This could probably have been split into two but I did the editing this time and I am far too lazy to do it ^^

Please excuse any mistakes, I do not have the patience Hannaadi88 has.

~Enjoy~

Disclaimer: We don't own :)

Warning: Fionn likes to bite...a lot ^^'


Fionn drew a deep breath when he felt Arthur's lips on his ear, Arthur's leg between his own.

He felt his body reacting, pushing against the Brit, grinding their hips together and releasing a shaking breath beside Arthur's ear.

They shouldn't be doing this.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He was Ireland for God's sake, he was no longer a part of their family.

Maybe that's why he was doing it. Because he no longer belonged, he had no ties to them.

No consequences.

But, he'd thought that before . . . and that's how they ended up with Ardan.

The other's reaction only fuelled the Brit up, pushing forward until Fionn's back was flush against the wall, breathing heavily.

Arthur had never been completely, fully, loved. His own siblings had tried to kill him at first and still hurt him whenever they wish. His colonies kept leaving him, hating him. Francis, who took care of him when no one else did, had enough reasons to want to see the Englishman dead decades ago. The Asians probably despised him, invading along with the Western Powers.

All he craved was to feel wanted. And if to feel that way he had to seduce a resentful older brother... then so be it. Perhaps he will manage to keep him afterwards, have him join the rest of the angry lot. That was the burden of being a nation- one had to put their people's needs first before one's own.

The Englishman proceeded to bite the other's earlobe forcefully.

Fionn hissed sharply at the pain, moving his head back and exposing a creamy white expanse of neck.

With his back to the wall and Arthur pushing him from the front, there was no way he was getting away any time soon.

But did he want to?

He moved his hips against Arthur's again, almost feeling all his blood run south.

He knew what Arthur wanted. And it wasn't just sex.

He'd give it to him though, the sex. But he wouldn't give himself.

Ireland, was his. He loved the freedom too much to give it away now.

He'd fought for too long, killed too many, watched too many die, to even consider giving up his beloved Ireland.

Arthur smirked, loving how needy Fionn looked. How much he needed him. And the Brit was all too willing to be of service.

He leaned forward, lips travelling from the other's ear to his neck, ravishing the skin wantonly. The love bites grew in number as he claimed each patch of skin as his own.

"You want this...?" He stated more than questioned lowly, yet leaving the question mark lingering in the air.

His fingers travelled southwards, unbuttoning the shirt slowly, seductively, allowing the tips to brush against the heated skin every so often.

"No," Fionn murmured hoarsely. He leaned forwards and kissed Arthur, deeply, passionately, angrily, biting the Englishman's bottom lip as he pulled away.

"Yer want it" He stated, his breathing irregular and the occasional moan escaping his lips. He trailed one hand down Arthur's chest and then tugged at his belt.

If they were going to do it, he'd rather sooner, than later. Get it over, done with, finished, so he could go on pretending he didn't care anymore.

Kissed deeply, Arthur couldn't stop thinking how strange it was for them to do this, after all this time. And how unfair it was that the Irishman wouldn't admit his obvious attraction and need for the younger nation.

He wasn't going to do anything until Fionn asked for it. Begged for it.

"No," he imitated the other, "you want this. And you will be begging me for it."

His fingers finally finished their previous task, travelling back up again to pinch a pert nipple.

Fionn hissed as he felt his body reacting to the pleasure.

"I won't . . ." He paused and sighed heavily. "I . . . Jesus Christ"

He hated his body for doing this but at the same time he wanted it.

But he wouldn't beg, he wouldn't beg like some dog.

He frowned, pulling Arthur closer by tugging the others belt, and he hissed in the English Nation's ear.

"I won't ever beg you for anything. I won't ever give myself to you freely"

"Very well, then."

Arthur untangled himself from the Irishman and pulled back, taking a few steps away from the other. His face was flushed, his body painfully erect, but his mind was set. He was going to profit out of this mess, more than simply physical content.

The United Kingdom was going to prove himself as the one who controlled his brothers, not the other way around. Just like it was supposed to be.

"I suppose, then, that you would rather skip this activity." And with as much dignity he could gather in his position, he turned away. But before opening the door, he turned his head and smiled coolly.

"Thank you, once again, for your assistance. I shall bid you farewell."

When Arthur moved away, Fionn found his legs wouldn't support himself and he slid down the wall.

"Oi already feckin' gave yer Ardan," He panted, his breathing heavy from the sudden change.

Arthur was asking for things he couldn't, wouldn't give. How could he give up his most adored Ireland, just for a hot, lust filled night.

Though, he had to admit, the awkwardness below was getting highly uncomfortable right now. And a part of him did want Arthur to want him. Instead of wanting that idiot Scotland.

A moment of weakness was all it took and he bowed his head, his face shielded by long red-gold hair.

"Don't go. . ." He muttered, unsure if Arthur heard it. Unsure if he wanted Arthur to hear it.

The Englishman paused, taken aback. He hesitated at the door and turned around. "What?" He asked, tilting his head.

He was being evil. Evil, mean and immature. But he had to do this- for the sake of his lost pride. No more weak, feeble and hurt England. Long live Britannia!

The sight of his older brother sitting there, panting and needy, was tempting, though. He wouldn't wonder if his resolve broke soon..

Ireland squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, his hands shaking with the need.

This wasn't fair. This was not fair at all.

He was strong, he was independent, he was Ireland.

He could feel his people in his head, in his heart, screaming out their hatred of the English Nation.

So why did he feel like he wanted Arthur back, back in his arms, warm and heavy.

He opened his eyes and looked up at him, his expression both angry and slightly pleading.

"Don't make me say it again," He said, ignoring the pleading tone that cut into his angry one. "Yer 'eard it once"

Smirking, Arthur leaned his back against the wooden door. His arms crossed his chest, a bit shaky. He hoped the other wouldn't notice.

"Well then, what do you want me to do?" The question was innocent enough, but he knew that it was ruthless teasing. Part of him was screaming that it was wrong, that it was cruel. But another side was enjoying this. Enjoying being on top, for a change.

If looks could kill, Fionn's would. He glared daggers, axes and swords at the English Nation.

"You know what I want" He answered in a panting whisper. His hair was falling down his face, coming slowly loose from the leather band that held it back, strands of red-gold locks dancing in front of his face, the colour like golden treasure dripping with blood.

Oh he knew what he wanted, but his pride and independence prevented him from downright asking for it.

Letting out a breathless sigh, the Englishman walked over to the other, a grin plastered on his face.

Reaching Fionn, he grabbed his chin and forced the Irish head up, eyes forced to meet his. "What do you say...?"

His other hand returned to its previous excavation, undoing the buttons on his brother's pants.

Fionn's expression said he would very much like to bite that hand, like he had done several times during the fights.

But he didn't. He clenched his teeth together and glared up at Arthur through long, light eyelashes.

"Damn you," He growled.

Then, at the feel of his brother's hand at his buttons, he tried so hard not to moan. Damnit, he needed this.

"P-please?" He asked, hating himself for begging, hating Arthur for making him beg.

But he needed it, he needed this, he needed Arthur and by God, he wanted it.

"Very well." The Englishman practically purred, leaning forward to capture his brother's lips in a short, dominating kiss. In the meanwhile he felt his body fall gently to the floor, his kneecaps pressed onto the cold floor.

That did nothing to cool the heat inside him.

The British hand, finished with its task, delved forward into the other's briefs, gripping the needy member there. Amidst it all, Arthur wished he had worn his leather gloves- they were perfect for things like this.

Fionn's eyes opened wide and he shot forwards, his head in Arthur's shoulder. His hips bucked at the feel of his brother's hand on his over-sensitive area.

"Nnngh ah" He moaned against Arthur's skin. Some instinct told him to bite so he did, sinking his teeth into Arthur's soft skin, at the angle made by his neck and shoulder.

The metallic, tangy taste of blood filled his mouth.

His hand tightened over Fionn as the other sank his teeth into him, piercing the delicate skin. Arthur clenched his teeth tight, not letting any sound escape his lips. Fuck, it hurt. But the simple aspect of it was enough to send shivers down his spine.

"T-tasty?" He muttered, regaining his composure and completely removing the other's undergarments, eyes revelling in the site in front of him. It had been too long...

Fionn leaned against the wall and looked up at Arthur, one leg stretched out in front of him and his other knee tucked up beside his chin. His eyes were at half mast, emerald peeking through dusty eyelashes and his long hair tumbled around his shoulders.

Red blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he panted, tiny moans adding to his heavy breathing.

He watched a thin trail of blood run down Arthur's neck and he gave a long, low, husky groan.

It had been far too long since the last time.

The Englishman's shoulder stung, but the pain- like everything else- was blocked out. All he could feel was the pounding of his heart and the blood that ran swiftly through his veins, lower and lower...

Licking his lips, Arthur shot his hand out again, enveloping Fionn's twitching length in his palm. His fingers ran up and down the stimulated flesh before he started pumping, eyes that were glazed with lust staring intently into his older brother's.

Fionn couldn't help the moans and groans that tumbled from his mouth. His eyes went alternately wide and then closed as he leaned forwards, into Arthur, again. His hips lifted of their own accord, throwing himself into Arthur's hand.

He didn't realise until he tasted warm liquid again that he had bitten his lip.

Enjoying how the other writhed underneath him, Arthur groaned at the site. The golden-reddish hair loosening from their bounds and framing loosely their owner's face and his flushed cheeks gave him an even more feminine appearance. The pearly skin accented the red, with the exception of the occasional scar.

But that was what made the person in front of him so special.

Hand slowing a bit, yet continuing its rhythm, Arthur dipped his head and ran a skilful tongue over a faded scar, scarring the patch of skin over Fionn's stomach.

"Hhnngh" Fionn moaned as he felt Arthur's warm tongue run over his skin.

He put a hand up to Arthur's neck and felt the warm, sticky blood coat his fingers.

This was how they had always been, coated in blood no matter what they were doing, fighting or coupling.

He frowned and moved his hips towards Arthur, wanting the quicker friction, wanting the English Nation to speed up not slow down.

The Englishman chuckled softly onto Fionn's chest, sending vibrations through his lips. "Not so fast."

Pulling away, Arthur took the time to remove any remaining article of clothing either of them were wearing. It was when he resumed his position, suckling on the Irishman's neck enthusiastically, that he heard voices outside the door.

He froze.

Fionn froze on the spot, his eyes widening.

He was sure that was Ardan's voice.

If that Scottish bastard let Ardan in now, Fionn would kill him with his bare hands.

He clenched his hands, unconsciously digging his fingernails into Arthur's shoulder.

He found himself repeating over and over again, "No please, no please no"

It was no more than a simple 'leave me here for a moment' in a heavy Scottish accent, that Arthur understood and immediately was able to analyze the situation.

He was on the floor, having sex with Fionn. Alasdair was outside, sending Ardan (presumptively) away. He was probably going to walk in on them. Lovely.

The Englishman broke out into a cold sweat, all his courage and attitude lost in one moment when the prospect of his other brother finding out looming in a threatening manner over his head. He buried his face in the Irishman's chest, trembling. What was he going to do to him?

The door opened.

Moving faster than he probably had in a long time, Fionn leapt up and pulled the blanket from the back of a sofa and threw it over Arthur and at the same time, managed to drag his trousers back on.

All this, before Alasdair strode into the room, closing the door behind himself.

The Scot stopped and raked his gaze up and down Fionn's bare chest.

"Weel, weel, weel, whit dae we hae haur?" He drawled, stepping closer and closer to Fionn until the Irish Nation was forced against the back of the sofa.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Fionn replied, snapping a little.

Scotland smirked and leaned down close to the smaller man.

"Nae need tae snap, jist a question." He murmured before he connected their lips in a kiss.

Fionn surrendered himself to it for all of about, ten seconds. He frowned harshly and bit down sharply on Alasdair's lip, tearing the tender skin when the Scot moved quickly away.

It was all too fast, too sudden. Arthur found himself pinned to the cold floor, a blanket shielding him from Scottish eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and he tried to take control over his body.

After all, it would be highly embarrassing if someone were to lift the cloth and discover the buck naked Englishman.

He listened to the conversation until it died out. He was curious to know what had happened- even more so when he heard a howl of pain from the Scotsman- but he couldn't afford being found out.

Unfortunately, his body disagreed with him. The floor chilled him, and the dust looming there engulfed his nose. He had to sneeze. But he couldn't!

It was decided for him. A small sneeze escaped him, low but not enough to be ignored.

The tiny sneeze didn't go unnoticed. Alasdair raised both eyebrows, one hand at his lip, and then smirked at Fionn.

"Ye hiden' sumthen Fionn?" He asked.

Fionn's expression betrayed nothing, he had spent far too long trying to hide things. But Alasdair didn't need the Irishman's conformation. He'd already seen the blanket.

"Weel weel weel, wha' 'ave wee here?" He drawled, sauntering over and leaning down to gently lift the blanket slightly, enough to reveal Arthur's top half.

He whistled appreciatively and looked back at Fionn before looking down at Arthur again.

Fionn didn't move, he continued to stare at the opposite wall with his arms folded across his bare chest.

The Englishman always did appreciate fine colours. If he took the time to look at himself in the mirror at the time, he would clearly see the quick transition from sickly pale to morbid red in a matter of seconds.

He hated how the other's eyes scanned his upper form. He hated the predatory look in his gaze. He hated how he was forced to meet those eyes, lying on his back. What he hated even more was his own reaction.

The Brit sat up straight in a blink of an eye, crossing his arms across his chest protectively and blushing profusely. The cloth covered just the right amount of him to keep Arthur decent, but his luscious pale thighs showed all too clearly. Trembling, emerald eyes avoided the others.

He just hoped Fionn wouldn't get hurt. It was all his fault, after all. He didn't want the Irishman to see his downfall, his weakness. He didn't want to see the other's dainty form ruined. From his previous actions one may not have guessed, but Arthur loved his brother dearly. All of them.

Even the one he shook in terror from.

Alasdair took in all of Arthur's form with a hungry eye. Then he straightened up and held up his hands, shaking his head.

"Tsk tsk Fionn, keepin' aw thes frae me? Hoo coods ya?" He said, with a mocking tone of voice. He stopped shaking his head and grinned wolfishly at Fionn, his blue eyes flashing.

Fionn did move then. He turned his head to look at Alasdair, a look of pure disdain across his features.

"I-I am not some goods for sale, you know."

Arthur stood up, quickly tying the sheet around his waist as his pants were nowhere to be seen. He pushed by the Scotsman and headed towards his other brother, standing in front of him protectively.

"And he is not involved."

Alasdair smirked and leaned down until his face was level with Arthur's.

"Och Fionn's bin involved since day a body," He said, flicking his gaze up to the Irishman before looking back at Arthur. He smiled, which was even worse than his smirk, and patted Arthur condescendingly on the head.

"Nowmove aside wee a body an' lit th' older wee jimmies dae th' talkin'." He said, straightening up and looking over Arthur's head at Fionn.

Arthur's cheeks burnt with anger, the fire within him blazing through his eyes. He straightened his back and glared at the Scotsman.

"I am, if you have forgotten, the bloody United Kingdom. I am, do not forget, the one everyone knows. Everyone refers to. So I will not, under any circumstances, be talked to as a young child!"

The Scotsman, who was standing close to Fionn, pushed the Irishman into the back of the sofa and turned his head slowly to look at Arthur.

"I'll tahk tae ye as ah see fit" He drawled, putting one hand on Fionn's waist and glaring dangerously at Arthur.

"Y-you will bloody pay attention to me while I am talking!"

Arthur, despite his spoiled and childish behaviour, acted like the grown man he was. He wouldn't let the Scotsman take everything he worked for, everything he wanted. The scar on his back still burned dully, a painful reminder of what usually happened.

Not this time.

The Englishman rushed out of the room, reaching his own bedroom and put on some decent clothes. Then, hesitantly, he reached deep into his drawer and pulled out a shiny metal object. A gun.

N-not that he would actually use it. Of course not. He would just make a point with it... right?

He headed back into the other room and closed the door behind him. Slowly, he raised and aimed the weapon from the doorway, brows furrowed in concentration.

"Get away from him. He's mine." Arthur growled.

Alasdair turned slowly to face Arthur with his usual cocky grin on his face. But that faded when he saw the weapon in his brother's hands.

Then a nasty smirk traced its slow way across his mouth.

"Ur ye gonnae shoot me Arthur? Gan aheid, let's see if ye can dae it" He murmured dangerously.

Fionn blinked. This was a little unexpected. He frowned, unfolding his arms, and moved to step between them.

The Englishman's complexion paled a bit at Alasdair's words. He never had actually meant to use the godforsaken object. But now that he was challenged to do so and would be viewed as weak by the two others if he didn't... he never had meant for this to happen.

Then again, what did he expect?

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. He couldn't shoot his sibling. He couldn't shoot one of the people he loved the most, in front of another that he shared the same sentiment with. And now that Fionn had stepped in between them...

"I-I..." Arthur's voice shook, and he cursed his body that couldn't support the gun as well as he wanted it to. His grip only tightened on the metal weapon, as if gripping to life itself. But his hand quivered. Just a bit.

"Ye cannae dae it, can ye?" Alasdair asked, a knowing smile on his face as he watched Arthur struggle. "E'en efter everythin' i've dain tae ye, ye still cannae dae it. Francis was reit, ye ur a coward"

His smile grew wider. He knew mentioning France's name was bound to get a delicious reaction out of Arthur.

Fionn looked from one brother to another. This was ridiculous. They were, once again, going far too far. But he stayed between them, slightly to one side, ready to jump in if things went wrong.

Francis. The moment his name was mentioned, his strength seemed to be restored. If only to prove the bastard was wrong, he would go to the ends of the earth. But... wasn't killing someone a bit drastic? Not that he would let the other know of his true intentions.

He approached the Scotsman, pushing by Fionn and placing the weapon inches away from Alasdair's face. He tilted his head, an innocent expression laced by a smirk framing his face.

"What was that?" He asked lightly, "care to repeat that again, Scotland?"

Alasdair's smirked grew and became more feline. He leaned forward so the gun was point blank against his forehead.

"Francis. Was. Reit, ye ur a coward" He said, pronunciating each and every syllable, making sure Arthur heard him.

Fionn knew, then, that things were going to go too far. He stepped towards them, reaching out a hand to take Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur shrugged away violently the hand on his shoulder, not even bothering to glance sideways. His gaze was fixed on the Scotsman, eyes alight.

"So..." The Brit trailed the gun down the other's face, pausing at where the heart supposedly beat, "you are telling me that you, a strong and fearless nation, would be able to do it?"

His expression remained blank, but inside his heart was pounding. Given the chance, would Alasdair actually do it? Shoot and kill him without a second thought?

The smirk grew, if possible, even wider.

"Och Arthur, i've dain it sae mony times, Ah dornt min' them aw." He said, trailing one hand down Arthur's chest.

It was true. The amount of times Alasdair had fought Arthur. Scotland had fought England. Was uncountable. The amount of times Alasdair had stood over a fallen Arthur, gun/bow/sword in his hands, with English blood sprayed across his face.

And smirked at his fallen enemy.

Fionn raised, and then lowered, his hand. He watched the pair intently, but didn't make a move to step in.

You could have cut the tension with a knife.

Something stopped, time froze. Arthur felt all the blood drain from his face, taking a step back. His grip on the gun fell slack and it landed on the floor, clattering in the silent room.

"Fine, then." The Englishman stated, expression duller and blank as ever. He gestured towards the fallen weapon. "Let's see you do it."

Alasdair's expression flickered but his smirk was soon back in place. He leaned down slowly and lifted the gun into his hand.

Fionn's frown deepened. What the hell...?

The Scot straightened up and placed the gun, point blank against Arthur's temple.

The whole world seemed to have slowed down. Fionn tried to move forwards to stop the feckin' Scot from doing something seriously stupid, but the air seemed to have become like treacle, slowing him down.

Three heartbeats counting down. Bump bump, bump bump, bump bump.

Click.

Alasdair chuckled quietly and leaned forwards to whisper in Arthur's ear.

"Ah guess yoo're still a lucky wee bastard"

And he tossed the empty gun away and strode from the room.

All the while Arthur's expression remained empty, composed. Some part of his mind knew that the gun was empty- he himself had removed the bullets a while back. But a different part of him went numb with fear. Kind of like when you walk inside a horror house, or better yet- the London Dungeon. His newest attraction. You knew that everything wasn't real, yet you are scared, anyway.

As the Scotsman left the room, smiling, the Englishman remained frozen on the spot for a few moments before falling to his knees. He remained in a state of shock. Shock that Alasdair had dared to so. To try to kill him, without any reason or thought. The initial shock that he was still there, breathing.

The tears started pouring down.

Fionn sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

The pair of them were ridiculous.

He wandered over to Arthur and knelt beside him, pulling the Englishman into his arms.

"Stop your crying" He said softly. "Alasdair knew the gun was empty"

He gently rocked Arthur back and forth, letting the warm tears fall onto his bare chest.

Everything that he had held in for the past day came out in the form of broken sobs, pearl-like tears. Arthur wrapped his arms around his older brother, enjoying the sense of security he provided.

But his words did nothing for him. He knew they were all lies, lies to make him feel better. Alasdair was right- he had shot the Englishman so many times before- though, never fatal, that he should have known it didn't mean much to him. That he didn't mean much to him.

To nobody.

He pulled away from the Irishman's grasp, scanning the other's features carefully. "Why are you comforting me? The one who tries to own you, again and again? The one you hate, who took away some of your land? What is in this for you?"

The Brit stood up, an icy expression replacing his tearful one. "I do not care, at any rate. Go on, plot with him and the rest of the world to kill me and tear me down. But I will not, will not, ever be taken down. Never!"

And with that, he left through the door, not bothering to close it after him.

Fionn watched him go, his eyes glowing shamrock green.

"Because you're my little brother" He whispered to the empty room.

As Arthur breezed past him, Ardan lost his precarious balance on his toddler's feet and landed on the floor with a little squeak. He looked up at Arthur's expression.

He didn't understand it really, but he knew that his 'father' was upset.

"Father?" He asked in a small voice.

Arthur paused, not noticing the small child. He immediately regretted his obliviousness and picked up the small thing, hugging Ardan close to his chest.

"Are you alright?" He asked tenderly, forgetting for a moment his anger. If someone out there loved him, it would be the small being in his arms.

...but so he had thought about America. A small child, bright and warm. Never to leave him.

He hugged Ardan even closer, unaware if he was hurting the child or not.

Ardan nodded against Arthur's chest, snuggling close to the Englishman.

He was squished against his Father when he hugged him close, but he wasn't really uncomfortable. He took any moment he could get with Arthur, usually he was left alone in this giant, cold house, and his father was always warm.

Humming, the Englishman rocked slightly the Irish child in his arms, comforting more than one. His hand stroked the others back softly, lulling him into secure slumber.

Arthur made his way towards Ardan's room when he noticed someone come about the corner.

Alasdair.

Biting his lip and lifting his chin, the Brit continued walking, passing by the Scotsman without a bit of recognition.

Alasdair continued walking past but, at the last moment, he snagged Arthur's waist with one arm and spun him around to face him.

Ardan, sleeping peacefully in Arthur's arms, gave a snuffly, sleepy protest at being moved so quickly, but he didn't wake.

The Brit let out a gasp of surprise, turned to face the other. From all the things he wanted to avoid...

"Let go of me." He stated more than commanded, glaring coolly at the Scotsman. His chin rested atop of Ardan's red hair, trying to find reassurance within it.

"No" Alasdair murmured, stepping closer to Arthur and pushing the child in his arms against the English Nation's chest.

Ardan's tiny fist clenched in Arthur's shirt.

Alasdair leaned his head closer until his lips brushed Arthur's ear.

"Ah kent, the gun wos empty" He murmured in a deep, hoarse voice.

Arthur tried even harder to pull away- it wasn't for his own sake, but for Ardan's-, but the other's grip on his waist was too strong. His temper flared at the heavily accented words, jerking even more in the other's arms.

"Yes, of course you did." He acknowledged sarcastically. "Let. me. go!"

Alasdair tightened his grip, not realising he was squishing the child he was so busy focusing on Arthur.

"Nae until ye listen! Arthur!" He exclaimed.

Ardan gave a small squeak and shifted in Arthur's arms, causing Alasdair to look down at him and back off a little.

"Pit th'pipsqueak tae bed an' listen tae me" He said, a little quieter.

Breathing out in relief, the Englishman shot the other one final look and hurried away, muttering a 'you don't order me around'. He reached Ardan's bedroom with a sigh and gently put the child down in his bed.

He covered the small form with a dark green blanket and kissed the other's forehead fondly, smiling slightly. Then, closing the door quietly behind him, he sauntered to his room and locked the door.

Alone, Arthur collapsed on the bed, and no more different than a teenager, let his tears flow again, pillow stiffing any sound that dared escape him.

He won't let Alasdair in. God knows what he would do to him.

Alasdair banged on the locked door with a gloved fist.

"Arthur, open th' door" He said calmly, leaning his forehead on the wood. He knew the English Nation would be in there, no doubt crying, and Alasdair felt that hated yet familiar sense of guilt deep deep down.

He'd never admit to having it though.

"N-no." The Briton shouted as menacingly as he could, hoping that the other would take the hint and leave him alone in his misery. Seeing that it wasn't doing the trick, Arthur took a deep breath and wiped his tears away. He stood up and approached the door, standing as straight as he could. He was a strong, proud nation. This didn't dent him at all.

N-not the least...

Opening the door, the Englishman narrowed his eyes and frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

Alasdair tilted his head when Arthur stepped out, spotting the tell tale signs of tears on his cheeks.

He sighed, reaching forwards and pulling Arthur into his chest in a hug,

"Stupit" He said, folding him close.

Arthur froze, not expecting... that.

"I-I beg your pardon?" He questioned, voice muffled slightly by the fabric pushed against his face. A couple of moments later, though, he relaxed, wrapping his arms around the other.

He was his older brother, after all.

Alasdair gently moved from side to side, rocking his brother. He moved his thumb in little circle patterns on the back of Arthur's neck and then kissed the top of his head.

"Stupit," He repeated. "I telt ye tae remove the bullets masel'"

"But... I forgot, and you looked like- oh, bugger it."

Arthur smiled, clutching tighter to his brother's form. He should have known that Alasdair wouldn't actually hurt him fatally on propose. Or should he?

"After all, why would you want to hurt your own property?" He muttered, pulling away.

Alasdair smirked and leaned down close to Arthur's face.

"Exactly" He murmured, kissing Arthur's nose.

This was how it always ended. No matter what they did to each other, no matter how far they went. They came back at the end and held the other.

Apologising in their own screwed up way.

Fionn nodded from where he was standing, watching them from behind the wall.

They were ridiculous. But he'd continue to watch them even though he could no longer claim kinship with them, because they needed it.

Because they would, until the end of the world, continue to love to hurt and hurt to love.