Alfred didn't feel any regret when he lit York on fire, watching the smoke rise and the inferno blaze, watching civilians scatter and soldiers pillage. Didn't feel any regret as he listened to the crescendo of screams. In fact, it gave him a thrill of pleasure, watching Mattie twist in agony, his voice coming out in beautiful choked cries.
He wanted to lean down. Touch him. Kiss him. Smooth his hands along his thighs and feel his body convulse through his blood red uniform. Wanted to spread those same thighs, have them open for him. Wanted to delve into the tight heat of him, wanted to feel him right to his core.
"This didn't have to happen." Alfred whispered, the smile twisting his face was thin and sickly, eyes only managing to half hide his desires, fingers stroking dirt encrusted hair that shone in the firelight like a halo of gold.
If Mattie had just agreed in the first place. If he had just come with him willingly, Alfred wouldn't have had to burn York to show him. Prove to him that he was serious. He was going to rip him away from Arthur. He was going to take Mattie for himself. Mattie pried his eyes open weakly, wet with tears. And whatever restraint Alfred had, was annihilated.
Mattie was so beautiful. So disastrously beautiful. Did he know what he was capable of with his teary eyes and slightly bitten lip and flushed face? He was beautiful. Alfred wanted this.
Just like this.
In his agony and hatred and betrayal, he was beautiful. With his weak will power and watery sense of self, he was beautiful. He wanted Mattie to give him that expression of helplessness forever. Wanted Mattie to writhe and cry and whisper his name just as he was now, tortured not by the fire of his heart but by the fire of Alfred's love. He wanted that more than anything.
"A-Al." Mattie whispered softly, holding himself to escape the pain, back arching, feet digging into the dirt, fingers clenched around his shoulders as he threw back his head and shrieked, his cries mixing with those of his people yet so much sweeter. So much darker. So much deadlier. Alfred leaned down, tasted those pale peach lips, fisted blonde silk hair, moaned softly into the slack mouth. His hands tore at the buttons of his uniform. A uniform he hated.
His fingers flitted along his chest, wanting to taste everything, wanted to melt into him. Wanted Mattie to become one with him. Touching, biting, was almost enough. Mattie's skin was raw, sensitive, each cry his touch elicited was pained.
To Alfred's ears they only sounded deliciously lewd.
"MattieMattieMattie." His name fell off his tongue, horrendously sweet, until he was consumed with him. With the thought of owning him. With the thought of smothering him. With the thought of gently teasing him open and feeling him from the inside. With the thought of grinding hips together. He growled, felt electricity spark in his gut and flare over each nerve ending, crashing through his bones. Any pleas that Matthew hoarsely screamed were ignored.
Mattie was hishishis.
When he pushed in, Mattie was little but a sobbing mess, frightfully provocative. Holding him tightly because even through the pain, he was Al. He was his beloved Al. Despite the defilement, he was Al.
He wanted to ignore it. Wanted to ignore the tears, the futile screams, in favor of satisfaction. Wanted to sooth the hurt with his kisses. Nothing raged inside him but insanity and a desperate need for revenge, for bitter sweet payback stoked hotter by his own arousal. His own pleasure. His own untamable hunger.
He grinned when he thought that Arthur had never had this, had never tasted Mattie like this.
Mattie was his alone.
Each thrust pushed Mattie farther, stretched inside of him, made him scream and scratch and hold on, tossing his head back and scattering his shimmering hair as the flames roared and sputtered and flickered along his skin, Alfred's breath hot in his ear. His moans were a mesh of graceless curses and his name and "Mattie, you feel so good." Almost enough to make him cry Alfred's name as he came to the heavens. Almost enough to make him scream "I hate you."
Alfred groaned softly, kissing abused flesh, silently praising every inch of his scalded skin. "Mattie." he murmured, promising a million things he had never promised anyone. Promising long days of tainted, twisted love and affection. Promising the whole world at his feet. He wanted to keep him in a golden cage forever. Wanted him to smile and whisper his name. Wanted Mattie to know he was precious. Wanted Mattie to know he was everything.
Wanted Mattie to look up at him with adoring eyes, dig his fingers into his shoulders, wrap his legs around his waist, leave scrapes on his back, screaming his ecstasy until the whole world knew that Mattie was his. Wanted to make love to him over and over and over until Mattie was covered in the marks of him.
He wanted to have quiet afternoons with Mattie, like he used to. Wanted to snuggle up to him while Mattie read, like he used to. Wanted to lick maple syrup from his cheek and laugh like he used to. Wanted to slide into him again and again and again until Mattie knew and understood. Until Mattie felt it wholeheartedly and scorched it into his bones and cried with the gravity of it.
"Get off me." Eyes filled with such hate.
Mattie would never, ever, escape him.