Warning: Sex, self-hatred, sappy behavior. And OOC.
Fairytale - Alexander Rybak

Other: My ability to write smut is literally nonexistent ever since I acquired this new thing... called a conscience, I believe? Anywho, a certain adult drilled it into my head and it's really hard to ignore! I think I did alright, considering I was rushing. c:

Arthur Kirkland marveled at the young boy before him, eyes devouring every bit of him. The Englishman couldn't help but notice how surreal the teenager looked. His skin was like porcelain - white, seemingly flawless, so pure and innocent and breathtaking. The daunting thought entered his mind that the luscious, delicious-looking skin could be broken, cut, bruised - the thought that the purity and flawlessness could be shattered and never repairable. His eyes were like sea - blue and gray, brooding and cheerful, shadows and light dancing with one another in perfect harmony - perfectly balanced. Arthur thought it had been impossible for emotions to physically swirl in someone's eyes - it was clear that he had been misled.
The evidence of an angel was standing directly in front of him. Maybe he was the devil - the rawest form of temptation. Arthur licked his lips, moistening them, for they had gone dry.

The American boy, - not really a boy, but not over eighteen years of age - Alfred, looked up at the Englishman from where he sat at his desk just inside the doorway, tilting his head down, in a seemingly innocent manner, he asked, "Did you want something?"
He smirked devilishly, and Arthur gulped, trying to swallow the lump that built up in his throat. That skin, so tantalizing... so breakable... he could break it if he wanted to... he could shatter it...Why had he come into the other's room for anyway? Was he coming to tell him dinner was ready? Alfred's smile broadened, his eyes flashing mischievously. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Arthur wasn't sure what had overpowered him - some ungodly force, or the physical desire, buried underneath all his manners and guilt. His lips covered the other's mouth, his hands fisting his hair, fingers tracing little patterns around Alfred's head.
The young American's bewildered expression slowly melted into one of pleasure as the shorter man's tongue tasted and explored the wet cavern of his mouth, memorizing every inch of it. His cerulean eyes slid until they were closed, his arms moving to pull the other closer to him abruptly.
Arthur took a few tentative steps forward, finding that the younger willingly obliged to the suggestion that they move back onto the bed, stepping back until his knees hit the foot of the bed, he sat down, allowing the British man to straddle him. He'll let me... he'll let me break him... he wants me to...Arthur thought numbly as he pushed the other down completely, making quick work of the other's clothes. Arthur began to ravish the other's well-built, finely-toned body. His tongue lapped slowly at Alfred's Adams apple, making the younger man groan in pleasure, fingers running sensually up and down the sides of the American's hips, which bucked, rubbing their groins together.

He's so beautiful...This was another one of his sick dreams, wasn't it? This wasn't happening. He would wake up in his armchair with cold tea sitting on the side table, an open book in his lap. It wasn't like he'd never had an erotic dream similar to this... but this felt so real...

This has to be a fairytale...

Retracting his fingers from the other's skin, he brought three of them up to his own lips, sucking on them teasingly. The American teenager watched, sweat beaded to his forehead. He looked breath-taking to the older man, absolutely sexy. In a jerky motion, Alfred took off Arthur's clothes - leaving them both completely naked, he lay back down again. Arthur watched hungrily as the one beneath him became increasingly aroused.

Alfred was watching all of this in a warm kind of haze, barely registering it when the older, more experienced man slipped a digit into his virgin entrance. He definitely felt the second one, eyes widening in shock and agonizing pain with the third one added. He mewled and fisted the sheets, writhing as the other stretched him wide, fingers going deeper to scrape against a soft bundle of nerves deep inside him.

He arched his back, moaning. White rushed to fill his vision, sensations traveling at lightning speed up his spine. Nothing was important now - he just wanted Arthur to keep going, to keep making him feel like this. Alfred growled deep in his throat when the fingers were removed.
"Please..." Alfred murmured as Arthur placed himself at the other's puckered entrance, nodding a little bit, silently promising to continue.

Just some kind of sick fairytale, you stupid wanker, this isn't real. He convinced himself that there were no consequences to this. Just another, extremely detailed, realistic, wet-dream.
Before he could change his mind, he thrust into the other none too gently. The tight heat contracted around his length, making him groan.

Oh God... oh God...! This isn't a dream... oh my God... no! Damnit, no! I'm horrible! This is a sin! Dear Lord, kill me now...

Alfred's hands flew away from the sheets, instinctively grabbing around Arthur, nails digging deep into the British man's skin, leaving angry red welts. He moaned, clenching tightly around the other.
"Ah... hah... Al... You need to... relax..." Arthur panted, removing himself slowly, only to thrust back in harder than the first time, hitting that sweet spot and drawing out more moans from Alfred. Soon they had a steady timing, bucking and thrusting in time with each other, moaning and groaning, planting sloppy kisses everywhere on each other - Arthur leaned over and sucked hard on the other's neck in a mindless daze, leaving a purple mark.

Arthur got caught up in a rhythm, no longer kissing or murmuring things to the boy underneath him. The sooner this was over with - the better. This was wrong on so many levels. So many horrible, sinful, lust-filled levels. He struck the other's tight bundle of nerves repeatedly, earning himself moans as sweet as honey, but trying to block them out by screwing his emerald eyes shut.

Alfred's head was thrown backwards as he came onto both their stomachs and chests - seeing white, panting, and feeling oddly uncomfortable as Arthur thrust one last time and came deep, deep inside him - filling him to the brim with his essence. Arthur clenched his teeth tightly as he pulled out, falling to lie besides the other man, but turning his back to him.

Alfred turned so he was resting on his stomach, face buried into soft pillows. Sleep quickly took his spent body, he didn't know what just happened. He had been a little dimwitted at times, but now he felt terrible - he didn't think that his first time would be like this.
After a while, Arthur sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and resting his face in his hands - crying silently from the weight of it all.

He had tainted that pure, innocent body. He alone had broken it.

There was a small part of him that was satisfied, some inner thirst he had quenched. The thirst for that young, fresh skin, the thirst that had wanted to destroy something beautiful and righteous. He despised his actions. He despised himself.
Arthur got up, grabbing his clothes up from the floor - where they had been carelessly tossed aside. He slipped them on and stepped out into the hall, closing the door slowly, pausing only to get a final glance of the sleeping American.

"Oh I'm in love,
With a fairytale
Even though it hurts
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind
I'm already cursed..."

Arthur's head was pounding in time with his heart, warmth pooled in his belly as he clutched a topped-off mug of rum. Four hours had passed since he'd tainted his little boy... his sweet innocent little boy...
The bar would be closing soon, and he'd have to somehow find his way home. Sluggishly, he sat up and took sloppy gulps from the mug, managing not to splash any on his white shirt - when he had completely downed the drink, he buried his head in his arms, weeping quietly once again.

The bell by the door tingled as someone entered, heavy boots hitting the wooden floor with a 'clunk'.

"Oui, I'll 'ave whatever 'e is 'aving." a mug was filled and exchanged for cash, then the tall, blond-haired Frenchman sat down next to Arthur, and began to scrutinize him through narrowed eyes. "Why are vous so gloomy, Angleterre?" he asked quietly, tentatively placing a hand on the other's trembling back - Arthur still had his head down, still sobbing.

"Oh...Frog... hic... I've fucked up royally! I tainted my colony...my little Alfred..." he slurred, his words muffled by sobs and hiccups. Francis pursed his lips - because that was a perfectly valid reason to get drunk and wallow in one's sadness. "I'm going to Hell..."

"I don't zink zat God will send vous to Hell for having urges of zat sort, Angleterre-"

"You don't get it! God damnit, git! I practically raped him... I'm a rapist! I don't even recall giving him the 'talk'-"

"Oh, well, I did that, mon petit lapin. I told both Matthew and Alfred what it was when zey were very young."

Instantaneous rage flared through Arthur, making him cringe and stiffen. So he hadn't taken that innocence away - but he had still defiled his body. Helped to defile his mind. He lifted his head, losing his bearing of which way was up, and exactly what the floor was - he wasn't phased when Francis wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.

Arthur talked and cried and gripped on to Francis's shirt. He babbled on and grew angry with himself, occasionally slamming his fists onto the table. He continued until the bartender announced the end of his shift, forcing them to leave. The cold night wind surprised Arthur, making him shiver involuntarily in the Frenchman's arms. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led to the other's house - where the charming long-haired man had offered his bed to the drunkard. He pointed out the nearest restroom, and said he wouldn't mind if he stayed for breakfast. If he needed anything, Francis said he would be asleep in the sitting room.

Arthur had a hard time succumbing to sleep. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable in that bed meant for two. Eventually he fell into a slumber filled with nightmares and screaming children, beatings, and crying. It felt like a mere moment after he fell asleep, before he was jarred away by Francis's frantic shaking - he held a white home phone in his hand, mouthing 'It's him.' and handing it to him. Even though he didn't really want to speak to him, even though his heartbeat was thundering against his skull, he answered the phone.

"'ello?" he greeted weakly, propping himself up on the pillow, watching as Francis left the room and shut the door behind him.

"W-where are you?" Alfred's voice didn't sound right. It sounded unsure, scared ... worried?

"What's the matter?" He bit his tongue after - he had been close to ending the word baby after that sentence. He had always used to call him that, but now it would be awkward. Had he really corrupted their relationship this much?

"When did you leave? I-I won't be mad, I just want to know-"

"I left right after you fell asleep, Alfred."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to the bar. I got dead drunk so I had to spend the night at a friend's house. I'll be home soon, alright? We'll go... get.. uhm, some pancakes and talk, does that sound all right?" Baby, my sweet little angel, it's alright...
There was a long pause, Arthur didn't mind listening to nervous breathing. I'm so sick in the head...

Alfred said one quiet phrase before he hung up abruptly. Six words that made the Briton's heart stop dead in his seemingly-empty chest -

"I think I love you, Arthur."