It started raining during the outside concert, and none of us gave a damn. We let the rain wash over us, soaking our too tight clothing, our unkept hair, and having our make-up run down and stain our cheeks. We couldn't have cared less about the rain. To be honest, it made the entire event more thrilling. As the guitar planning so beautifully melded in with the downpour, the lead singer's voice belting out the lyrics to the familiar songs that every die hard fan or this once underground band knew word-for-word to. People were shamelessly fucking in the middle of the crowd, hoping to whatever higher power that their exposed bodies didn't get trampled on as a mosh pit picked up, to high off their own ecstasy, and whatever everyone around them was smoking.

And while all that shit was going on, I was waiting by the fucking portable bathrooms while Francis and his fuckbuddy went at it in the stall.

"Don't see why you couldn't just do it in the middle of everything. Y'know, like everyone else." I folded my arms, watching as the group of wild, over-hormonal teens all blended together as the pace of the music sped up. Don't see why I have to stand here and take guard while you two whores go at it like fucking rabbits in a porta-potty, is what I really mean. I can handle myself, y'know...

"O-oh, oui, Gilbert, oui!" Fists slammed against the door to the cubicle, then rapid French decided to tango along to the lyrics to the song. His own fucking melody, how precious.

More like sickening.

I rolled my eyes, bouncing on the heels of my combat boots as another song began to start. It was a quick beginning, and followed throughout the whole song. Quick, loud, and powerful. I smirked, banging my head as the drums kicked in, followed by another guitar. I didn't need to be pressed up against some random ass person to be enjoying myself, I was perfectly fine standing by myself. I could dance alone.

The singer screamed into the microphone, having my fists ball up and my head roll rapidly, pushing my hair in my face, covering my eyes. Everything else disappeared, and there was nothing by my dancing and the music and the pouring rain against my skin. Soaking me and washing away everything to let my concert experience enhance by a thousand.

"Haha! Look at that freak!"

My eyes shot open, narrowing instantly in the direction of some fucking kid who obviously didn't belong at a concert like this. He was blond with glasses, wearing some shirt with some rapper on it and money signs on his boxers that were wear his pants should've been. He grinned at his buddy, nudging him with his elbow. The friend with spiked hair, who looked more appropriate to be here, but still obviously fake, chuckled and pulled out a cigarette, quickly lighting it up. The blond, wanna-be gangster, grinned at me, waving his fingers.

His father fucks him up the ass with a spoon every night... His father fucks him up the ass with a spoon every night... His father fu-

"Wot the fuck're you looking at, huh?" I spat out.

"Nothin', princess." he grinned, giving some sort of gesture to his friend to go on with out him as he walked towards me. "Have a little spazz attack over here?"

"Fuck off."

He grinned wider. And the worst part was, it looked like some damned good-natured grin, rather than teasing like the rest of his bloody words. Out of place. This fucktard was completely out of place on so many levels. I wanted to rip his glasses off his face, break them right before his blind eyes, and then stomp his face down against the concrete, in a puddle, just to wipe that out of place grin of his ungodly lopsided face.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make a friend here." he laughed.

I narrowed my eyes. "In case your 'earing s'just as rotten as your sight, I told you to fuck off."

"Aw, ya don't mean that."

"And you're who, exactly, to tell me wot I do and don't mean?"

"The name's Alfred!"

I snorted. He pulled a sort of face, having me smirk. Some git thinks he can come off and make fun of me, then offer friendship. Please. Like I needed any more friends. I had plenty. Plenty. And didn't need some little "Alfred" coming and messing things up. What kind of name was Alfred anyway?

"If ya think my name's so funny, what's yours?"

I stared. Like I'd actually give him my name.

Turning away from him, I banged my fist against the door to the portable bathroom, receiving a bunch of knocking in return, then some inaudible, German shit. Yeah, like I understood what Gilbert said. Like I actually paid attention to what Gilbert said. Whenever I saw the bloke, he was entangled in Francis... Or Antonio... Or both. Merlin, I hated all three of them, but Francis was my ride home ("Stay close to your cousin, Arthur!" "...shut up, mum." Francis grinned and slung an arm around my shoulder. "Not to worry auntie, Arthur will be safe! And as long as he doesn't wonder off, he'll get a ride home!"). Fucking French idiot.

"Hey!"

I raised a brow boredly back at that Alfred kid.

"Wot?"

"I was talking to ya!"

I yawned. "I care?"

"Well ya should!"

Rolling my eyes, I looked back up at the stage, where artificial music began playing. The band was taking a break and the crowd was splitting up to go snack and buy merchandise. I bobbed my head to the music as he chewed my ear off with his annoying babble. His accent was terribly annoying, but it was inevitable to run into an American and some point, wasn't it? This whole crowd was meshed with people from all over, I was just hoping those fatass American morons weren't invited.

"Pray tell," I folded my arms, watching some drunk bitch stumble with her friends towards the back. "Just why the fuck I should care?"

He didn't have an answer. He just kind of stood there quietly, eyes darting towards the shaking stall in disgust. Like he never fucked at a concert before.

I grinned, own eyes scanning him over. He looked awkward, really, hidden beneath that confident facade. He had on some stupid grin that faltered ever so slightly when he noticed me looking at him. Quirking a brow, he slipped his thumbs through the belt holes in his falling down pants, tilting his head to the side. Innocent. So fucking innocent. Another way that he was so obviously out of place at this sort of concert. What. A. Loser.

Smirking, I approached him, and he blinked at me as I did so. My hands reached out, taking both of his between mine, but he pulled back.

"Yo, dude, just what do ya think you're doing?"

"Shut up and follow me, alrigh'?"

"I don't-"

But he didn't finish whatever the hell "he didn't," and stumbled along after me as I walked towards the crowd, pushing through people that were so close together and refused to budge, like they were glued. I kept one hand around the Alfred kid's wrist as I pushed through, cursing and whoever would curse at me, but never stopping until we reached the heart of the crowd. I turned and looked at him, pressed up close against his chest as people behind myself and then behind him squished us closer together.

"What are we doing?" he asked over the talk of the crowd.

I rolled my eyes. Amateur. Looking up at him, with a playful smirk spread across my lips, I had to stifle a laugh at the look he gave me. It was a cross between confusion and sheepishness, and it heightened as I wrapped my arms around his neck and winked.

"D-dude, what are ya doing? I'm so not like that, dunno whatever gave you that impression, aha, bu-"

My lips crashed against his, working hard and rough against his unusually soft lips. Without even looking, I can tell those blue eyes of his were wide with shock, but I continued sloppily kissing the American until I finally felt his lips work back against mine. Right on time. I leaned against him closer, twirling my fingers around his loose hair, my tongue finding its way in the cavern of his mouth. It was warm and wet and a battle for dominance. Teeth clashing, tongues intertwined, and saliva making it's way out from the battle.

He growled, his own hands roaming down my sides to my ass, grabbing and squeezing, having me smirk against his mouth and let out a pleased moan. It satisfied him, those Americans so easily satisfied, and he kept his grip with one hand, while the other ran up the back of my shirt. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at his eagerness. I could tell this was more to him than it was to me, and wondered instantly if the poor sod was a virgin. Probably. Having his virginity stolen in the middle of a crowd at a concert he didn't belong at, by some fucking stranger no less. Someone had low standards.

Quickly, bottom layers of clothing were wrapped around our ankles, and no one in the crowd seemed to notice. I fell ontop of him, grinning as a song picked up. A perfect rhythm to work against. I looked up at me, panting lightly, an obvious blush upon his innocent cheeks. I was about to destroy that innocence, and I fucking loved every bit of that. That'll teach him for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, for poking fun at the way I bloody dance. Oh, how embarrassing for him! Where's you lose it, Alfred? Oh, you know... At some concert... To some guy... Ha! Oh the shame.

I went up and down on him quickly, not even giving myself time to adjust to his size, which I suppose he had one thing to brag for. He rested his hands on my hips, trying to guide me. Like I'd let some stupid virgin guide me in something I knew ten times better than him. ...with Francis as your cousin, you got plenty of practise... I followed the rhythm as the guitar played and the singer screamed into the microphone, my own moans melding with his words as though part of the song. My own meoldy, sounded way better than the strangled moans Francis was giving out to Gil.

The entire time, despite the occasional wince, I kept eye contact with the no-longer-innocent American, my lustful green eyes boring into his shining blue ones. I smirked, seeing this more as a game, but the poor bloke obviously figured there'd be more out of it than some meaningless fuck. Well, someone was in for a rude awakening.

His lips pressed to mine, soft and gentle, despite the rough pace I was working with, following the rhythm of the band. Again, he was so out of place with the entire setting. Gangster, innocent, loving... Did he really not get that this meant nothing? Did he really not understand that I was doing this out of my own favour, to break him rather than him take this as a gain? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! But what else could be expected of an American?

Our lips locked, our hips in tact, his hands wrapped around the small of my back, still insisting on guiding me. Like he thought I was new at this too. Wasn't it obvious that I wasn't? Sure, our situation was a bit tight, but I was most obviously professional at the art of fucking! Especially at bloody concerts!

"Oh... Oh, God... Wh-what's your name..?"

I ignored him, despite the little voice in my mind that yelled out, "Arthur!" My fingers gripped onto his shirt, and I swear I saw spots. Merlin, this wasn't... Wasn't like my other meaningless flings, huh? It felt better, more right, and the more I rode him the more I wanted him to know my name. I wanted him to yell it out with the crowd, just as I was subconsciously yelling out his.

Well, bullocks.

And then it was over. My knees were weak and wobbling as I stood, fixing myself quick and pushing through the crowd. He called out to me.

Fuck this concert, fuck the music, fuck the crowd, fuck Alfred, fuck my life.

"Francis, I want to go 'ome..."