Brit ordered. He walked him through a walkway of plants where hands would reach out and pull at them both. Arthur did nothing to stop the wandering hands, instead, he moved towards them. Francis thought he was in a dream world. They entered into a large room with an enormous bed. Arthur locked the door and then turned towards him. He stopped in front of him with narrowed eyes. "How did you get here?" he growled.

"Angleterre-"

"Answer me."

Francis glared at him. "I will not answer you until you explain what this is."

"This is my home. End of story. Now answer my question."

"Non! Is this where you go every night? This…gothic underground cult?"

"It's not a cult," Arthur said coolly. He sat down on his bed and leaned back as he crossed his legs. "It's a gathering for my sons and daughters. No one judges them here. We're all free to be who we are with no authority except me."

"Free to be who you are?" Francis repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Up there," Arthur said with a jerk of his head towards the ceiling, "is a place that judges. I am expected to be a gentleman; a well-rounded nation who behaves accordingly. I'm expected to read books, knit, and drink tea by a warm fire." He scowled angrily. "I'm sick of pretending. Centuries of acting like a good gentleman, a decent nation. I've had enough. So I found these people, these outcasts. They accepted me as their own, guided me into their world of dark fantasies and lust. They chose me to be their entertainment and in return, they are mine."

Arthur stood up and walked towards the Frenchman. "You will never understand," he spat.

"Au contraire," Francis said softly, "I do. Who better than I?"

Arthur scoffed at him. "Do you now?" He moved closer and pressed himself against the other nation. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?" Normally he would never touch Francis unless he was punching him. Now he was running his hands up and down his sides and chest. "I'm rough to newcomers," he whispered into his ear. "I won't be soft and sweet, or any of that mushy French garbage. I'll make you scream for me."

Francis smiled. "Do whatever you want to me, mon cher. I will not complain. I am here for your entertainment, oui?"

Arthur smirked and pushed him towards the bed, crawling over him. "Yes, and I am yours." Their mouths touched then, full of teeth and tongues and nothing sweet. Arthur's gloved hands grabbed at Francis' hair, pulling hard. Francis gasped and broke the kiss, exposing his neck. Arthur took advantage and began to suckle at the flesh hungrily. Francis bucked his hips up and into the other's groin. It elicited the response he wanted.

Arthur groaned and pressed against him more. He was rough when removing both of their clothes, wasting no time. Francis didn't say a word, though he was appreciating the view very much. "Like what you see?" Arthur purred. He flipped Francis onto his stomach before he could reply and slipped a finger into Francis' entrance.

Francis held in his scream. Arthur straddled in the back of his legs, making it so that he couldn't thrash around. He leaned down to kiss his neck and back, smiling as he pushed the digit in and out. "I'm going to entertain you until you scream," he hissed, curling his finger and causing Francis to bite his lip. "So you can try and hold it in as long as you want. But you'll eventually let me take you over. You are French, after all."

The other nation glared at him over his shoulder. "Casse-toi," he snarled.

Arthur frowned and let another finger enter alongside the first. He pushed them in and out quickly, curling and uncurling them. He reached his other hand down to wrap around Francis' erection, beginning to pump it in time with his finger thrusts. Within minutes, Francis let out a scream as he came into Arthur's hand.

The Brit smirked and licked the cum from his fingers. "What did I tell you?"

"Bastard," Francis groaned. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Of course not. I told you it's going to be rough for you tonight, and many more nights should you decide to come see me here again."

Francis rolled his eyes as he got to his hands and knees. "Oui, oui; For my entertainment."

"Yes," Arthur said, sliding himself inside the other and moaning, "for your entertainment."


French translations:

Au contraire - On the contrary
Casse-toi - Fuck off

And the music video that inspired this entire fic: http: //www. youtube. com/ watch? v=MSlWzvkJO9g (take the spaces out when you copy/paste into the address bar)