(Sorry, this part was rather long in coming and rather short in word count. I shall try to pick up the pace a bit. Reviews and comments are muchly welcome. I promise the next part will be where things get more exciting. )

"Arthur, it's you I want. You I love. It was always you."

The English man pulled back a little, hoping the low light would help conceal the fresh tears welling in his eyes, as those malachite orbs swiveled to take in the rest of the dance floor. He looked around, searching the shadows for those others, the false paramours who'd won over the golden boy in the years since they'd parted on that ill-fated rainy day; that lustrous haired, silken voiced French bastard, the delicate and dangerous Japanese boy with dark hair and dark eyes, or any of the rest of the suitors wooing with vows of allegiance, security, and salvation.

Seeing none of them, he let the implication of Alfred's words wash over him as he turned his gaze back to the American. His mind was hazy, full of memories of menace and of joy, awash with promises of the future, but most of all he was caught up in the dazzlement of the present. Joy and trepidation tangled his heart in knots and his hands, fingers longer and more delicate than most men's, rose to clutch at Alfred's jacket, the denim stiff beneath his palms.

He wanted to believe the other's words, was desperate to trust in this which had for so long been a dream, a secret (or perhaps not so very secret) wish that had so long gone unfulfilled it had become the sort of treasured longing that becomes part of the fabric of one's reality. But, he certainly never expected to have gratification of this particular coveted yearning. He and Alfred were fast friends, surely, and sometimes even found themselves in each other's beds but always avoiding that word.

Now Alfred was using that word and part of him was of the mind he should push the other man away. There was no possibility the American twit meant what he was saying…was there? It was raving bonkers, surely? But, even through the fog of the recreational drugs the other had obviously been imbibing in, he could see the truth and utter sincerity in the blonde's azure gaze.

So instead of rebuffing Alfred, Arthur found himself leaning forward, closing the meager distance between them, eyes drifting closed as the younger man met him halfway, their lips joining with a veritable electric jolt. He was fairly certain his knees had lost their ability to hold up his body, so it was rather fortunate Alfred was holding him tight enough to nearly lift him off his toes.

Neither wasted any time with propriety or niceties, mouths moving against each other with a desperate hunger. Tongues explored familiar territories, swirling together, a war of dominance where neither would gain the upper hand and neither would bemoan the stalemate. It was the kind of passionate kiss that is accompanied by a musical crescendo in films and often evinced with fireworks. Not that Arthur would be likely to make a Hollywood comparison so droll as all that.

There was a cloying sweet taste on Arthur's tongue and he found himself smiling against Alfred's mouth, knowing the other boy had been drinking one of those sickeningly saccharine cocktails he enjoyed so much. Honestly, sometimes the American chap had appalling appetites. Right about now though, all he was thinking was how very easily he could get addicted to this sugary sensation.

The throbbing beat of the bass thumped in time with his speeding heart as Alfred's hands slipped beneath his shirt, stroking calloused fingers over his spine, causing a low moan and an involuntary shiver of pleasure.

"You're just a wanton little harlot tonight, aren't you?" Alfred whispered close to his ear, hot voice honeying his skin and making the Brit gulp, blood rushing to his face and regions lower. The American knew talking dirty aroused him, made him weak and willing.

"Let's have a wicked deadly time here and then I'll take you home and really make you scream," he continued, practically purring into Arthur's ear.

Drawing back a bit, the tall xanthous haired youth smirked at the Englishman and rolled his hips oh so slowly against the shorter boy, eliciting another needy moan. Then with a throaty chuckle, he pulled something small out of his pocket and put it in his mouth before leaning back in for another searing kiss.

It took a few moments for Arthur's brain to catch up with the rest of his body and by that time something small and cube-shaped was melting over his tongue. Only then did he understand the true cause behind the candied taste of Alfred's mouth and he drew back with a wide-eyed gasp, fingers going to his lips in shock. Had Alfred just drugged him?