It was dark in the basement, the only light coming from a dozen candles set out on the shelves. They glowed and flickered, lending an eerie feel to everything else in the room. Shadows shifted and danced in the corners, hiding the majority of the basement, save for a large cleared space that held nothing but a table covered in vials, bottles and little boxes, and something that would have been an odd addition to any basement.

In the center of the candle-lit space sat a cauldron. Supported by two large brackets set into the floor, it hung about a foot above the worn stones with a small pile of wood underneath it. It was filled almost to the brim with water, the surface of which was so calm that it perfectly reflected the candlelight and its surroundings. The basement appeared to be otherwise deserted, but then a cloaked figure stepped out of the darkest portion of the basement and approached the cauldron with slow, measured steps. A low, murmuring voice accompanied the figure, and suddenly the wood under the cauldron burst into flames.

This new source of light helped illuminate the table and the figure. The table's bottles and vials and boxes were revealed to contain liquids and powders and crystals of countless colors. It was a strange sort of rainbow that would have inspired curiosity in even the dullest of minds. As for the figure, the face was made slightly visible—pale skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light, and green eyes were startlingly bright against the gloom.

Hands just as pale as the face lifted, a wand gripped elegantly in one. Slowly, they began to move, and the murmur grew louder as the green-eyed figure raised its voice. The words were unintelligible but obviously held power—the water in the cauldron began to boil and bubble.

Without losing the pace of the murmur, the figure extended its empty hand towards the table. Bottles and vials were lifted into the air by an unseen force and drifted over the cauldron; as if by their own accord, they tipped and poured various amounts of their contents into the boiling water. It turned colors, sparks flew and the concoction hissed with every added ingredient. The murmur became a loud chant in a language that very few could even hope to understand.

Movements becoming quick and abrupt, the figure leaned over the cauldron to check the progress—the glowing liquid lit up his face well enough for a smile to be visible. The potion was almost complete.

"What the hell is that?"

The shout made the figure jump and sent it stumbling forward, straight into the cauldron. It tipped as those vials that had been above it fell in, the power controlling them disrupted. Just like that, the potion exploded with a reverberating boom and the basement was thrown into chaos. Two voices yelped, bookshelves crashed to the ground and dust and smoke filled the air.

Coughing, the figure struggled to sit up where he'd been thrown across the room by the explosion. The robe's hood had fallen back, revealing—now dirty—golden blond hair, thick eyebrows and shocked green eyes set in a pale face that was small but obviously that of a male. There was dirt and dust and the remnants of the potion smeared all over the blond man, and it was several moments before he managed to climb to his feet. Silent, he surveyed the damage caused by the explosion; his basement was all but destroyed.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. It was going to take him ages to clean this up. The frown deepened when his gaze landed on a second man, who was in a similar state to himself but had yet to get up.

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded angrily, making his way across the basement and dragging the intruder to his feet. The second man was taller than the first by a good few inches, his eyes were blue instead of green and his hair was a lighter shade of blond.

"Relax, dude," the blue-eyed man responded with a grin, perfectly white teeth a stark contrast to the filth-covered tan skin of his face. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I was not scared!" the first snapped, turning to look at the mess once more. "Look what you've done! And you ruined my potion!" He sighed, eyes closing as he rubbed his temples. "Why are you here, Alfred? The party doesn't start for another hour."

Alfred's grin widened. "I came to help you set up! Looks like you got it all done, though," he added, pointing at the ceiling to indicate that he meant upstairs. He then rubbed the back of his head, looking properly embarrassed for the first time. "Sorry about your potion, Artie."

"It's Arthur, you twat," the shorter male responded, though his tone had softened and he even chanced a small smile at the other blond before sighing; it was nice that the blue-eyed blond had at least wanted to help. "Let's just get cleaned up before the others arrive. We can deal with this mess tomorrow." With that, he began picking his way towards the stairs as Alfred followed close behind. Only a few steps up, Arthur was startled to feel a hand settle on his hip and weight press against his shoulder.

"Alfred?" The taller blond was leaning on Arthur for support. "Are you all right?"

"I…feel kinda…funny," Alfred said slowly, blue eyes unfocused behind dusty glasses. A slight frown creased his forehead and he swayed where he stood. Moving quickly, Arthur steadied him then began helping him up the stairs, pulling one of the taller man's arms over his shoulders.

"It's because you got some of the potion on you. Come on, we'd better shower before it really starts kicking in." If he was honest, Arthur had to admit that he was starting to feel a little strange, as well. Those spots on his skin where the potion had touched were slightly numb and he felt as though his knees might give out if he wasn't careful. But he was used to the first effects of magic, and Alfred wasn't. It wasn't all at surprising that the taller blond was feeling odd.

Still not quite focused, Alfred grinned and let out an uncharacteristic giggle. "Together?" he asked softly, leaning close to nuzzle his face into what little of Arthur's neck wasn't covered up by his black cloak.

The action made Arthur's face turn a deep shade of red and he struggled not to sputter. "Ah, no, lad, that's probably not the best idea." He kept his tone calm even though he was losing it internally. Alfred wanted to shower with him? Where the hell had that come from? They were barely even friends!

Alfred pouted at the Brit's refusal but didn't protest, his attention now focused on making it up the stairs.

Together, they emerged from the destroyed basement into the back hall of Arthur's house and from there moved into the kitchen. It was decorated for the Halloween party Alfred had somehow convinced the shorter blond to host; orange and black streamers hung everywhere, fake spiders were placed strategically so as to not be seen right away, festive snacks were set out on the long island counter along with a bowl of dark purple punch that had marshmallow eyeballs floating in it.

"You can use the guest bathroom's shower," Arthur said as they slowly made their way to the second floor. "I'll be in my bathroom if you need anything."

Seeming reluctant to be away from the shorter blond, Alfred let his head rest on Arthur's shoulder for a moment before letting him go. "'Kay."

It was a little endearing to see Alfred acting so innocent, even if it was just because of the potion. Still, Arthur instinctively felt very protective of the bespectacled blond. After making sure that Alfred knew where everything he was going to need for his shower was, Arthur left him to shower and went through his bedroom to the master bath beyond it and quickly shed his dirty clothes. Most of his body was still clean, as the cloak had shielded him from the dust and the potion, but it had gotten in his hair and on his face, and he could feel it dripping down his back—somehow, it had found its way beneath his collar.

Steam quickly filled the room once he turned the shower on, the warm vapor sticking to his skin as he stepped into the shower. The heat sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and he took several moments to let the water drench him completely.

Humming, Arthur picked up his soap and scrubbed himself thoroughly, removing all traces of the potion and dust and dirt from his pale skin. Next came his shampoo, which he lathered vigorously into his hair in an attempt to clean the golden locks. Then his fingers discovered something that made the green-eyed man freeze.

Cautious fingers explored the odd bump that had formed out of the top of his skull. Had he hit his head during the explosion? No, he didn't have a headache and the bump wasn't painful to the touch. It didn't even feel like skin but was almost fuzzy, like wet velvet. Further investigation confirmed that there was a second bump on the other side of his head. Now curious and just short of panicking, Arthur hurriedly finished his shower and, with a towel neatly wrapped around his waist, went to the large mirror and parted his hair to examine the lumps.

"What the blazes?" he muttered, frowning to see two identical fuzzy brown lumps that had sprouted from his skull without him noticing. They were clearly a result of the potion, though Arthur couldn't be sure what they were supposed to be or how long they would remain attached to him because his original recipe hadn't included anything like this.

A resigned sigh escaped him and he abandoned the mirror in favor of going back into his room to dress. It only took him a few minutes to choose and put on a clean pair of trousers and a neatly ironed button-down shirt. It wasn't what he'd originally meant to wear, but then, his potion had been intended to turn him into an Angel of Death, so that plan was ruined.

"The git shows up early instead of late for the first time in his life and he ruins my potion."

It was typical America—the young nation had a talent for poor timing, and this time he'd exposed them both to a potion that Arthur couldn't be sure wouldn't have drastic or dangerous effects on them.

At least he didn't feel light-headed anymore.

"Alfred!" he called as he exited his bedroom and began walking towards the guest room. "I want to warn you—that potion could have some strange effects on us. I'm not sure what or how long they'll last but I found some odd lumps on my head."

The door opened just as he reached it and Alfred appeared, dressed in nothing but a towel. Arthur immediately turned red and averted his gaze, though in the few milliseconds before he looked away he couldn't help but notice that Alfred wasn't the lazy, out-of-shape nation the others always said he was. He was far from out of shape, his body muscular and toned in a way that Arthur wasn't even vaguely surprised by—he'd always known his former colony would grow up to be strong. But he couldn't let Alfred know any of that, so he kept his gaze on the floor and settled into his usual façade.

"Put some bloody clothes on!"

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

There was no response, and Arthur forced himself to look at the taller blond. Somehow, he managed to do so without being distracted by the American's body. It surprised him to see Alfred looking sheepishly at the floor, arms straight at his sides with his hands clenched into fists.

"Alfred?"

Silent, Alfred turned so his back was to Arthur, and the golden blond's eyebrows rose so high that they all but disappeared into his hair. "Oh…I see…"

Well, at least that part of the potion had still worked—a pair of golden wings had sprouted from Alfred's shoulder blades, and though they weren't large enough for the man to fly, there was no way he would be able to wear a shirt over them.

"I'm surprised they grew so quickly," Arthur commented, trying to remain calm so as not to upset Alfred even further. It was as he was examining the wings that he noticed something moving at the bottom edge of Alfred's towel; his eyes widened. "Oh, bloody brilliant! You've got a tail!"

"What?" Alfred yelped, whirling around and twisting his neck to try to see it for himself. Sure enough, the last few inches of a long, tawny colored tail with a dark tuft of fur on the end was peeking out from beneath the nation's towel. "What the hell was in that potion?!"

"It was supposed to turn me into an Angel of Death but you blundered in and now I have no idea what that potion will do to us." The golden blond took a deep breath to steady himself, rubbing at his temples. "Look, it will wear off eventually. For now, let's just try to find you something to wear."

His gaze still locked on the tail, Alfred allowed himself to be steered back into the guest room by the shorter man. "Dude…I can feel it…"

"Of course you can, Alfred." Arthur's tone was matter of fact. "It's a part of you, after all. You should be able to move your wings, as well." That comment had Alfred experimentally stretching and flexing the feathery appendages, almost hitting Arthur in the face in the process.

"Oi! Watch it!" he snapped, dodging and quickly moving out of range of the wings.

"Sorry." Alfred didn't look or sound like he was at all sorry. "Dude, this is weird! Can you feel yours?"

A blank look took over the shorter blond's face. "Mine?"

"Yeah!" Reaching out, Alfred gently touched something just to the side of Arthur's face, and the green-eyed man's eyelids fluttered in pleasure; a barely audible moan escaped him. "Whoa, it's super soft." He continued stroking whatever it was and Arthur felt himself relaxing to the point where he might have fallen down; Alfred started laughing. "Hey, Artie, you gonna be okay?"

The teasing tone in his voice made Arthur focus and he stepped back out of the American's reach, glaring. "Shut it."

"Awww, but they're so cute!" Alfred grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Floppy bunny ears suit you."

Arthur paused—floppy bunny ears? With quick strides, he went into the bathroom and to the mirror. Sure enough, long white ears hung almost to his shoulders, a black mark on each. Well, he certainly hadn't intended for that to happen when he'd been making his potion, but then, he hadn't been planning on a lion tail, either, and Alfred had grown one of those. Apparently, the potion had been corrupted even more than he'd thought.

Oh…look at that…

Leaning closer to the mirror, he turned his head this way and that to get a clear view of the bumps he'd discovered in the shower, both of which were now significantly larger than they had been—he didn't even have to move his hair to see them. They were a good three inches tall now.

"Alfred, I think I'm growing antlers."

The American came into the doorway and rested his shoulder against the wooden frame. "Are you some kind of jackalope, then?"

"It would appear so. Hmm…" Arthur didn't even pause before dropping his trousers and pants, and he failed to notice the way Alfred started and stared before quickly looking away. "Splendid. I have a tail."

It was white with a jagged black stripe, and it was definitely a rabbit's tail, though it was small and didn't seem to have finished growing in yet. "We must have been exposed to more of the potion than I originally thought." He left his clothes where they'd fallen and walked past Alfred out into the bedroom, expression thoughtful as he considered the situation they'd gotten themselves into.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?" Distracted green eyes landed on the towel-clad American and a light blush colored Alfred's cheeks.

"Do you have clothes we can wear?" the younger blond asked, weight shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn't help but squirm under that gaze. "I don't think my tail will fit in my jeans."

Ah, of course. They were going to have to accommodate their new body parts until the effects of the potion wore off, and there was no telling how long that would be. A smile spread over Arthur's face and he held out his hand. "Come along, love."

The word made Alfred's blush darken but he accepted the older nation's offered hand without comment and remained quiet as he was led through the house up to the attic. Boxes, trunks, tubs and chests filled the dimly lit space, and a thick coat of dust covered everything—it was obvious that Arthur hadn't bothered to come up here in quite some time.

"Dude, you got a lot of stuff," Alfred commented as Arthur crossed the wooden floor and knelt to open one of the trunks.

"When you're as old as I am, America, you'll have a sizeable collection of your own."

The lid creaked as it was lifted, and then Arthur had gathered a large bundle of fabric into his arms. He wobbled slightly as he stood again, and Alfred took a step forward to help the Englishman, but stopped himself when he remembered that Arthur was mostly naked and probably wouldn't welcome being touched.

Not that he would have minded touching the shorter blond. There was no denying that Arthur was attractive, and watching him walk around in nothing but a black button-down, the front covering his groin while the back was caught up on his tail so that his rear end was exposed, was something comparable to torture. The contrast between the fabric and Arthur's pale skin made it impossible not to notice every little movement and Alfred could barely manage to tear his gaze away. It was adorable and sexy at the same time, and Alfred's fingers were practically itching to pet the older nation's ears again, or maybe his tail. He would bet money that scratching just above that tail would make England melt.

Instead, he cleared his throat and made sure his towel was still secure. "Your antlers are getting bigger."

"I'm not surprised." Arthur reached up and felt one of the bony protrusions, noting that they had begun to branch into points—he had three now instead of just one. His arms full of the fabric, he turned and began moving towards the stairs to leave. "I should have plenty of clothes for us to choose from."

As he passed the younger nation, Alfred couldn't help but take a deep breath in through his nose. An intoxicating scent reached him, musty and hot and absolutely screaming sex—he barely managed to not grab Arthur and pin him to the wall just so he could kiss the smaller male until Arthur's knees gave out. That definitely wouldn't work out very well for him. Still, he kept close to the other man as he followed him down the stairs, fighting to keep his eyes away from the Brit's backside. He could feel his own tail shifting beneath the towel, and he had to keep his wings closed to fit through the narrow passageway, but once they were back into the main part of the house, he could let them unfurl slightly without taking up too much space.

"These are kind of cool." He looked over his shoulder at the golden feathers, noticing for the first time that they actually shimmered a little in the light. "Wish they were big enough for me to fly, though."

"That can be arranged." Arthur offered a small smile, looking more innocent than any floppy-eared jackalope had a right to.

The wide grin that took over Alfred's face couldn't be helped. "Really? Cool!"

An amused laugh escaped the shorter blond. "Not tonight, though. I don't think mixing potions would be a very good idea."

"That's okay!" Having to wait did nothing to lessen Alfred's excitement, and he completely forgot about Arthur's lack of clothing as he all but pounced on the Englishman to hug him tightly, causing the bundle of fabric to fall to the floor.

Immediately, Arthur felt his entire body heat up and knew that he was blushing like mad to have his half-naked body held against Alfred's mostly-naked one. The towel rubbed his thighs pleasantly, soft and still slightly damp from Alfred using it. He found his face pressed into the cook of the taller blond's neck, tan skin close enough to kiss. He smelled like the lavender soap the guest bathroom was stocked with, but there was something else that made Arthur twitch his nose and breathe deep—his skin began to tingle. Whatever that sent was, it was wonderful.

Something wet and hot slid over his shoulder all of a sudden and Arthur gasped, stiffening. "A-Alfred?"

"You smell really fucking good." The words were half growled and made Arthur shiver. Another lick, this one going up the side of his neck, and then the American's mouth closed over the soft, sensitive flesh. Teeth dug in slightly, sharper than they should have been, and a moan escaped the green-eyed blond when Alfred began to suck and lick the spot.

He couldn't help it. His entire body was trembling within Alfred's embrace; Arthur reached up and bit the neck that had been inviting him to kiss it, his arms locking around the American's torso. The mouth on his own neck loosened momentarily as the taller blond let out a groan. But it was only for a moment, and then the mouth was back, biting and licking and sucking with renewed vigor. Arthur was gasping, his nails digging into the skin of Alfred's back.

Vaguely, he wondered how this was happening, how they'd ended up holding onto each other like this, though the thought was quickly replaced by a burning need when Alfred began moving his hips just slightly.

"Hell," Arthur muttered, pressing closer to increase the friction, wishing that damned towel wasn't in the way, "don't be a tease, Alfred."

A breathy chuckle tickled his neck. "You're the one who's been teasing me, old man, with your shirt caught up on your tail like this." To make his point, he slid one hand down to cup the older nation's rear, giving it a squeeze so that Arthur squeaked and jumped slightly.

"O-oi! Watch it!"

Another chuckle, and then two hands were placed firmly on his backside, bringing his hips forward so that Alfred could grind against him. Arthur shuddered and moaned, his knees feeling weak as heat pooled in his belly.

"You really do," Alfred paused to lick up the unmarked side of the smaller blond's neck, "smell really, really fucking good, Artie." Without hesitation, he used his grip on the Brit to lift Arthur off his feet and took the few short steps necessary to set him on the counter.

Arthur's face turned an even darker shade of red, but he didn't fight the hands that moved to his thighs and pushed his legs apart, or the mouth that kissed down his neck and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Mm…where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, hooded green eyes watching as the American used his teeth to pop the buttons one by one. Those blue eyes glanced up at him and Alfred smirked—it was an incredibly sexy expression.

"Just something I picked up a few years back."

The casual response brought a crooked smile to Arthur's face and he leaned his head back against the cupboard, eyes falling shut as he enjoyed the gentle touches on his hips and thighs, the way he could feel Alfred's breath through his shirt. They'd never done anything like this before, hadn't even so much as shared a small goodbye kiss since Alfred was still a child, and yet Arthur found himself wondering why they hadn't done this years ago. There was nothing better than Alfred touching him, than Alfred marking his neck and looking at him with those deep blue eyes and a smirk on his handsome face.

"Hey, Artie."

"Yes?" He brought his head forward and looked down at the American, curious.

"Did you know you've got…fur?" Shy fingers stroked the white fuzz that had grown on Arthur's stomach, and the Englishman arched into the touch without thinking as a soft moan escaped him; Alfred smirked. "That feels good, huh." Now bold, he lightly scratched and petted the older nation's stomach as Arthur bit his lip and tried not to make a sound.

"Hmmnn…s-stop it…" he protested, batting Alfred's hand away after several moments then placing his hand over the fur protectively. "That tickles."

Still smirking, Alfred leaned forward against the counter so that Arthur's knees were to either side of his hips, and placed a light kiss on the hickey he'd given the older nation. "You seemed to like it."

Arthur stubbornly refused to shiver at the feeling of lips on his neck. "Shut up." Pouting, he turned his face away before Alfred could kiss him so that the American's lips landed on his cheek. Rather than be put off, Alfred began petting the ear that had all but been presented to him, and to his amusement, Arthur leaned into the touch with a sigh.

"You're so cute," he commented, smiling, then he gently shifted the ear to the side so he could lick the hickey, and his voice dropped, "and sexy." A gentle kiss. "And irresistible." Little nips trailed down Arthur's torso and the Brit shivered. "And all mine."

Panting lightly, Arthur shifted on the countertop, knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the edge. "Alfred…wait…"

Impatient blue eyes met green. "Why? I can smell it, Artie—you want this. Your body is warm and you're trembling and damn the way you moan is sexy as hell. Please, let me do this."

Smell? The word made him pause and Arthur stared at the other nation for several moments, unblinking. "You can smell me."

Alfred appeared to be losing his patience. "Yes! Why do you think I couldn't resist giving you this?" He touched the hickey with gentle fingers. "I could barely keep my hands off you in the attic so when I hugged you it was impossible to stop myself. Right now, your smell is the only thing I can focus on and it's making me want to pin you down on this counter and—do unspeakable things to you."

Even though he didn't say anything in response to that, Arthur was glad the younger nation had paused rather than say something crude about what they seemed to be on the verge of doing. And he had to be honest. He could smell Alfred, too, and the American's scent was absolutely fantastic. It filled Arthur's head with lusty, half-formed ideas and fantasies that put a blush on his cheeks. No doubt, the potion had affected them internally as well as externally. The smell had to be pheromones, which was why he was suddenly having such a hard time sticking to the decision he'd made decades ago about ignoring the feelings he had towards the younger nation. Anything between them wouldn't be appropriate, after all. Still, with that smell in his nose, it was easy to forget.

Moving slowly, Arthur wrapped his arms around the other male's neck and pulled him into a gentle hug, nuzzling his face against Alfred's collar bone. "I know exactly how you feel, love, but we can't do this right now. The party starts in less than twenty minutes. We need to get dressed before the guests arrive."

A whine sounded in the back of the American's throat, but he didn't argue. "…okay."

Arthur smiled and placed a light kiss on his younger almost-lover's lips. "After the party, I'm all yours. You smell bloody amazing, too, so don't think holding back is any easier for me than it is for you."

That at least made the blue-eyed nation smile, and he helped Arthur jump down off the counter. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Satisfied that he wasn't going to be stuck feeling the way he did indefinitely, Alfred chanced one last kiss with the Briton before pulling away and putting enough distance between them that Arthur's smell wasn't quite so overpowering. To force himself to focus, he directed his gaze to the pile of fabric that the shorter male had dropped. "Are you sure there's clothes in here for us? I mean, I can't wear a shirt, but I'd like some pants, at least."

With a knowing smile, Arthur knelt by the pile and began separating the different articles of clothing. "Trust me, Alfred. I have more than enough to choose from."

True to his word, it took less than ten minutes for Arthur to have Alfred dressed in a pair of tan trousers that were ripped off below the knees, a hole cut in the back for his tail. He himself chose a similar pair of white trousers, though his were full-length and fit more snuggly than did Alfred's. He also wore a black and white waistcoat so that the fur on his belly was partially visible.

"How do I look?" the American asked, turning with his arms up and his wings spread slightly. He was grinning, now completely over the fact that he'd grown extra body parts and in better control of the urges Arthur's smell was making him feel.

Green eyes looked him over, Arthur's expression thoughtful. "There's fur on your back, going down your spine and under your pants—I assume it goes all the way to your tail. Your wings are a bit bigger but you still won't be able to fly with them, your nails look sharper and longer than before, and you've got lion ears instead of human ears." All in all, the changes were impressive and to be completely honest, Alfred looked good as winged half-lion. The tawny fur suited him, and when he experimentally flicked his ears, it put a smile on Arthur's face.

"All right, all right." The shorter blond interrupted his companion's self-examination. "You look fine. Great, in fact. Do I look all right to you?"

Alfred grinned. "You look good enough to eat, Bunny Boy."

The teasing nickname sent a lick of fire down Arthur's spine and he immediately heard Alfred's voice growling it in his ear; his body gave a pleased shiver before he managed to dispel the miniature fantasy and give his former colony a stern look. "I'm serious, America."

"Your teeth are different, and it looks like your tail finished growing in," Alfred commented musingly as Arthur did a slow turn to show off his outfit. "It's bigger than before. So are your antlers."

Once again, Arthur reached up to feel the bony growths, simultaneously running his tongue over his teeth to discover that his two front teeth had grown considerably and he seemed to be sporting fangs beside those. "Yes, though I'm hoping the antlers will stop soon. I don't want to carry around a pair of great bloody horns all night. My neck would hurt terribly from the extra weight."

"True." Alfred grinned and began gathering up the extra clothing. "We should put these somewhere before the others show up."

Arthur didn't hesitate. "Guest room." Together, they carried the clothes up to the guest room that Alfred had used; Arthur glanced at where the American's dirty clothes were piled in the corner to keep himself from looking at the bed. "I'll wash those for you after the party, so you can wear them again once the potion wears off."

Nodding, Alfred dropped his share of the load on the bed. "Thanks." He unconsciously reached out and took hold of Arthur's hand, not noticing the shorter man's blush, and led him back downstairs. They'd barely made it into the living room—which was decorated similarly to the kitchen—when the doorbell rang and Arthur jumped slightly.

"Oh, hell…Alfred, get the door, will you?" The Brit hurriedly began shutting off the main lights and turning on those he'd set up for the party, muttering under his breath as he moved about. Alfred watched him for a moment, a fond smile in place, before he went to the door and opened it with a grin. "Welcome to the party!"

"Bonjour, Alfreed."

On the front doorstep stood Francis and Matthew, dressed as a referee and a hockey player, respectively; Alfred smirked at the insinuation. "Hey, guys." Stepping aside, he let them into the house and felt a swell of pride at their exclamations of how great the decorations looked.

"Thank you." Arthur appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, the dim lights lending his antlers a particularly dangerous look. Awed, the two new arrivals stared for several moments before they got over the shock.

"Your costume ees marvelous, Arthur," Francis complimented him, and the Brit smiled.

"Thank you, but it was Alfred's doing."

"And Artie is to thank for my costume." The American grinned, and saw his brother's eyes go wide inside his helmet.

"You have really sharp teeth," the quieter blond commented—Alfred ran his tongue over his teeth and hid his surprise at the strange feeling of larger-than-normal canines. He hadn't noticed them before.

"Sure do! Sharp teeth to match my tail!" Obviously proud of it, he turned and waved his lion tail at them, simultaneously spreading his golden wings. He was enjoying the attention, but what he wasn't expecting was for Matthew to move close and begin petting the tawny fur that grew down his spine. Immediately, the tall blond arched into the hesitant touch, a deep rumble sounding low in his chest.

Matthew giggled and scratched gently. "He's purring."

Moving close as well, Francis reached up and stroked the American's ear—it twitched, and Alfred's head tilted slightly. The Frenchman chuckled and obliged the obvious request, letting his fingers bury themselves in the ash blond locks, scratching behind the ear he'd touched.

The purring grew louder.

"What 'ave you done to Amerique?" Francis asked, blue eyes landing on Arthur. "'e 'as become like a big kitten."

Arthur shrugged and smiled secretively. "I gave him a costume."

Francis returned the smile. "Et what 'appens when Angleterre's ears are scratched?"

"He likes that," Alfred interrupted, sill enjoying Matthew's attention; his blue eyes were only half open behind his glasses. "Rub his belly."

The comments made Arthur blush and he glared at Francis' smirk. "Don't even think about it, Frog."

"I wouldn't dare, mon ami."

Finally, Alfred came to his senses and moved away from his brother, shaking himself. "Mm…" There was a slightly embarrassed look on his face, though he quickly replaced it with his trademark grin.

"You guys are the first to arrive, so make yourselves comfortable! We'll be right back." With long strides, he moved past them, grabbed Arthur by the arm, and pulled the Brit into the kitchen.

"Alfred, what are—mmph!" His question was silenced by a fierce kiss, Alfred pushing him back against the wall and jamming a knee between his legs, applying just the right amount of pressure. Arthur moaned, clutching at the taller man, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. Shamelessly, his hips rocked and he rubbed against Alfred's thigh in a desperate bid for friction and pleasure. Moans escaped them both; they didn't break apart until the ring of the doorbell reached them and Arthur turned his head away.

"G-guests," he panted as Alfred switched to kissing his neck. "Alfred…"

"Damn it, Artie."

The growl made Arthur shiver, though he did manage to push the American away. "Not now."

Alfred whined, and Arthur knew exactly how his younger soon-to-be-lover felt. It was torture to have that scent in his nose and a hickey on his neck and Alfred shirtless without being able to touch him. Just the sight of the American was enough to make him breathe a little deeper and then of course that scent had him imagining all sorts of lovely, dirty things to do to him. And he couldn't do any of them.

Smiling to hide his own frustration, the Briton lifted a hand and scratched behind Alfred's ear just as Canada had done. The combination of hair and fur was soft against his fingers, and the low purr that started in the younger blond's throat made him chuckle.

"Don't worry, Kitten," he whispered, still scratching as Alfred pushed his head against Arthur's hand to get him to scratch harder, "it's only for a few hours. You can last that long, can't you?"

America didn't respond, though being called "Kitten" in that crooning tone sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. Besides, it was distracting how good it felt to be scratched behind the ear and he found himself moving to press close to Arthur, nuzzling his shoulder and neck. Purring was an odd vibration in his chest, and one that he couldn't help because damn that felt good and—

"Don't stop." He didn't even care that he sounded breathless.

A chuckle reached his sensitive ears and the hand moved, scratching down the back of his head to his neck. His shoulders hunched and he bent his head forward to allow better access, purring even louder than before. Slowly, the hand migrated under the corner of his jaw—he tilted his head with the movement, desperate to maintain contact—and around to the underside of his chin. Arthur's nails scratched lightly over the soft flesh, and Alfred's eyes fluttered in pure ecstasy. He let out a content hum in combination with the purr, going limp as he pressed himself against Arthur and pinned the smaller man to the wall again.

"Such a good Kitten," the older nation cooed, and Alfred felt his face heat in a blush. He knew he was acting silly and ridiculous and should be embarrassed, but he simply wasn't. What Arthur was doing felt good and he wasn't about to ignore it for the sake of pride.

"Disculpe, mis amigos," a voice sounded, and both blonds turned to see Antonio, dressed as a matador, standing in the doorway. "I don't mean to interrupt, but this is where the snacks and drinks are." The brunet looked mildly uncomfortable to have walked in on his fellow nations behaving so intimately.

"Of course." Arthur took his hand away, ignoring the disappointed look Alfred gave him, and gently pushed Alfred away. "How rude of us. Help yourself, Antonio." With that he left the kitchen, trying to put some distance between himself and America. He would much rather have stayed with the lion, but he knew he shouldn't. Obviously, they both lacked a good deal of their usual self control and restraint. They'd never done anything even remotely similar to that before, and if Antonio hadn't shown up when he did, Arthur had no doubts that he would have started kissing Alfred again. Hearing the bespectacled nation purr was unfairly arousing.

Now that he wasn't in the same room as his former colony, it was easier to ignore the scent still lingering in his nostrils. It was quickly covered over by a series of new smells, and the green-eyed jackalope was surprised at how well he could pick out where each smell came from. Something warm and sweet drew his attention to where Feliciano, wearing a prisoner's black and white striped uniform, and Lovino, dressed as bull complete with horns and even a fake nose ring, sat side-by side—it was a good smell for the Italy brothers. Beside North Italy sat Germany, a spicy, heavy scent that reminded Arthur heavily of Ludwig's wursts coming from him. The blond wore the uniform of a police officer.

They've all dressed to match. It was amusing to see what his guests were wearing. Gilbert and Roderich were both dressed as rockstars, though Prussia was decidedly more comfortable with his clothing than was Austria. Elizabeta stood near the two males, looking regal and proud in the traditional garb of Hungarian royalty. There was Ivan, dressed as a Russian swordsman, Yao as a classic ninja wearing all black and with his face covered. Glaring at China from across the room was Belarus, terrifyingly dressed as an undead bride. Her sister, Ukraine, was dressed much less frighteningly as a belly dancer.

One corner of the living room was occupied by the three former Baltic States along with Poland. Eduard was a goblin of some sort and Raivis appeared to be playing the part of his "brother's" pet demon dog. Toris wore a nice black suit in combination with a simple silver mask, and Feliks stood beside him in a pink, flouncy tutu with ballet slippers laced up to his knees. They made an interesting group. The last gathering consisted of Denmark, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Sealand. Mathias had somehow convinced Lukas to match him, dressing as Robin Hood and the Sherriff of Nottingham, respectively. Arthur was a little pained to see Peter, smiling and happy with his adoptive parents. The young micronation was dressed as a fearsome yet adorable pirate captain, while Tino and Berwald had dressed as members of Peter's crew. He was glad Sweden had taken Sealand under his protection.

It appeared as if the rest of the guests had arrived while Alfred and Arthur had been busy in the kitchen, and the Brit flushed lightly to wonder how long they'd been in there and how distracted they'd been for so many nations to be here without them having noticed. It was shameful for him to be acting the way he was.

He's a fellow nation but also a former colony. It isn't proper. My feelings for him can't be allowed to develop any further than they already have, and letting that bloody smell get to me is only going to make things worse. Pull yourself together, Arthur. You're a former empire. You can handle a few pheromones.

His mind made up, Arthur distracted himself by joining in on the conversation occurring between Matthew and Francis. The Frenchman immediately began to tease him about his ears, but Arthur was only partially focused on his blond companions, and not enough to be irritated by the teasing. He was too aware of everything else that was going on in the room—his ears picked up on every little sound, his nose knew where each nation was. This being the case, he knew it the moment Alfred entered the living room, and could feel those blue eyes watching him. The heat of that gaze made him want to shiver—he could so easily imagine what Alfred was thinking and had to consciously stop himself from touching the mark on his neck. Doing so would only attract attention to the hickey, and Arthur would rather die than have Francis discover its existence.

Stop looking at me, git. This is already hard.

Now that Alfred was in the living room, his smell began to overpower those of the other nations. Even with so many others there, it was impossible to ignore that headiness, that invitation to come closer and lose himself. It made Arthur feel too hot to have clothes on; he had the irrational desire to strip down naked regardless of where he was and who he was with, to cross the room and press himself up against the taller blond, scratch his ears and neck and back and chin, kiss his neck and shoulders, the strong chest, that mouth. Such a talented mouth that Arthur knew, just from the kissing they'd done and the hickey, could give him more pleasure than he'd ever known.

Without meaning to, Arthur let his gaze wander and locked eyes with the American. He was immediately trapped, frozen in a sort of terrified excitement at the hungry, predatory expression on Alfred's face. The bespectacled man's nostrils flared slightly, breathing in the scents of the room, and his tongue slowly dragged over his top lip. A shiver worked its way through Arthur's body at the sight as if he could feel the heat of that tongue.

Forcibly, he broke the eye contact and once more turned his attention on France and Canada, this time making a serious effort to participate in the conversation even though all he wanted to do was get up and silently leave the living room, go upstairs to his bedroom because he knew Alfred would follow him without hesitation.

He'd lock the door behind us so no one could interrupt like Antonio did before, and I would keep my back to him, let him come up behind me. Let him run his hands over my hips, strong and calloused and a little rough. Maybe he wouldn't even bother unbuttoning my waistcoat. He's strong enough to rip it. The buttons would scatter across the floor and I'd lean back against him so that he'd rub his hands over my chest. His breath on my neck or shoulder would be the only warning before a bite that would become a new hickey. Hell, he'd smell good to be so close, good enough to kiss and touch and taste, to pull him down onto the bed with me and hold him close because being this far from him right now is almost painful and I really don't know how much longer I'll be able to take this.

The Brit snuck a glance at the winged half-lion, who was engaged in conversation with Germany and North Italy. Spain had returned from the kitchen with drinks and snacks for himself, Feliciano, Lovino and Ludwig, and Alfred had his own cup, as well. It was lucky, really, because if Alfred had been looking at him and they'd locked eyes for a second time, Arthur had the distinct feeling that he really would have abandoned the party in favor of seeking out privacy in a different part of the house.

This party was taking much too long.

Alfred couldn't believe the situation he was in. Nothing about this was fair. Nothing. He had to sit there almost naked and pretend to be interested in Feliciano's story about costume shopping just so he wouldn't spend the entire duration of the party staring at England. Who could blame him, though? The jackalope was just sitting there, acting innocent while he talked to Francis and Matthew and pretending like he didn't know the sight of him drove Alfred mad.

Somehow, Arthur had become irresistible to him. There was no denying that he'd been attracted to the older nation for years, but he'd never done anything with the feelings, and that was nothing like this. This was torture. This was need and Alfred had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. He'd never experienced this before. Was this what being in love was supposed to feel like? Hopefully not. Being in love was supposed to be happy and, well, loving, but all he felt now was a possessive hunger, one that he really couldn't subdue.

I'm going to take my time with him after this. How can he be so calm? Can't he smell it?

The impossible-to-ignore scent practically burned his nose and Alfred knew he was one suggestive look away from dragging the smaller man out of the room so they could have some more alone time. His mind raged at him to claim the Briton and mark him as his own, to make sure that no one ever touched him or even so much as looked at his Arthur the wrong way. It was an animalistic urge and the more rational part of his mind knew that he couldn't actually do what he so desperately wanted to do, but that knowledge didn't tame the desire.