Author's Notes: Another quickie, this time a serious entry into the conest at United Nations RP. Going off the prompt of "USxUK" I got dirty and delved into Arthur's magic headfirst. By scowering my own Gaelic heratige. *Chuckles* I may have been a touch mean to Alfred, but it was fun to write. No the best fic, but I'm tired and tapped out, and this was as good as I could do for a one-shot.

Also, the world needs more Feral!UK. Give me some pl0x.

---

Alfred could only stare at Arthur. The older man looked back, blanching, as he realized he had been discovered. He stuttered a few awkward words then, unable to make a coherent statement, as the cloak on his shoulders shifted off slightly.

His face was redder than a ripe beet.

Alfred was caught between laughing and disbelief. Arthur looked so funny with his mouth hanging open like that…the giggles bubbled up before he could stop them.

Arthur reacted to this, angrily yanking his cloak off, and tossing it aside, and slammed books and things around on the table. Alfred jumped slightly at the noise he was making.

"What the hell were you doing anyway, Arthur?" Alfred asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

"None of your business, boy," Arthur growled, low and threatening. He was not in the mood for this. Alfred had just disrupted something very important. And he was madder than a wet hen.

Alfred was about to thumb through some of Arthur's books, when the older nation slammed his hand down on Alfred's, making the younger man yelp in surprise and pain. Arthur felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. That'll teach him…

But Alfred simply pouted. "Aww, Iggy, you're being kind of rough, you know."

Arthur twitched in irritation. That nickname got on his nerves so fast.

"Because of you never knocking, and always rudely walking into other people's houses, I have now botched an incredibly delicate spell, thank you very much." Arthur's voice was teetering on the edge of rage. He had to control himself somehow, but it was hard. Oh so hard. Especially when Alfred turned those ridiculous blue eyes at him quizzically.

"Arthur…magic isn't real. Just like those damn fairies you keep going on about. And the unicorn. That damn unicorn."

Arthur exploded. "You know what isn't real, Jones?!" Arthur's emerald eyes flamed with rage and pent-up frustration. "Your unbelievable amount of stupidity! It's a wonder you're not dead yet! A man as stupid as you would have died a thousand deaths by now!"

Maybe it was the headiness of the moment, or the rage doing it to him, but his face was getting warm. Very warm. Uncomfortably so. He tugged at his starched collar, trying to let some of the heat out.

Looking at Alfred's face, however, he came to the conclusion it was the room. Alfred's cheeks and forehead were looking red, and he too was tugging at his collar in discomfort.

"I'll open a window," he muttered quietly as he walked to the small window on the other side of the room, and yanked it up and open, letting fresh air into the stuffy room. Alfred made a murmured reply of thanks.

Arthur sucked in the cool air, but the heat was not dissipating. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. Sweat was starting to soak the back of his shirt, and he gave a groan of disgust. Looking back at Alfred, he saw the man yanking his tie down, and popping the top buttons of his dress shirt.

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. His gaze was fixated on the tiny beads of sweat running down Alfred's neck, and under his collar. Tearing his gaze away, he admonished himself for staring in such a disgusting manor. Alfred was like a brother to him! And where were these filthy thoughts coming from anyway?!

Alfred gave a quiet moan as he rubbed his neck. "Damnit, it's muggy in here…"

Arthur's fingertips brushed the tip of his tongue before he realized he was biting down on his finger, almost lustfully. He yanked his hand away, mortified. What the bloody hell was wrong with him today?!

Alfred was yanking his gloves off now. Biting into the dark leather with his teeth, and pulling them off in a manor that Arthur couldn't help but feel turned on by. He realized he was getting washed away in the feeling, and desperately clawed at rational thinking, trying to keep from getting sucked under.

He scrambled for his grimoire, desperate to realize just what spell in the string of many he'd been performing had gotten botched. He scanned the open pages hurriedly, until his finger came to rest on the one he was looking for.

In preparation for a yearly pagan festival, he'd been casting an ancient Celtic fertility spell. And Alfred had interrupted, leaving the target for the spell wide open. It had, of course, settled on the closest marks: the two men in the room.

Arthur groaned. There wasn't a reversal for the spell, since it was designed to run its course naturally. It was a force of nature, a tide of magic that couldn't be fought off or stopped. And Arthur felt genuine fear in the pit of his stomach.

This particular spell was strong magic; old and dark, like the primal days of yore, back when Arthur was wild and young, and romped about under the full moon like some savage beast. He remembered the feeling; of how free he'd been, of how the magic had surged through his veins like fire, and how he'd been filled with reckless abandon. So deeply rooted in the magic he was, and he knew that once it began, he'd loose all control. He swallowed hard. He couldn't do that to Alfred, to the young man who he'd raised from an infant.

Alfred was panting by now, looking fairly dizzy. "Hey Arthur…I'm not feeling so great…" He flapped his bomber jacket in an attempt to cool off. "Can I get a glass of water or something? I think I'm going to melt…"

Arthur shook with fear as he turned to look at Alfred. "Al…" he whispered. "I have some very bad news for you…"

---

Alfred felt his heart skip at Arthur's words. Bad news? Uh oh… He never liked that. He felt his fear combine with the warmth spreading through his entire body, and it made him utterly miserable. He wanted to climb into his pool.

Or Matthew's lake. Matthew had a nice lake. Lucky prick.

He undid one more button on his shirt in an attempt to cool off. It seemed to be doing nothing. He felt sticky and sweaty and overheated, and it was making him writhe.

"The spell you interrupted was, well…special." Arthur's words were slow and deliberate. Alfred tried his best to concentrate, because what Arthur was saying sounded important. "The spell was an old Celtic fertility spell…one I only cast once a year around this time."

"So?" Alfred uttered before he could form the word in his mind. His mind seemed slow and slurry at this point, much like he felt in the heat of a Texas summer. Intensely hot.

Speaking of intensely hot, Arthur looked scrumptious in that sweater vest.

…What?

WHAT THE HELL?!

Alfred felt panic overtake him. Why was he having such thoughts about Arthur, his mentor and protector, his big brother? And what was worse, they just kept coming, one after another.

If he did something with his hair, he'd be dead sexy. Maybe the eyebrows…no, wait. They were kind of cute. They could stay. God, he looked good in green…

He slapped a hand over his mouth as the blush on his face grew in intensity.

Arthur was sighing, and he looked up. "You can feel it too, can't you?" He looked into Alfred's eyes then, and Alfred's heart skipped a beat.

Oh shit.

"The spell is quite potent," Arthur continued, his voice faltering slightly. "Once set in motion, it cannot be stopped until it runs its course. We…I…" Arthur grabbed his head with his hand then, slowly shaking it, as if to clear his mind of a thought.

Alfred could feel his hands moving on their own, reaching out for Arthur. He snapped them back, alarmed.

"Get out…" Arthur said weakly, his knees starting to buckle.

"What…?" Alfred felt panic overtake him.

"Get out…" Arthur repeated more firmly. "Before we both do something we'll regret later."

Alfred didn't move. He felt rooted to the floor. He didn't want to move, and he doubted he would even if he could.

"But…I can't just leave you!"

"Yes you can!" Arthur snarled, his voice edging on feral. "Do it now, Jones!"

Alfred stumbled back a step, scared. The heat in his body was much more intense now, and he felt himself pulse because his blood pressure was so high. But the growl…almost excited him, while simultaneously scaring the living shit out of him.

Arthur had slid all the way to the floor, and his head rolled back like a rag doll. There were small moans and whimpers escaping from his lips now, and Alfred knew he should be moving, should be going for the door, but he's transfixed on Arthur. Arthur who is now starting to sound like some wild animal.

"Oh God, I want it so bad…Oh God…Alfred…"

Alfred starts backing up more. He's feeling cold, heavy fear in his stomach now, even though every fibre of him is screaming with lust.

And then Arthur trained his emerald gaze on Alfred again, and now it's clear that Arthur isn't sane anymore.

He's become a monster. And he's coming right for Alfred.

---

Arthur holds onto the table for dear life as he tries to explain what is happening. Alfred isn't really listening, which is normal, but when the man pops yet another button on his shirt, Arthur starts to lose it.

"Get out…" he gasps finally, starting to lose his sanity.

"What?" Alfred sounds panicked.

"Get out…" Arthur repeats, more vehemently. His mind is numbing, and a strange feeling is creeping over him. "Before we both do something we'll regret later." The blood is pounding in his ears, loud and strong and rhythmic. It's drowning out all the other noises.

Alfred wasn't moving. He was staring in shock. "But…I can't just leave you!"

"Yes you can!" Arthur can feel the dark magic twisting his mind into something almost evil, and he's doing his best to hold it back, but failing. "Do it now, Jones!"

Alfred is stumbling back now, and Arthur feels slight relief. Maybe he'll escape, get away, and get help. Arthur's too far gone for that…He can hear the chanting in his mind now, strong and loud, louder than his heart.

Dràsd danns fo gealach. Ealta 's iad mosgail.

He felt himself slide down the table leg to the floor, his body becoming limp and no longer under his control. He knows his mind is breaking, that his sanity is shredding under the fierce presence of the magic at work, and he knows he cannot fight it anymore. He prays that Alfred will run. He wants Alfred to be safe. He pleads to God as he slowly looses consciousness.

"Oh God, I want it so bad…Oh God…Alfred…"

---

Alfred backs up, feeling the door to Arthur's house against his back. Arthur's green eyes are feral now, and he's snarling, his back hunched. He's terrifying, and yet Alfred still feels that overpowering lust for him still.

"Arthur, let's talk about this…" Alfred tells his mentor, swallowing loudly. The normally reserved Brit is now reduced to some wild creature of a man (or is it Nation? Either way, it's still the same). Alfred knows he has to help in some way, but this…this is too much. Even for a hero.

"Arthur!"

There's a spark through Arthur's fingers, so small Alfred almost doesn't notice. But he registers it in time, just before Arthur pins him to the door with a new set of claws.

Holy shit! Those things could hurt me!

Alfred ducks in time, and rolls out of the way, knocking over a chair as he does so. Panting, Alfred stands up, only to have his head swim angrily.

Alfred moans then, clutching at his head. He doesn't see Arthur advancing on him.

"My head…so weak…"

Arthur slams into Alfred, and tries to pin him to the floor. But Alfred is stronger than the older nation, and throws him off. However, Arthur is tenacious, and attacks him again. Alfred wrestles with Arthur, trying not to hurt him, but finding it unsuccessful.

Arthur's feral eyes are glaring into his own, and Alfred is terrified of them. Gone is the gentle, but fierce light that usually radiates from them, full of stubborn pride and arrogant self-righteousness. Now he's a beast, set on either tearing Alfred to pieces, or…

Alfred tries not to think of the other choice.

Alfred uses his foot to shove Arthur off before scrambling to his feet, and attempting to pry the door open. Arthur's on him immediately, and his claws sink in deep. Alfred tries to hold back his scream.

"Damnit Arthur!" Despite trying his best not to, Alfred slams back with his elbow, and strikes Arthur in the face. The man lets out a snarled gasp, and reels back, giving Alfred time to escape out the front door.

Alfred tries to make a break for the secret road: the path the Nations use to travel around the world out of sight of the humans. But Alfred seems weakened by the spell on him, and his chest burns as he tries to run. He feels as weak as a human at this point.

Shit. This is not good.

Alfred hazards a glance back, and sees fearfully that Arthur is gaining on him. Alfred pours it on as much as he can, but he's barely staying ahead of Arthur. He makes a beeline for the forest, hoping to loose him in the trees.

He never sees Arthur's wild grin.

---

Alfred sheds more layers as he walks, desperately trying to relieve the heat trapped in his body. He's already shed his jacket and gloves by this point, and his suit jacket, tie and dress shirt all follow. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling Nantucket spring back to attention despite the rest of his hair flattening down.

He finally comes to a river. Actually, it's more of a brook, but it's water, and that's all Alfred cares about. Falling to his knees, he gratefully dunks his head, and washes the sweat from his chest and arms, glad to finally find some relief, albeit temporary. He pulls Texas off his face to rub his eyes with cold water, and sighs deeply. The pulse from his heartbeat is thudding through his whole body now, and he's really not sure if he can keep going.

A noise behind him makes him tense. Glancing back, he sees nothing, but he's positive he's not alone. Slipping Texas back on, Alfred reaches for the derringer in his boot.

Danns leam.

Alfred recognizes the soft whisper. It's Arthur, of that he has no doubt. But the language is strange to him. It sounds old, older than him, older than most. He tries to pin it down, but language is not his speciality.

Matthew would know. Matthew's a linguist.

But Matthew is not there. Alfred's chest is tightening, and his hand grips the derringer tightly.

Danns leam.

Alfred slowly stands up, and turns, but he can feel the feeling of eyes watching him moving. He tries to follow it, straining as hard as he can, but Arthur knows these woods better than him. These woods are a part of Arthur. Alfred is hopelessly outmatched.

Alfred cannot deny his own body now. His whole form is wracked with pain brought on by a lack of addressing its needs. And what it needed most was…to be relieved…of the pressure…

He was horny as all hell.

Alfred cursed loudly. It was getting tough to ignore it. He swore he heard a chuckle from Arthur, who was stalking him from the trees.

Ealta dlùthaich.

Alfred feels his neck hairs prickle, but he doesn't know why. But the phrase is threatening in the most petrifying of ways. He swears he sees Arthur's eyes glitter from amongst the foliage.

Alfred stumbles downstream, trying to get away, but knowing it's impossible. The magic has him trapped here, too weak to escape, only able to stumble around like a human, and he's cursing mad. Behind him, the soft footsteps of Arthur, but no matter how many times he looks back, Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

Alfred feels like he's going insane.

---

Alfred knows this place. This place is Stonehenge, once of the places Arthur boasts about with pride to Alfred all the time. The large circle of gigantic flat rocks is much more impressive in person, and he wishes he had the time to study it closer. He wonders who made it. Was it Tony? Or maybe it was Arthur, or one of his siblings.

Or maybe it was the Celts.

Alfred gives a short laugh at this. Humans couldn't make this. The stones were massive, weighting hundreds of tons each. The skill required for such a feat was superhuman.

Alfred could do it.

That was, if it was any other day.

But not now, not like this. He collapses to his knees in the ring; his strength ebbing away more and more as his body breaks into hot sweats. He's moaning. He's uncomfortable. He's horny. And more importantly, he's pissed off.

But this is my fault, isn't it?

Alfred purses his lips. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was in the wrong about all of this. He was the one who came into Arthur's home unannounced. He was the one who interrupted Arthur's ritual. He was to blame.

There was no Matthew to pin this on.

Arthur is there, suddenly. There's an eerie light from somewhere, but Alfred doesn't know where. All he sees are Arthur's eyes, almost glowing in the darkness.

Arthur's hair is long and wild, his teeth sharp and glistening, his fingernails are claws. He's a beast. He's not Arthur anymore. He's…something else.

Alfred can't move. His legs won't carry him any farther. He looks up at Arthur, who slowly traps him against the stone pedestal in the centre of the ring. Arthur pushes Alfred roughly down on it, and pins him unceremoniously.

Sihb bruntainn a leam.

Alfred swallows as Arthur leers in close. He roughly presses his lips to Alfred's, and the man squirms desperately, trying to break out.

But Arthur isn't relenting. His hands seek Alfred's body, and he shutters despite himself. The spell roars to life in him, and he cries out in response to his raging hormones.

"Arthur, no—!"

Arthur crawls onto Alfred, kissing wildly. Alfred feels his resolve crumbling, and his hands blindly grope Arthur's back. Their tongues meet, and twine around each other, desperately trying to become a part of each other. Arthur sucks on Alfred's lip, biting softly. Alfred moans.

Kaliwohi gvdodi nihi.

The words bubble up, seemingly out of nowhere, and at first Alfred isn't sure it's him talking. Then he realizes it is.

Arthur chuckles, as if amused. He bites gently into Alfred's soft throat, and Alfred yelps in response. The teasing is too much, and he pushes against Arthur's body, delirious in lust.

Howatsu…

Arthur doesn't need to understand the words. The meaning is clear from the body language. He rips the rest of Alfred's clothing off (his own clothes long since abandoned somewhere), and reaches down to probe the younger nation.

Alfred gasps, his back arching, and a white-hot flash behind his eyes causes him to cry out. The world seems to shake for a moment before going black.

---

Alfred remembers snatches of what followed. He remembered it being rough, and them practically clawing at each other in feral lust. They rolled a lot, one trying to dominate the other. And he remembered how hot and intimate it had been.

He woke slowly, painfully. His body ached everywhere, and he was sticky with sweat and something he didn't care to name. He ran his fingers through his hair, yanking out a leaf, and grumbling.

"'Morning," Arthur grumbled beside him.

Alfred grinned, looking at Arthur's bleary eyes. "What do you remember?"

Arthur blinked, his face clearly clouded with sleep still. "Remember…? I'm not sure I…" his voice trailed off as he realized where he was. Sitting up with a jolt, he stifled a cry of panic.

"My God, this is Stonehenge!"

Alfred chuckled. Arthur didn't recall a thing.

Arthur looked down. "Why am I bloody naked?!" He looks over at Alfred. "Why are YOU bloody naked?!"

Alfred only stretched, grinning, and sat up slowly. It was early, not quite dawn yet, and the grey mist was thick as Arthur's pea soup. He doubted any tourists would be here this early, so they were safe.

"You chased me all the way here," Alfred replied casually.

"Chased you?" Arthur blinked at Alfred in disbelief. The younger nation only grinned. "Alfred! What happened?! Tell me!!"

"I can't," he replied nonchalantly. "I don't recall all of it myself."

Arthur suddenly remembered the botched spell, and held his head in his hands. "Oh bloody hell…this…this won't end well…"

Alfred sighed. "What's done is done." He smiled. "I would like to know what you were speaking last night…or why I suddenly started spewing Cherokee…" he frowned lightly, but only for an instant. "In any case, we need to find our clothes before the tourist rush."

Arthur looked up at the silent stones for a long while before Alfred interrupted.

"Arthur?"

Arthur finally spoke. "These stones…here for a purpose. Deeply rooted in magic. They have watched over the Veil here for as long as I can remember." He chuckled. "How odd that we'd be drawn here."

"What's Stonehenge for?" Alfred asked curiously. "Who made it? Was it you?"

Arthur looked at Alfred with a twinkle in his eye. "I can't tell you that. It's a secret I've sworn to keep. Forever and always." He tweaked Alfred's nose. "I can't even tell you."

Alfred pouted.

Arthur laughed, getting to his feet, and helping Alfred up. "Look, I think your pants are over here…"

"What's left of them…"

Good Lord, that's a mess. What, did a wolf get a hold of these?"

"You did."

"Bloody hell…"

And then the two nations disappeared into the fog to locate the rest of their clothes, their laughter echoing across the hills like drumbeats.

Translation Notes:

Dràsd danns fo gealach. Ealta 's iad mosgail. – The phrase is loose Gaelic I threw together from dictionaries I found online (cringes) and roughly reads, "It is time to dance under the moon. The wolves are awake." [If anyone at all knows Gaelic, and can give me better translations, please do. This is so bad, and I know it.]

Danns leam – Rough Gaelic, meaning "Dance with me" [Again, probably horribly mangled. I apologize.]

Ealta dlùthaich – Rough Gaelic, meaning, "The wolves are coming." [Once again, mangled beyond help.]

Sihb bruntainn a leam – Rough Gaelic, meaning, "You belong to me." [I don't need to say how mangled this is.]

Kaliwohi gvdodi nihi – Rough Cherokee this time, loosely meaning, "(I am) complete with you." [I don't claim to know Cherokee either. I used phonetics I recovered from online dictionaries again. *Sob* Please, someone correct me. This hurts so badly.]

Howatsu – Cherokee for "Please". [I'm not sure if this is the correct usage or not. Please correct me.]