GAME OVER - A USUK Fanfic

Chapter 7

"Oliver." An uncomfortable, icy dread started to spread in the pit of Alfred's stomach.

"Yes, that's my name," said the man with a nod, that smug grin never leaving his face. "I'm glad you remember me, darling. Then again, I'm not really someone to forget now, am I? And you're just as handsome as ever, of course."

He pinched Alfred's cheek - a little too hard to be affectionate - before hopping off him and darting into the kitchen. Alfred rolled onto his chest and started to get up. He was starting to sweat a little; he couldn't properly remember Oliver the last time he had come out, couldn't remember how he should act, how not to make this psycho angry. He started tentatively toward the kitchen as well, finding Oliver at the table, sprinkling a bright yellow substance onto a small batch of cupcakes, covered in pale pink icing. They looked delicious, but Oliver's baking was one thing Alfred could never forget in a hurry.

"So, uh, when did you make those?" Asked Alfred nervously, nodding towards the cakes. Oliver beamed proudly.

"Oh, do you like them? I just finished them before you arrived. Pretty, aren't they? Why don't you have one?" Somehow, Oliver made Arthur's soft green eyes piercing and intimidating, which completely contrasted the rest of his grinning face. The smaller man came and pulled Alfred into a chair.

"Now, I'm going upstairs for a moment - that imbecile really has no taste in clothes. If all the cakes are still here when I come back, I might just have to re-decorate that gorgeous face of yours." His eyes twinkled as he flashed another grin, reminding Alfred strongly of the Cheshire Cat. "Trust me on that one, love." Hatred flared in Alfred's chest at Oliver calling Arthur an imbecile, but the American knew better than to do anything. Oliver kissed Alfred on the cheek, before dashing from the room. Alfred heard him go upstairs, and turned his gaze to the platter of innocent-looking cakes before him. He reached out and picked one up hesitantly, looking it over and sniffing it. It didn't smell strange, but that didn't make Alfred trust it any more.

Ok, I don't have a choice. If I don't eat this one stupid little cake, that freak's gonna kick off.

He knew it was true, too; he had seen Oliver throw a fit over the tiniest things.

He scrunched his eyes closed, and took a bite of the small pastry. It actually tasted very good; Oliver had always been better than Arthur in the whole baking-and-cooking area of things, Alfred had to admit.

Alfred guessed that the result of eating the cake wouldn't be quite as bad as the result of not eating the cake, so he finished it in as few bites as he could.

Just as he swallowed the last piece, Oliver came back in, making Alfred jump; he hadn't even heard him come down the stairs. He was wearing brown pants, with the pink shirt and light blue bow tie that Arthur had shoved to the back of the wardrobe, vowing never to look at them again.

"What did you think?" He asked, sitting opposite Alfred and staring at him expectantly.

"Huh? Oh, erm, it was very good - perfect baking, as usual, Oliver." Alfred was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but he knew he had to keep the alter happy.

"Really? Oh, stop it!" Oliver waved a hand playfully, giggling like a schoolgirl at the praise. "And I didn't even put any of my special ingredients in those - you know, you need to go shopping. Doesn't Arthur ever bake?" He spat Arthur's name bitterly, before pausing for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, he can't even make food, can he? Was he dropped on his head as a child, or is he actually that stupid?" Alfred gritted his teeth to stop himself snapping at him, this man who had stolen Arthur's body and was now winding Alfred up intentionally with a smirk on his face, knowing that the American wouldn't - couldn't - do anything to him. He had the man's beloved Arthur's body, after all.