Note —

Thank you for all your feedback! Next update I'll properly thank all the reviewers.

Most said they liked the current title so I think I'll stick with my readers advice.

Tell Me Of Love Everlasting

Alfred led Arthur in a slow dance, their bodies swaying.

To any observer it would look as if Arthur was a puppet, body slumped against Alfred's chest, face buried in his breastbone. Each of his feet often had to be nudged into the proper positions by Alfred. His hands were held — one up above their shoulders and one to Alfred's side.

Only a keen eye would see past that illusion and an even keener ear would hear Arthur's slurred murmurings. Things such as, "You smell of cookies", "Mmm… bet you taste like them", "can I lick you, git?", and far more lewd.

Despite being drunk out of his wits, Arthur had amazing hand-eye coordination and very nimble fingers — ones that had already squeezed Alfred's ass three times and fondled his manhood once. Not eager to be groped anymore, Alfred struggled to keep Arthur's hands in place.

To say Alfred regretted his deal was an understatement.

But a deal was a deal.

Alfred had another struggle: the temptation of Arthur. He suspected the man must be using some kind of sorcery. Why else did the man's mixture of tea and woodsy scent smell so intoxicating?

Every time Arthur moved his head, his silky hair brushed against the bottom of Alfred's jaw, sending warmth throughout Alfred's body. Alfred tried not to imagine carding his fingers through those locks. He tried not to notice how perfectly their bodies fit together and how warm Arthur felt.

He reminded himself that this surly creature not only wasn't entirely human, but only wanted one thing. A thing Alfred did not, absolutely not.

So why did he want to pull Arthur closer and wrap his arms around him?

A sudden bulge against his thigh caused Alfred to peek down and, face heating up, realize Arthur was grinding his growing erection against Alfred's thigh. Their only divide was the fabric of their breeches, ones Alfred put on little over an hour ago

Biting back a groan, Alfred said, "I never agreed to let you hump me."

Arthur tilted his face upward to stare at Alfred with eyes clouded in a haze of alcohol. They glittered almost like emeralds in the firelight. In a voice surprisingly coherent for having downed a bottle of wine, Arthur said, "How about you teach me 'The Dance Between the Sheets'?"

"How about no," Alfred said tersely, suddenly tipping Arthur backwards and lifting one of the man's legs. He had the satisfaction of seeing Arthur's startled face and hearing the man yelp as he clutched at Alfred for support.

But letting go of one of Arthur's hand proved a mistake as the man reached up to stroke Alfred's manhood, eliciting a gasp from him. His mouth went dry, blood rushing to his groin. It felt good.

To save himself, he let go, attempting to drop Arthur to the floor. However, Arthur was fast and latched on, pulling Alfred down on top of him. They landed in a tangle of limbs and Arthur's hands roamed him as Alfred struggled to get away.

Oh, how Alfred regretted agreeing to this dance lesson.

Two Hours Prior

In contrast to the creepy library, Arthur's Study was cozy and warm. Scents of herbs, wood smoke, and burnt cooking teemed in the air. A low-burning fire crackled in a stone hearth to the left of the arched doorway they entered.

Ducked down to avoid bumping his head on the doorway, Alfred gave a whistle of admiration at the room as he shut the heavy oaken door behind them. Before he could notice anything else, his gaze fixed on the far wall across from the door. One covered in a grand display of cutlasses, daggers, swords, scimitars, maces, and staffs. The dull orange fire light reflected in the blades.

There were five staffs of different wood types, two of which had fine-cut gemstones on top, and one glowed with magic. Its ruby cast a pink light on the wall around.

However, what stole Alfred's heart and breath away was the short sword in the center, one with a sapphire in the hilt and elvish script etched into the blade. He swallowed hard, reaching toward it as his feet moved.

Arthur caught his upper arm, forcing him to look away. "No, git," the man said, as if reading his mind. He had hung his coat and hung on a nearby peg. "They're not for you."

"Why not?" Alfred whined. "I know how to handle swords!"

"I've no doubt you can handle long, erect objects, but you're not handling those," Arthur said.

"But I'll be careful. C'mon," Alfred said.

"That's what they all say until someone loses a finger," Arthur said. "The answer is no."

"I'm trapped down here thanks to you! I have a right!"

"Not to my things."

"Isn't everything technically yours? This whole world appears contrived for you. Where are my things?"

"It's not for me. This is a prison," Arthur said defensively. "You… you can have a few things."

"Things you don't want. Face it, this is more like a gilded cage," Alfred said. "That I've been dragged into. Why should I have to ask your permission to use stuff down here?"

Arthur fell silent for a moment in thought. Then, putting a fist to his side, said, "You're not toying with those. I'll find you some wooden ones."

"W-wooden? I'm not some kid!"

"To me you are. I've lived centuries longer than you," Arthur said, sounding put-out.

"Oh, don't act like some overbearing big brother. That's the last thing I need," Alfred said, trying to shake Arthur off and head for the weapons. "I'll be careful and it'd be nice to have a sword again."

He suspected he lost his in the river. His memory was hazy of sinking into the river.

"Stop being so obstinate," Arthur said huffily. "After that display in the library do you honestly think I'd give you something sharp to swing around? And furthermore, you seem to be under the impression that you have a right to what belongs to me."

"To us," Alfred corrected. "And I do. Maybe we should write a letter declaring what's ours and what our rights here are."

"What like a bill of rights? Don't be a tosser." Arthur said, sounding offended. "Only you'd come up with such a silly notion. What next? You'll pen a letter declaring the independence of certain possessions?"

"That's not a bad idea actually," Alfred said in thought.

"Oh belt up, git! Stop blathering about rights. Tell you what, how about I do let you play with the weapons in exchange for something," Arthur said, tapping a forefinger to his chin, his eyes lit deviously.

"Like a fee?" Alfred gasped.

"Yes, every time you want to use them you give me something, preferably with that cracking body of yours. I do like the idea of you laboring under me."

Alfred scowled. Voice colored with anger, he snapped, "Like a tax? You want to tax me to use the weapons. That's disgusting! Will you tax the food as well? What about the tea?"

"T-tax tea? That's absurd!" Arthur scoffed. "How did you jump to such a thought? As if I'd tax tea! Honestly! If anything, I encourage you to drink more. It'll do you good."

"Well, I don't take orders from you. You're not my king."

"When did I ever say I was? Then again, I am sort of the king down here. Welcome to my bloody empire," Arthur said sarcastically, waving a hand around. "Now stop whining about the weapons."

"What's the big deal if I practice with them? You hardly take care of them. Look at all the cobwebs."

"Those grow overnight. I clean and polish them every day," Arthur said.

"And I could help with that chore," Alfred said and Arthur blinked in surprised at that. "I swear it's not like I'm going to rebel or anything with them. I can't hurt you."

"How about if you can defeat me in mage combat I'll —."

"What?" Alfred interrupted. "That's not fair!"

"Why? Because you can't?" Arthur said. "Sounds fair to me."

"How about something we're equal in. Like cooking," Alfred lied, seeing a bold advantage here. He had great taste.

"As skilled as I am, I don't agree with that. Defeat me in magery and I'll consider it."

"How about a sword fight?" Alfred said, eyeing up the lean man. He was sure he could take him.

Arthur cocked his head to the right. "I'll consider that. Ask me tomorrow."

"Ah, but I want to hold them now," Alfred whined, jerking his arm free from Arthur's grip. The other finally let go. Alfred folded his arms together, toeing at the flagstone and looked closer. There were faded chalk lines in the floor. "Is this a spell circle?"

"Of course it is. I do most of my work in here," Arthur said, tapping his forefinger twice to his temple "I have to memorize what I create. It'll all be erased by midnight."

"Nothing written remains?" Alfred said in surprising, leaning closer to study it in the dim candle and firelight and what came from the lantern Arthur had set down nearby. What kind of rune work was this?

"I said that earlier. Don't you listen?" Arthur said in exasperation.

"This is what you do with eternity?"

"That and other things. My favorite is shagging," Arthur said, leaning close to Alfred's ear and Alfred quickly stepped away, feeling that warm breath against his lobe.

"My uncle Lukas could do better," Alfred said.

"I very much doubt it. Few even in my age were better than me," Arthur said proudly.

"Must've been a small pond if you were one of the best," Alfred said, grinning. He jerked a thumb at his chest. "Now that I'm here, I'll best you. I'll be a super power one day."

"That'll be the day," Arthur said with a snicker, stalking off. He paused before turning the corner out of sight behind a book shelf. Arthur's eyes flashed a dull lime-green. His voice sounded like a knife hidden under silk. "You'll never be as mighty as me."

"Will too!" Alfred hollered after him. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To fetch some spare clothes for ye!" Arthur called back, his voice echoing. "Although you'll just be taking them off before bed."

Alfred's gaze shot over in alarm. Then he began to tiptoe to the weapons until Arthur shouted, "Don't even think of it, git!"

How did he know? Alfred wondered, stomping a foot in frustration. He didn't want to end up on his back again, but he really wanted to hold them. There had to be a way. Perhaps he could distraction Arthur?

He shook his head. He would definitely not distract Arthur in that. Never that way. And it wasn't fair. They were both stuck down here so shouldn't they share?

As he studied the rest of the room, he felt like a kid again, one who had stumbled in a crazy wizard's attic and was determined to find buried treasure. It was a large room, but everything made it feel cramped.

In front of the hearth was a long, pine table without a clear space. Clutter dominated its surface, things such as a small cauldron, an open book on a stand, potions, bowls, a cutting board, a basket of various fruits and vegetables, knifes, and more. A bench was to either side of it. In the center was a candle cradled by a plate of pelvis bones, each topped by the skull of a beaked animal.

Stacks of books were everywhere. The way Arthur had gone was lined with perpendicular rows of shelves. Every space on them had glass ware, metal contraptions, bottles and bowls of every shape and color, bones and skulls of animals, waxen candles, yarn, scraps of needle work, scrolls, books, jars with preserved creatures, and skulls of animals. There were eight rows going to the back wall where a dark green couch stood under a stain-glassed window.

Holes and stains, visible from here, riddled the couch, but it looked comfy. To the left, not visible, was Arthur digging through something by the sounds of it. Occasionally, a doily or item hit the sofa or went rolling by in front of it as Arthur tossed stuff.

Most of his cursing couldn't be heard. However, every now and again he said something loud enough like, "Where did I put them? Blasted chest! I know it's here!"

"Need some help?" Alfred called, drawing closer to a shelf to examined all the marked and unmarked potion jars.

"I'm fine!"

With a frown, Alfred narrowed his eyes, sure that there was a unicorn doll atop one of the couch's throw pillows. He shook his head. Arthur had strange taste.

His eyes set upon a rose-red glass jar with a worn label, frayed at the edges, that had a picture of skull and cross bones drawn on it. Picking it up, he swirled about the syrupy liquid inside, wondering if it was poison and what type.

Since he could not die, it didn't seem like it would hurt to take a sniff. He reached for the cork just as Arthur came around the corner, carrying a folded light-blue tunic and a pair of brown breeches.

He halted, green eyes flicking from Alfred to the bottle.

"Git, it's not that awful down here," he said wryly. "No need to take your own life."

Alfred winced, straining to keep his smile up. He put the jar back. "I just wanted a whiff. Is it nightshade?"

"Figures you'd choose the one marked as poison," Arthur grumbled, thrusting the clothes at Alfred. "Go hurry and change. Unless you want to stay in your night clothes. Or better, no clothes."

He waggled his eyebrow.

Alfred shot him a frown as he walked by, heading down the book shelves and ducked out of sight where Arthur had been. There was a now closed wooden chest, the one Arthur had dug these out of. They had a musty smell like they had been stored too long.

"You might want to be careful about fiddling with my potions," Arthur called. Alfred glanced over his shoulder as he shed his clothing, changing as fast as he could. Eager to be in real clothes. "While you can't die, you could turn yourself into something unnatural."

"Like a dragon?" Alfred said in a hopeful voice. That would be so amazing.

"No! Where does your mind wander? Perhaps a cute rabbit or maybe a cat. That would be adorable." He swore he heard Arthur squee.

"Do you make potions to creature adorable critters? I didn't think you were the type."

"I—- no! Of course I don't." Yet Arthur's high-pitched had an unmistakable embarrassment. "What's wrong with cute animals?"

"Ah, that's why you want me. I'm adorable," Alfred joked. He heard Arthur cough instead of giving the expected comeback. "No peeking!"

"I already saw underneath earlier," Arthur teased.

Alfred flushed. With a glance at the chest, he called, "How about some boots?"

"They won't fit you. They're for my size."

"Are the clothes as well?"

"Yes, why?"

"So you're petite?"

"Shut it, git!"

Swinging his arms outward and twisting his hips, Alfred tested the pull of the fabric. He kept frowning. He felt Arthur's gaze studying him intensely from the table where Arthur sat on a stool. The man had cleared a space and set out various items such as a wash bowl, potions, a cloth and more.

"Question," Alfred asked, pointing to the end of the tunic, just under the brown belt that pulled it in at the waist. "Why are their unicorns embroidered here?"

"There's nothing wrong with unicorns!" Arthur sputtered. "They're a dangerous creature! One of the most powerful."

"Uh-huh," Alfred said. "And this is for you, right?"

"I already said so!"

"It just seems cut more for a girl."

"Git!" Arthur snapped, scowling at him.

"I mean its tight across the chest and the bottom of the pants don't even reach my ankle. And man, the waist —."

"Well then go naked!" Arthur interjected, hitting a fist on the table. He sounded miffed. "Perhaps all that fat bum of yours is the reason!"

"Nah. Maybe you're scrawny," Alfred said. "The size of a toothpick."

"No need to compare me to your todger," Arthur responded, looking to be examining dirt under his nails. Alfred frowned, wondering what a todger was. Arthur waved at the empty stool in front of him. "We haven't all day. Sit, git!"

"I'm not a dog," Alfred glowered, stomping over. His slippers made a sliding noise that somewhat ruined the effect. He sat down heavily and held out his ruined hand expectantly.

"Is that so? And I was going to play fetch and give you a treat…" Arthur trailed off, the sarcasm naked in his voice.

"And I was going to rub your belly and see if you'd play dead," Alfred said. They stared at each other, eyes narrowing.

After a pause, Arthur looked away first with a heavy sigh and dipped the cloth in the herbal-smelling water, letting it soak before he wrung it out. He took Alfred's hand and set it gently on the table.

"This will sting," he warned.

Alfred sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as the cloth pressed down and Arthur wiped specks of dirt and grime out of his broken knuckles. It was amazing how little he felt on the way here. How had Arthur numbed it so effectively? Even Matthew could not have done that.

It was hard to look at his hand and realize it was his own. It felt separate from his body. The middle finger was bent out at a wrong angle. One of the nails had partly torn off his pinky. He should be hurting a lot worse. He should be doubled over, instead he had changed his clothes and warned around.

"This will heal by midnight, right?" Alfred asked nervously.

"It should. It always does," Arthur said, cleaning the wound so softly. Alfred almost closed his eyes to bask in the gentle carress. "Sometimes, if the injury is severe as that hole in you was, it takes a couple nights. This should be gone by morning. Don't think that means you should go hurting yourself like this."

Alfred stifled a yawn, his eyes slightly drooping from the soothing sensation.

"Sleepy already? It must be past your bedtime," Arthur said.

"Hmph," Alfred grunted. "Your droning could put anyone to sleep."

He winced when Arthur squeezed his hand. Setting aside the cloth, Arthur grabbed a red glass bottle and pulled out the stopper with his teeth and put that down, before holding Alfred's hand over the bowl and pouring the liquid from the bottle over his injury.

After having felt so little, Alfred was not ready for the rush of agony that followed. His eyes bugged out and he wailed, jumping to his feet, trying to yank his hand away. Arthur held him firmly as he writhed and yelped. Finally, it subsided. He felt his bones crunching, moving, reshaping and stared in wonder as they went back into place.

"Wh-what… did you do?" he said, sweat running from his forehead.

"A special potion of mine," Arthur said smugly. "One I invented for quick healing."

"But…" Alfred lifted his hand and opened and closed his fist in amazing. "It's almost back to knew."

"It only lasts for a few hours," Arthur said. "The injury would return, but all you need is a few hours for midnight. This potion would only work once on an injury. Never twice in a row and never for more than half a day."

"That's amazing," Alfred said as Arthur patted his hand dry. "You created this."

"Invented it."

"You must be an amazing wizard," Alfred said. Arthur smiled, chest puffing out. "I didn't know such a thing was possible."

"I never shared it. The ingredients are… hard to come by in the real world."

"Yet you can get them down here?" Alfred said. "How do you get the stuff?"

"I stumble across it sometimes when I forage around," Arthur said. "I collect it. New stuff appears at midnight. Things someone needs. Don't ask about the things that appeared when the frog came here." Arthur cringed. "And you think I'm perverted." He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "rose-scented lube. Hmph!"

Alfred was happy his hand was fixed, but he missed Arthur's tender touch. Somehow it had made him happy to be fussed over, even more than when Matthew or Tino had done it. This felt different, deeper.

Sometimes Alfred used to injure himself just so his mother or Tino would worry over them. He had been addicted to that feeling. It was silly, but he had always been attention-starved as a child.

He stole glances to Arthur who cragged a tall, dark bottle and held it between his legs, trying to yank out the cork. Arthur's brow furrowed as he strained. He reminded Alfred of the feathered eyebrows of a horned owl. An image he found both endearing and hilarious.

"Thank you," Alfred said, grinning wide.

Arthur looked up, seeming surprised. Then he had to ruin it by saying, "If you want to thank me, use that hand to wank me."

Alfred groaned, smile falling off. He wanted to slap a palm against his forehead.

"Here," he said, taking the bottle and with a couple twists it popped off shooting to the ceiling where it hit and ricocheted off to land somewhere on the floor.

They exchanged a surprised look and then shrugged, Arthur grabbing two cups and handing one to Alfred who took it in surprise.

"You are strong, git," Arthur said, grabbing the bottle.

"What is this?" Alfred asked.

"Pain-killing potion," Arthur said, filling Alfred's cup.

After sniffing it, Alfred said, "It's wine."

"No, it's a magic potion that makes your troubles vanish," Arthur said, pouring into his own. He held up his cups. "Cheers."

"I don't drink," Alfred said, adding, "Often."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to lie?"

Alfred studied the wine in his glass, rolling it from side to side. In a grim voice, he said, "She did."

He glanced up to see Arthur studying him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that was a delicate matter."

"It's fine," Alfred said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Bottoms up," Arthur said, chugging his back and then re-filling.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself. More for me. I didn't know you were weak to alcohol."

Weak? He frowned at Arthur. "I'm not weak! I could drink you under the table."

"Suuuure," Arthur said.

Oh, it's on.

Alfred tilted his head back and gulped it down.

Present

And that was how Alfred ended up agreeing to teach a slow dance from his mother's homeland to Arthur while tipsy and the other drunk. Arthur had agreed to let him borrow the short sword for dance lessons when really Alfred suspected the man wanted an excuse to get physically close to Alfred and cared very little about learning to dance.

After finally extracting himself from a top Arthur, they had finished another bottle and stumbled to the sofa. Well, Alfred had stumbled over there to get away from Arthur who followed behind him. He plopped down and Arthur laid down, putting his head in his lap.

"Barnacles are less clingy," Alfred remarked.

"But not as sexy, love," Arthur said affectionately, rubbing his cheek against Alfred's lap.

Alfred leaned his head back to rest on the top of the sofa. He found himself, petting Arthur's hair. At first it was just because it was soft, then he simply couldn't stop.

"You don't have human hair," he said with a hiccup. "So soft. Like a cat."

Arthur chuckled.

"You must be my dog. Good boy," Arthur said.

"Why do you…" Alfred paused to remember his words. His head spun. "Why did a fuzzy caterpillar die on your face? Yeoch! You pinched me."

"Don't be rude, git," Arthur said, scowling up at him. "If you must know this is a curse. One of my great, great grandfather made a tiny mistake and the male lines got stuck with these. Or that's what my mother told me."

"Huh. Peter has those eyebrows. Are you and he…"

"Could be," Arthur shrugged. "Who cares. Now why do you have that glassy-eyed, slack-jawed look?"

"I do not look slack-jawed," Alfred said, touching his chin. "I'm strong-jawed. Why are you weak-chinned?"

He poked at Arthur's cheek and the other playfully bit at his finger. He smiled, pretending to poke until Arthur's mouth did catch his finger. Instead of biting, Arthur suckled on it, making moaning sounds that caused Alfred to blush. He quickly pushed Arthur off and to the other side of the couch.

"Don't do that!" he said, wiping off his hand on the sofa.

"Nasty," Arthur said, in disapproval.

"It's your spit! What the hell was that?" Alfred said, feeling a little more sober.

"Seduction," Arthur said huskily.

TBC… "Part II of Tell Me A Fairy Tale".

I couldn't go on. I… I … had to stop here. This had to be broken in half. I'll get part two up later. I wanted to get the small twist in the flashback with Lord Lukas, but that'll have to wait until next time. I hope you enjoyed the interaction of these two. Happy Valentine's Day!

Coming Soon

I have two stories coming out. Their first chapters are almost written. If one is particularly more interesting to you please let me know and I'll put extra effort into that.

The first is an Omegaverse with fairies. This takes place in a realm known as the Midsummer Woods. They are actual fairies like tinkerbell with dragonfly-like wings.

If you're interested here is the blurb…

The Omega Fairy

Kidnapped by Ivan, king of the winter fairies, Alfred is a unique omega fairy with the power to grant a wish to the Alpha who mates him on his first heat at 19. When the summer fairies attempt a rescue, Alfred escapes for the borders of their world, the others in hot pursuit. Soon he meets a rogue Alpha named Arthur…

(Rusame? Ameripan? UKUS? OMEGAVERSE with fairies.)

Rated M

It could be summed up as:

A bunch of Alpha fairies pursue a special Omega fairy.

Also in the pipeline and with the first update very closed to finish…

Boys Over Toys

Based on "Boys Over Flowers". When Alfred F. Jones transfers to Hetalia High, a school for the elite, he soon ends up punching out the bully Ivan Braginsky, leader of the Bad Touch Trio and billionaire heir to Winter Corporations. That sets in motion events as Ivan seems to have a crush on Alfred, one he shows in the creepiest ways possible. Gakuen Hetalia. RUSAME.

Rated T

While I do hope to complete most of my stories in time, popular stories do get prioritized. If there is a story you really want to be continued your reviews, likes, and favs, heavily influence my motivation.

So if any of these interest you, keep an eye out. Boys Over Toys is especially close to having its first update posted. It'll be about 4,000 words.