Merry Christmas, Lazzy~ :3 This is for youuuuuu~ x3 (porn filled angst , for Christmas? Oh my! :O ) Je t'aime, mon amie~ x3 it's been a year since we've known each other! :"3 can you believe it?

I've become…obsessed with this idea as of late. =u=;; I apologize for any mistakes or general crappiness—I wrote and finished this today and decided to post it without any further adieu. I'll go back and edit and polish it later. =o=;

Disclaimer: I don't own APH. Yet. ;O

Music I listened to when writing…: Closer by Nine Inch Nails, Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy, Come On Closer by Jem, Lovers Dancing by InnerPartySystem, Die Tonight, Live Forever by InnerPartySystem, tons of InnerPartySystem in general. Oh, and I got the idea from several fan fictions I read by Liete—so all due credit to you, dear.

Alfred let it happen.

He always seemed to enjoy fooling himself, and throwing his hopes up in the air—sometimes, his risky, spur-of-the-moment decisions led to simply wonderful things that made his bright world just a bit better—but in this case…His high hopes were only getting beaten back down, trampled into the ground as the sun rose, and the door slammed to awaken him to an empty bed that seemed emptier than the night before.

The first time it had happened, he had been so…happy. It was as though all his dreams were coming true. That the love he'd been longing for was finally being given to him. That someone actually cared about him—not just so he could go save them from their enemies, or so they could relax in luxuries while he strained his own comfort—but honestly, with all their heart, loved him. He told himself to ignore the stench of alcohol in Arthur's breath. Ignore the slurred promises and words that were whispered huskily into his ear as he was pushed back into the sheets. Ignore the pure lust that radiated off of his once caretaker. Ignore the cold bed the next morning.

It was hard for him to simply enjoy the nights that he came to him these days, however.

The words were becoming repeated, the actions too forceful—too wanting—too rough…

There was no care, love, gentleness, adortion, or romantic promises of a future, a tomorrow given to him those heated, sinful nights. Only want and lust and greed. Pure drunken desires.

The hands that pushed at him, touched him, pleasured him—were as cold as the icy stare he would receive in the morning, if he ever awoke before the British nation left. They burned him. The trails those eyes dug into his skin seemed to brand him for life—and he was always afraid that they would show in public. That everyone would see how desperate he was for this—he didn't want their pity. He didn't want their mocking laughter. He didn't want anything from anyone anymore.

He didn't know what he wanted or what he needed.

As Arthur would clumsily stumble into his house, and instantly cover him with hot, sensual kisses, and those same words that broke down every barrier he'd ever built—he told himself that it was real this time—that maybe, just maybe he really did care for him and really did need him as much as he needed him—

"I want you so fucking bad."

That feeling of being wanted—it somehow made up for every lie he knew was being uttered—every action that was being forced on him, for Arthur's own pleasure—he was so foolish to believe those promises were true.

As light rays of sunlight crept through his curtains, and played softly across his tired body, warming his now cold, abused skin—and illuminated those once burning emerald eyes that had pinned him down with just one look—now so cold—he felt like he'd been filled with stone.

The heated night seemed to cease to exist as Arthur turned his back with one last cold glare that simply screamed 'you dirty little whore'—and the dawn that painted soft and soothing scenes on the dark canvas of a sky that had sheltered and hid his sins he'd committed—the sins he'd let himself commit—

Everything seemed to be lying to him.

How could he allow himself to lie there, like a used and worn toy? How could he still find himself gazing fondly across the room at the curt nation who had once been like a father to him? How could he still give in breathlessly and so easily every time those burning eyes locked with his desperate ones, despite the pure agony he knew he would drown in the following morning? How could he still love the goddamned bastard even though every word he spoke was a fucking lie?

Alfred knew it was simply foolish to ever think that instead of a cold, lead-filled, abused little child he would find himself to be in the morning, he'd wake up to those warm and protecting arms wrapped around him once more—filling him with a light warmth that would be so different than the heat he found himself caught in every night—

He was so foolish.

Just once, he just needed to hear it from Arthur's lips one time, and he would be happy for however long a life he would live.

All he wanted was to be needed. Is that such a scandalous and horrible dream?

He didn't want this. He didn't want Arthur's hands touching him like that—didn't want himself to respond to it—

"Oh, come on, you fucking whore. You want me as much as I want you."

'No. That's a lie.' He always wanted to whisper when Arthur smirked down at him like that. 'I need you.'

The words escaped him, but remained a haunting thought in the back of his mind, never to be released.

Arthur always wanted him on those nights. Alfred always needed him.

There was a difference between the two seemingly similar words. A difference so vast that Alfred couldn't just ignore it, no matter how much he tried, it all boiled down to one thing—

Arthur simply desired to feel Alfred's naked body against his—simply preferred to fuck him so hard he felt himself break in two—simply wanted to take his own sexual desires out on the hopeless boy. He only wanted him.

Alfred required Arthur to love him—it was necessary for him to keep breathing—he needed to believe that even for only a moment, Arthur felt the same way he did—that he might just possibly love him if he gave him what he wanted—

He knew it was too much to hope for.

And that the higher you are, the harder you fall.