Do as I say

“I don’t want it,” Alfred said, crossing his arms and looking rather satisfied with himself. Arthur stared at him.

“What?”

“You can keep your fucking tea - I don’t want it.” Alfred pushed the filled cup across the table towards Arthur. The Englishman’s lips curved up into a wary smile of disbelief.

“It’s Earl Grey. Your favourite brand, even.” Arthur put away his own cup and took a hold of Alfred’s, handing it back to him, “Come on now, drink up. And take a scone, they’re new-”

“I said I don’t want it!” Alfred smacked the cup out of the other’s hands. Arthur watched in horror as the porcelain hit the ground and broke into two pieces, spilling the tea out all over the ground. He got up hastily, holding his hands up into the air, stretching and bending his fingers in unsure movements. His lips were shaking with repulsion.

“Alfred!” he finally managed to peep out in a high-pitched tone, “My cup! It… It broke, you moron!” Alfred leaned back into the chair, looking away with a smug smile.

“Like I care.”

“That’s not how I have taught you to behave!”

“I guess that means you failed as a parent, hah?” Arthur took in a rough lungful of air. His quiet afternoon had just turned awful.

Arthur had been looking forward to a quiet Friday. He had been working himself to a headache and sore eyes, several sleepless nights he‘d suffered during the last month. So today was supposed to be a relaxing occurrence. He had baked scones, made tea and prepared a small table for two in the garden outside his residence. Right at the spot between the blooming flowers and big, juicy berries hanging heavily from the bushes around them. ‘This is a day just for the two of us,’ he’d told Alfred and felt like the man of the month as he fed him cookies with thick frosting and offered for him to pluck the berries. But as he poured the teen a cup of tea, a stern ‘no’ had been Alfred’s reaction.

And then the above scene played out.

“Why won’t you drink the tea I prepared?” Arthur asked in the calmest voice possible and sunk to his knees to pick up the pieces of the cup. Alfred shrugged his shoulders as if he just didn’t care, but then sent Arthur a nasty glare.

“Why won’t you listen to me and my people for once and stop feeding us your English crap?” Arthur jumped back onto his feet, pointing a finger at Alfred.

“Your people? Hah! This country is populated with my people, Alfred, don’t forget that. You’re not a nation separated from the British Empire.”

“Just yet.”

“What did you say?” Alfred stood up.

“We’re going to kick you back to where you came from!” Arthur’s hand slapped Alfred’s head to the side, leaving a red mark pulsing on his cheek. Alfred covered the spot with an astonished look, gawking at Arthur.

“You hit me.” Arthur’s fingers bended into a fist, and he took a step away from the younger. He looked just as surprised as the other, but he wasn’t planning on loosing his cool in front of Alfred.

“You need to learn how to respect your elders.”

“You hit me.” Arthur sat back down. With a shaking hand he grabbed his neglected cup and took a sip.

“N-now.. Sit down and let’s just forget all about this.” Alfred sat down slowly, but he was still holding his hand and staring at Arthur with such horrified eyes. Arthur tried to ignore his look, but it was impossible. It was as if the whole garden has turned against him. The roses suddenly smelled, the berries looked too big and air filled ,as if they were about to explode. The sun was too hot against his skin, making him sweat down the back. He gasped in air, suddenly lacking breath, and reached forward and grabbed the teapot.

“I-I’ll go and fill this,” he said, though more than half of the tea was still left in it, “A-and get you a new cup.” He got up and hurried inside and towards the kitchen, his pace never slowing down, not even as he started tramping around the kitchen for water and tea-leaves. It wasn’t until the water was boiling and the Earl Grey quickly getting ready that he allowed himself to sink down to sit at a chair, thinking his actions through.

He had hit Alfred. Never before had he hit a child. He had gotten drunk and had been fighting in the streets of London, he had killed men boarding his ship without hesitating a second, but never, never had he hit a child.

“Alfred’s not a child, he’s fifteen. When you’re fifteen you’re a man. Yes. It’s okay. He was the one who behaved badly. Yes, yes, that must be it…” Arthur rocked back and forth, staring at the same spot on the ground until he had assured himself that he had done nothing wrong. Quietly he got up and filled the teapot with the hot tea, grabbed a new cup from his collection on the shelf and went back out to Alfred. Alfred and the flipped-over table.

Arthur gasped. “What happened here?!” He was staring at what had minutes earlier been beautiful cakes, flowers in a vase, plates and sugar and milk. Now it was all a mess on the ground, and Alfred was standing beside it, looking as if he was extremely proud.

“I kicked the table. And it tilted to the side. Along with all the stuff.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Shit happens.” Alfred gave Arthur an innocent smile and winked.

Something broke inside Arthur’s brain.

“You little brat!” He stomped over to Alfred whose eyes turned worried, but he stood his ground, looking down into Arthur’s eyes. The Englishman had to wonder when the man had grown to be that tall. “You little, nasty bastard!” he spat, “Ruining my cups, ruining my tea-break, ruining my day!” Alfred frowned:

“You’re ruining me and the country, try that for a day.”

“You see this?” Arthur pushed the teapot harshly to his chest, “That’s tea, and you’ll be drinking it!” Alfred took a step away.

“I said I will not!”

“You will!”

“- not!” Arthur threw the cup to the ground where it shattered into pieces. Alfred’s eyes widened in shock, and he heard himself whine. “Arthur! What the hell?!” But while his eyes were focused on the unexpected anger the other was showing, Arthur had placed the teapot on the ground and reached up to twist his fingers deep into his golden locks of hair. Alfred felt a heartbreaking pain shooting down his spine as Arthur ripped his head down, and he cried in hurt.

“Arthur!”

“To the ground!” Arthur yanked harder and swung his right foot forward, hammering his boot against Alfred’s shinbone. Alfred’s eyes screwed shut and he fell to his knees, whimpering like a hurt child. Arthur let go of his hair, breathed in heavily as he took in the sight of the other at his feet. “Apparently I have been to kind to you. Here I was worrying about not being a good father, and then I come out to see you acting like the cruel brat you are. This is not your country, it’s mine, and you do as I tell you to!”

He was yelling, leaning forward as he did so. His shadow fell across Alfred who was watching Arthur’s boots with tear-filled eyes, not daring to look up.

Truth to be told, Alfred had been sure that he had grown to be stronger than Arthur. But now he realised that it wasn’t just about physical strength, for his heart was still weak, and hearing Arthur yell at him like that made him feel like a sorry excuse for a man. He was no man.

Alfred licked his dry lips, arms shaking as he straightened up in his back, resting his hands at his knees. “Arthur, I-” His voice was broken and he couldn’t make it further into the sentence. Arthur growled, ripped the teapot up from the ground and grabbed his hair again with his free hand. Alfred’s scalp was still sore, so he followed willingly along as Arthur forced his head backwards, glancing up into Arthur’s bright face. He could hardly make out his expression in the strong light from the sun above, and from where he was sitting, it looked like the Englishman was an angel with hair glowing like a halo around him.

“You will drink the tea.” Alfred shook his head lightly, the best he could with it forced back.

“Arthur, I can’t,” he cried, tears slipping from his eyes and down his cheeks, “I can’t, my people, I… For them..” Arthur spat down at his face. The thick liquid slid down across his forehead and nose, making Alfred shake even harder. “Arthur…”

“Open your mouth wide.” Alfred looked confused. Arthur scowled. “Open.”

“Why- shit!” Alfred cried as Arthur tipped the teapot, allowing the hot tea to spill out and down on his face. He ripped his head to the side, felt how some hair freed themselves from his head to hang from the Englishman’s fingers. His lips were burning. “Owh, the hell!”

“I told you to open your mouth!”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Does it look like I am kidding?!” Alfred couldn’t believe it. Arthur would force him to drink the boiling hot tea. Like this. Sweat dripped from his forehead as the humiliation hit him.

“N-no… Arthur… I will drink it, f-from a cup, it’s okay, you win,” he whispered, the desperation clearly showing in his voice.

“Too late, you turned that possibility down minutes ago.” Alfred started to panic. He tried to get up, but Arthur ripped his head down again.

“Arthur, I will get marks! It’ll burn my skin! I-I-you just can’t do that to me!” He pressed his hands to the other’s legs, tried to shove him away. The he slapped one over his mouth and closed his eyes. Arthur sighed annoyed.

“Take this as the man you want to be treated like.” Alfred didn’t move one inch. “Alfred!” Still no reaction. Arthur grunted and let go of Alfred’s hair, letting relieve take over the American’s face for a second. But before he got the time to open his eyes again, Arthur pushed him to his back, then grabbed his arms and turned him over to lie on his stomach. The Englishman seated himself across his back, knees pressing his arms down to the ground, making it impossible for Alfred to move them. Then the hand went back to his hair and yanked his head back until he was looking up at Arthur’s face. The man was smirking.

“Now, you have two options,” he said calmly, swaying with the teapot next to his head, “You either keep your mouth shut and let your face get burnt, or you open up and drink. I suggest for you to do the latter, unless you want people to see you red and skinless, humiliated walking down the streets with ‘your people’ glaring at you.” Alfred hiccupped.

“Y-y-y-you’re ruining m-my life, I-I hate you!” he cried, receiving a small sigh from Arthur.

“You ruined my day.” Then the teapot was tilted, and tea ran in a fine, thick stream down and hit Alfred on the face. The American cried out in pain, doing so opening his mouth for the liquid. It burnt all the way down across his tongue and down his neck, even more as he couldn’t swallow it, making it splash out and down across his chin instead. He tried kicking, he tried yanking his arms free, he cried and screamed, but Arthur did not move, nor did his expression change. He just stared at him as he was being tortured. Just looked.

The smell of Earl Grey filled the air. It mixed with the roses and berries, making Alfred dizzy. He had closed his eyes in order not to get the water into his eyes, but he couldn’t ignore the pain circling in his cheeks underneath his skin. Arthur had given him two choices, but being the victim he could clearly say that one didn’t have the energy to think through what was going on. When he wanted to open his mouth, he quickly closed it again, and when he had it closed, he opened it again. But no matter what he did, the pain felt greater than before.

In the end he couldn’t keep his lips together. Arthur had his head wrenched backwards so hard that his mouth fell naturally open, and the fine stream of liquid hit straight into his mouth. He had to swallow, else it hurt too much, and as seconds - feeling like hours - passed by, he was slowly drinking all the tea from the teapot.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile as his colony gave up and started to drink his good tea. This was how it should be, Alfred obeying him like the good child he still was.

“That’s it, Alfred,” he encouraged him, “what a good boy you are. Keep swallowing.” He leaned a little to the side so that he could watch Alfred’s throat tighten and loosen up with each gulp he took. His cheeks were glowing red, burning, tears were flowing from his eyes. It looked so pretty. Still holding the pot high, he leaned in and licked the tip of his tongue slowly up across Alfred’s cheek to his eyes, tasting the salty tears and spilled tea. Alfred cringed, but he couldn’t get away.

The teapot was emptying. Arthur could feel how the weight dropped, and suddenly there were no more tea. He shook the empty pot a few times, drops of tea randomly flowing through the air. Then he placed it on the ground and grabbed around Alfred’s head, lifted it and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his eyelids, his nose and then his lips.

“Have you learned to behave?” he mumbled against his lips. Alfred’s head was heavy between his hands, and he almost had to make him nod himself, moving it up and down. “Now, thank me for teaching you a lesson.” Alfred opened his mouth, but his swollen tongue would hardly move, and the American choked and whined lowly.

“Thh…” He hiccupped and opened his eyes a little. It was the gaze of the defeated that met Arthur, “Thh.. Anks…”

“Thanks, what?”

“Th… anks… Arthur…”

“Kirkland.”

“Kirkh…” Alfred couldn’t. He broke down in tears. Arthur dropped his head to the ground and got up. Alfred curled into a little ball, crying and shaking and covering his head behind his hands. Arthur swallowed the spit in his mouth and looked away.

“We’ll be drinking tea again tomorrow. I expect of you to be in a suit and be on time.” He got no answer. He couldn’t make himself force one out of Alfred. Instead he picked up the teapot, the plates that hadn’t been shattered as Alfred tipped the table over, and then he went inside to continue his calm day off with a little embroidering.