There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him. He can't possibly have any idea how his eyes sparkle when he gets annoyed, how when his cheeks flush it makes Edward want to touch him. When he is angry the force of his personality shines through, and Edward can't help the jealousy over anything but him getting such a powerful reaction out of Alfons. He pushes back, because surely he is stronger. Alfons is ridiculously weak compared to him, but Alfons never gives in without a fight, and that drives Edward wild in the attempt to get the better of him just once, just fucking once —
And Alfons does it to him every time, gets right up in Edward's face so that with his adrenaline pumping, how can he not try to throw him, bring him down to a height where Edward can look at him? Edward holds him down, presses his knees to either side of Alfons' body and tries not to notice how much this excites him, thinking surely this is it, and tugs on his collar, holds him helpless. But even that doesn't cow Alfons, who bares his teeth, panting, licks his lips in a flicker of pink that catches Edward's attention. It makes him try to kiss Alfons silent, muffling his words with lips and tongue until finally they are no longer intelligible, just incoherent noises.
His body is hot and quivering with pent up energy that even now he strives vainly to control, a spring winding tighter and tighter inside him that he knows will have to break free. Alfons smirks, then, tries to wriggle away or flip them over — which of course Edward doesn't allow. Frustration gives him agility and he swiftly pins him again, this time holding his arms down by the wrists, wanting to hold Alfons immobile and simultaneously aching for the feel of those hands scrabbling at his back. He sets about distracting him and tries to quiet the fire inside him by licking and kissing and touching all the places that make Alfons forget his superiority, and finally give in to want, arching up against Edward and pleading.
The carpet is soft under his hands but rough against Alfons' back, and Edward thinks in some part of his mind that they should move, it's not right for Alfons to end up with rug burn— but is distracted by Alfons who notices Edward is no longer giving him his full attention, and seems to think he has some chance of slipping away. Edward growls and tosses him back down, and this time Alfons yields just a little bit, enough to set the inferno in Edward that demands more, more raging once again, now that Alfons is within his grasp, victory so close.
Even now, when Edward takes him and takes him until the both of them are utterly spent and lying in an exhausted heap, there is always that hint of a self-satisfied grin at the corner of Alfons' mouth, irrepressible. Alfons is utterly his, and yet still has that tiny little grin that Edward is absolutely dying to claim, but never can. So he tries again, again, until finally he can't muster up energy any more and Alfons is halfway asleep, languid and sticky (in a very nice way), and then he vaguely remembers that they had been fighting or something, he doesn't quite remember what about. It's not like he means to use sex as a distraction, and feels just a little guilty, but Alfons smiles in contentment (and now Edward is too tired to try and do anything about that smug expression of his), and wraps himself all the way around Edward, who lets him, because it's really the least he can do.
He resolves that he's going to do better next time, control his temper just a bit more (which would be easier if Alfons didn't push every single goddamn button he has and then some), because there's no way Alfons knows what it does to him, and there's got to be something vaguely wrong with pouncing on your lover like that and doing whatever you want. In the moments before he, too, falls asleep he wonders: after all, Alfons never really protests, and if Edward didn't know better he'd swear Alfons was keeping some sort of mental score of how quickly he can get Edward to—