[Fanfic] Like The Universe
Sep. 19th, 2009 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bersekerTitle: Like The Universe
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/US (some random France/Spain)
Rating: PG
Warnings: lots and lots of silliness, lame pick-up lines (that was the prompt, actually, so there).
Summary:
Alfred was going to date Arthur. And to convince Arthur, what better than some pretty heroically awesome pick up lines?
Written for the kink-meme.
1.
Alfred was going to date Arthur. It was decided.
It hadn't been easy, coming to this conclusion. It took a long process involving serious thinking and lots of embarrassing and incredibly hot fantasies and, oddly enough, a broken window, but now it was decided, and Alfred never went back on his decisions.
The one he wanted, the one he was always thinking about, the love of his life, was Arthur Kirkland, that much was settled. And knowing this, seeing it so clearly, made Alfred feel a lot better, because as any hero worth his awesomeness and incredibly cool moves knows, defining your goals is the first step to reach them. And now that he had it all as defined as it could be and knew exactly what he wanted, he could focus on solving the one tiny little detail that stood between him and complete happiness:
Convincing Arthur to date him.
Ok, maybe it was a little more than a detail. Especially considering that this epiphany had come a little late. It would have been nice to discover his undying love and devotion before saying right at Arthur's face, and in front of everyone, that he had burnt his scones again, burnt it, and even if Alfred could ignore the complete lack of anything resembling taste he couldn't possibly eat charcoal anyway, so next time Arthur should just buy his food or eat it himself, because- well.
It would have been nice to realize he loved the guy before saying that.
But then again, if it weren't for those sad lumps of coal that Arthur called food, Alfred would probably have never noticed his own feelings, because he was halfway trough his tirade when the lights changed, or maybe it was the air, or something, and suddenly the murderous look on Arthur's eyes didn't look, well, murderous, but really hurt and humiliated and, and then Alfred had kinda lost steam there and Arthur's eyes, sad and green and glittering, haunted him for the rest of the day. And the night. And then, after long considerations, Alfred came to the conclusion he was caring, and he was almost convincing himself that no, he wasn't, actually, and Arthur didn't mind it anyway, not after all these years, when the wind made some branch break his window, almost giving him a heart attack, but preventing him from going into full-scale denial.
Alfred called it a sign. Clearly, the universe approved of his love, so there was no choice: he would have to ask Arthur out.
Cool.
Alfred thought about asking Francis for some advice, but then he changed his mind. He could do this on his own, and Arthur would be so awed with his brilliance and wit that he would swoon. Encouraged, Alfred started his research.
Google didn't fail him. It took him less than ten minutes to find an impressive list of nice things he could say to take Arthur to, erm, the nearest fast-food place, first, and to his bed, eventually, after Arthur could get over the shock of being asked out by someone as awesome as him.
Alfred hoped it would be fast. But it was ok. He knew that even kissing Arthur would fill his life with joy and light - not that it wasn't already, mind you, but it would be even more joyful and, and lit up, or something, and yeah, anyway. He printed the list, and he could hardly wait for the next summit. Arthur wouldn't even know what had hit him.
2.
The meeting was about to start.
Alfred wasn't exactly caring. The meeting itself would be useless as always, and talking to Arthur was more important. And that was why he went to him with a bright and confident smile on his face, and said:
“Did you invite all of these people? I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”
Arthur didn't even stop walking:
“It's a summit, America. How could it be just the two of us?”
And he entered the room without looking back.
Alfred frowned. This was going to be a little harder then he thought. Luckily, he still had a lot of other lines to try. He hurried after Arthur:
“Iggy, wait, I need to talk with you.”
“Don't call me that. Ever,” Arthur said. He was opening his files, and Alfred couldn't help but notice how sexy he looked, glaring at some document that had come out wrong.
“No, really,” he said “You know what? Your eyes are the same color as my Porsche.”
Arthur frowned. He was still staring at his file:
“Really, now. That's nice, Alfred.”
… this wasn't working. Looked like Alfred would have to be a little more explicit:
“So, then, do you mind if I hang out here until its safe back where I farted?”
“Oh for God's sake, Alfred! Go bother someone else, will you? I'm trying to work.”
“But I-”
“Alfred!”
Ok, when he was being like that, all serious and authoritative and all British-Empire like, it was no use talking to him. Alfred passed Francis and Antonio on his way. They were discussing something in a very quiet voice, and Francis stopped to give him a sympathetic look.
Alfred sank on his chair, sulking.
Of course, he wouldn't just give up. He was a hero, and heroes persevered. He waited until the coffee break, waited until Arthur was up, and- and waited some more until he finished talking with Kiku, and then Canada, and then France, of all people, for someone who enjoyed isolation Arthur was surely getting popular, wasn't he? Alfred had to wait until he was done talking with every single idiot who came his way, until Arthur was finally alone buying tea from the coffee machine. Which was just plain wrong, but it wasn’t the point. Anyway. Alfred took a deep breath:
“Hey there, Arthur.”
Arthur tensed:
“Hi.”
“I'm here,” Alfred beamed. “So, what are your other wishes?”
Arthur stared:
“What?”
“Erm. Your wishes. As in-”
“Oh. I don't know,” he took a sip of his tea “I’d like to be home, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Erm-”
Now he wasn't sure what to say. The list didn't say anything about the follow-up, and what was he supposed to do, discuss his work? A little confused, he tried the next one:
“Tell me, do you know karate?”
“Yes.”
“'Cause your- wait, what?”
Arthur was getting impatient:
“I’m not good at it, actually, but I got a few things from Kiku. Why?”
“Uh...”
Cause your body is really kicking would sound kinda stupid now, what with him being so serious and all, and anyway, Alfred was distracted:
“Really? Really really? That's so cool! Why didn't I know that?”
“I don't know,” Arthur said, his face a little red. “You never asked, I guess. Anything else?”
“You need to show it to me, sometime, this is really- oh, right. They call me "coffee". That's because-”
“Oh, Germany is calling. Let's go back.”
And, without the slightest hesitation. Arthur went back to the table.
It was probably for the good. Alfred wasn't exactly comfortable in saying because I grind so fine.
Even so, he wasn't going to give up. Now that he knew for sure Arthur was the one he wanted, it seemed unbelievable that just yesterday he wasn't aware of it. Everything Arthur did was charming. The way he tilted his head to read the papers on the table. The way he rested his chin on his hand. The way his lips moved when he accused Alfred of wasting everyone's time with stupid digressions. The way his green eyes shined with disdain for everyone in the room. The way he openly yawned when Francis was speaking.
So, he was hot. Not necessarily nice.
Then again, who was? Alfred was willing to be forgiving. He waited until the discussion was over – something about global warming, or whales, or the effect of global warming on whales, or something – and run to Arthur.
And Arthur, for some strange reason, didn't seem exactly thrilled to see him. He must be tired, Alfred thought. After a hard day despising everyone. Or something.
“America,” he said, in that careful controlled voice. “What do you want?”
Interesting question, Alfred thought. He took a deep breath.
If he wanted Arthur to understand him, he would have to be more explicit. Even if it killed his soul a little, a hero couldn't lose to some misguided shyness or whatever it was. He would have to go straight to the point.
“So,” he said, trying not to let his voice tremble. “What can I get for fifty bucks?”
He waited, biting his lip. To be completely honest, he thought this one deserved a slap on the face, but the list guaranteed it worked, so. Yeah.
Arthur sighed:
“That depends on what you want to buy, Alfred.”
“Erm...” right, and now what?, he thought, panicking. How could he look into Arthur's eyes (green and glittering like emeralds, not that Alfred didn't know this already, but it was always worth mentioning) and say your body?
“Hamburgers,” he said, completely chickening out. “I want to buy some and I forgot how much it is.”
“I have no idea. But, Alfred, maybe you should eat something a little healthier. All those burgers might be bad for you.”
“I can take it. And it beats eating your food; at least the burgers are edible.”
“I see,” Arthur said. His face was blank. “Would that be all?”
“No, no, I- excuse me, but you have a beep on your nose.”
“Come again?”
He didn't even know, this one was particularly mysterious, but it was on the list, so he raised his hand and gently squeezed Arthur's noise and said:
“BEEP!”
And left as fast as he could, leaving a very confused Arthur behind him.
He didn't make it too far, because Francis was waiting for him outside. Antonio was with him.
“Alfred, chér, this is just too painful,” he said “Wouldn't you like some advices?”
“Uh? Advices?” Alfred laughed, a little nervous. “What for? I don't need advices. I'm just fine; what would I need advices for?”
They exchanged a knowing look, something that Alfred considered very unnerving and kinda rude of them, really, and then Antonio smiled:
“About love, Alfred, and the fine art of flirting, because, no offense, but you're-”
“Hey, I'm being awesome! And I don't- I'm not doing anything, it not like I'm in love or something, so I don't know what you're talking about, ah, ah.”
Francis shook his head:
“Your call, mon petit. But don't be afraid to come running when things backfire on your face.”
“They won't! Because there are no things. Now excuse me, I have, uh, work to do. Bye.”
He left with the distinct feeling they were laughing at him.
3.
Alfred was a little more optimistic on the next day.
He had to, or he would despair and get depressed, and heroes didn't do depressed. Now besides the fantasies and all, he had dreamt about Arthur, which meant he needed to do something, fast, because they would have this meeting in the morning and then another in the afternoon and that was it, he wouldn't have another chance, ever, unless-
Well, unless he visited Arthur, of course, but it would be nice to solve this now.
But when Arthur saw him, right at the entrance, he started to walk faster, and Alfred had to run to catch up with him:
“Arthur? Hey, Arthur! Hi, the voices in my head told me to come over and talk to you.”
Arthur shuddered. Impressed with the wit of this amazing line, probably. Alfred smiled:
“So. I'm Mr. Right. Someone said you were looking for me.”
“No,” Arthur mumbled. “Actually, Kiku was. Something about video games.”
“Uh? No, I meant- erm. You should be happy. To see me, I mean.”
“Really. Why?”
He was frowning, and had stiffened a little. Alfred's smile dropped:
“Why? Because- because you should! Because- uh, and why not anyway?”
“Because every time you come near you insult me. Anything else?”
“That's not true! You're the one always calling me an idiot!”
“Right,” Arthur said. “Right. Care to get out of my way, Alfred? The meeting is about to start.”
“Just one more thing. I just shit into my pants. Can I get into yours?”
Arthur ran way.
Alfred frowned. This means he probably wouldn't appreciate the next one ( My love for you is like diarrhea, I just can't hold it in). He'd have to think this carefully.
“Alfred,” Francis said, making him jump three feet in the air. “If you're really going to use bad lines, couldn't you at least find something a little more poetic?”
He seemed in some kind of pain, Alfred thought, still trying to recover from the scare. It was probably this virus that was catching everyone.
“'Course not, that would be lame. And I'm not using anything. I don't know what you're talking about.”
But after the coffee break (Hey I'm looking for treasure, can I look around your chest?) and another break due to something involving Romano and a big gun, (Can I stir your drink?, and he was kinda relieved when Arthur said no, because there was no way he could say Mind if I use my dick? if he had said yes), Alfred was forced to admit there was some kind of flaw on his cunning plan.
Even the relatively obvious ones – explicit enough to avoid misunderstandings, but not enough to make Alfred too embarrassed to say it without stammering like an idiot, like Want to come see my HARD DRIVE? I promise it isn't 3.5 inches and it ain't floppy, this one was awesome!, weren't working all that well. Or, like, at all.
On top of everything else, Arthur had brought his stupid scones. He ate one and then he stopped and tried to stare down the wall or something, glaring at the poor thing for thee minutes, and then he turned to Alfred and asked if he didn't want some.
He didn't, ew. Those things looked even weirder than the ones from before. But this time Alfred didn't go too far, he just said Arthur should learn how to cook before he killed someone, and left it at that.
Arthur didn't answer.
He was almost at the door when Alfred tried to ask:
“So... What's a nation like you doing with a face like that?”
“It's the only one I have,” Arthur snapped.
Which was completely right. Alfred would have to email the site, asking what he was supposed to answer in cases like this.
“Ok, ok, lemme try again. So. Did it hurt, when you fell from heaven?”
Arthur glared at him.
As in, intensely so, eyes burning, and Alfred wasn't the most perceptive nation alive, but he could tell when someone hated him with the passion of a thousand suns:
“A- Arthur? Did I say anything-?”
“Yes, Alfred. It did. Happy?”
He turned and left, and Alfred stood there, very confused, and a little stung too. This really wasn't working.
Clearly, he would have to use the last one and just go and say I have a .357 magnum pointed at your kidney. Wanna go get some coffee?”
And how depressing it was that, after going trough all this trouble, he still had to eat his lunch alone? This wouldn’t do, like, at all. He would have to be more emphatic, or something, or Arthur wouldn’t get it, and come on, how stupid could someone be, at this rate it would take ages before they could take this to the next level. Or, like, any level at all. Because Arthur was stupid.
Alfred was getting back to the meeting room, when he saw Francis and Antonio stalking him again.
“America, come here,” Francis said. His tone made Alfred frown, but he went, crossing his arms:
“What do you want?”
“To make a public service,” Francis said “Listen, my child. Your plans will work much better if you stop this silliness and just compliment his cooking.”
Alfred blushed:
“W-what?”
“Oh, come on now,” Francis’ smile was a little patronizing; “I'm the country of L'Amour, I know these things.”
“But I-”
“Here's what you will do: you'll eat those rocks he bakes, and tell him it tastes good. Then you won’t insult him during the meetings, maybe even agree with something or other, and voilá. You'll be inside his pants before you can say 'thank you, big brother France'.”
“Ah, I don't know,” Antonio said, before Alfred could get over this shock to answer. “I think this situation calls for something more drastic.”
“Yes, cher, but don't you think he has to win Arthur's favor first?”
“But nothing works,” Alfred said, “Not that I'm trying. I still don't know what you're talking about.”
“Well then, I'm the country of passion,” Antonio said. “What you need now, Alfred, is to show him how intense your feelings are. So you'll follow him after the meeting-”
“I already tried that.”
“...without saying anything stupid-”
“Hey! I’m not! For your information, I happen to have a great line to say now, and it involved complimenting him, so there. ”
“Really, now. And what’s the line?”
“Well…” Alfred scratched his head, a little embarrassed. It was weird to say those things to Antonio. It seemed wrong. “I was going to say, um, it was like this, like, I was going to say your shirt is very becoming on you, you know, if I were on you I’d be coming to.”
Antonio stared, a blank look on his face. Francis frowned:
“I’d be- oh. Right. Coming. Right. Mon Dieu, Alfred, why don’t you just go and say ‘hey, you’re hot, wanna have sex?”
“Well…” Alfred blushed. “That one’s on the list too, but I thought it would be kinda lame.”
“Anyway,” Antonio said, a little more forcefully than he had to. “No. Don’t say this. Do what I’m saying. You go after him, and then you'll kiss him. Only not really, you'll get real close, until your lips are almost touching his.”
Alfred was going to protest, but the mental image was too distracting. And tempting. And exciting. There was just one problem:
“He’ll run away.”
Francis raised one eyebrow. Antonio smiled:
“No, he won't. So, you'll get close, and if he pulls back you'll take one step forward, until you close the distance between you.”
“... well now that sounds creepy.”
“But it isn't. This is England, he’s bound to give you mixed signs, so you'll have to press him a little. Just enough for him to be completely sure he's not misunderstanding, but not enough to actually force him into something he doesn't want.”
“Which, believe me, you won't be able to even if you try,” Francis said. Alfred decided to ignore this before he could fully consider the implications.
“...right.”
“So,” Antonio said “You'll tilt your head until your lips are almost touching, and when you’re almost feeling the cheap beer on his breath, when you almost taste his lips, you'll stop. Francis, allow me to demonstrate.”
“But of course,” Francis smiled.
“Now wait a minute,” America started, but Antonio raised one authoritative finger, and he stopped, biting his lower lip.
Antonio turned to Francis. He held his chin gently with the tip of his fingers, looking straight at Francis’ eyes, and Alfred had to remind himself he was doing on purpose. The guy was dangerous, how could anyone turn on and off an expression like that, and- his lips were slightly open, and even if he knew what was going to happen, Alfred found himself holding his breath. Francis was being affected too, his eyelashes fluttering, eyes almost closing. Antonio stopped right before actually touching him, and for half a second they stood there like a picture or something, and then Antonio whispered something in Spanish. Alfred could guess his breath flickering over Francis lips and, the sound was hot, the words, it sounded plaintive and possessive at the same time, and then Francis moaned and pushed forward and kissed him.
Like, really kissed. He pulled Antonio by his waist, and Antonio was holding his face, then his hair, and those two were totally getting it on right here, and Alfred flushed:
“Er- guys? I think I got the point...”
Now Antonio had his fingers on Francis hair and Francis was kinda touching his ass, and Alfred tried to clear his throat, then again a little louder, and then he shouted:
“Guys! There are cameras here! Get a room, will you?”
They stopped.
Francis looked at him:
“You're still here.”
“Well, yes, I-”
“Go to the meeting! Arthur is there, isn't he?”
“But you-”
“You'll be right behind you. Go.”
“But-” he didn't want to say this. Didn't want to even think about it, but it would be better to get it out of the way and plan for it, right, be prepared.. “What if he doesn't like it? I mean, if he hates every minute of it, or if he doesn't react because he's frozen in terror?”
“Then he won't kiss you,” Antonio said. His voice was softer now. “He won't let you get this close. And then you'll make the saddest face you can, for Chrissakes, don't ruin your future chances laughing and pretending you don't care, you'll look sad and you'll say 'I see you don't want me like I want you, please forgive me', and then you leave with the most dejected face you can fake.”
“I won't have to fake,” Alfred mumbled. “But what if he gets afraid? I'm stronger than him, after all.”
Francis coughed. Alfred could swear it was a barely disguised laugh.
“Don't worry,” he said. “Dear England will have his arms free, and his hands will be strategically placed to make some damage to your vital parts, in case your advances make him uncomfortable.”
“Ouch,” Antonio said.
“Believe me, I know.”
“Now, America, be nice and get lost.”
“There are still cameras here, you know,” Alfred said, but they weren't listening anymore.
He wasn't really sure about that, but hey, if it didn’t work, he could always go back to the lines. There was more than fifty he hadn’t tried yet, and one of them was bound to work. So he could give this a chance.
And Arthur started by ruining everything, of course. He took his half-baked scones and didn't offer anything, it was like Alfred wasn’t even there. Alfred rolled his eyes, and he got one anyway (almost hitting Arthur’s nose on the process) and pushed it into his mouth, because he wouldn't let Arthur's lack of manners ruin his awesome plan.
It took all his strength to not to spit the thing as soon as it touched his tongue, but he managed, somehow, and munched away, while Arthur gave him an incredulous look. But then Arthur blushed and looked down, which was probably a good sign. Ha, success was imminent!
And Alfred went out of his way to be nice. He didn't question or insulted anything Arthur said (It involved spending a lot of the meeting in silence, and he had to bite his hand twice). But then, when he actually said something, Arthur didn't call him an idiot.
Which was a great sign.
So, when the stupid meeting was finally over, Alfred managed to catch him at the door:
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Arthur shrugged.
So far, so good. When they were in the middle of the hallway, Alfred stopped:
“Arthur. I need to talk to you.”
Arthur stopped too, and looked up at him. He didn't seem impatient, not yet. He would in a minute, so Alfred had to take his chance now. Right. He took one step forward.
Arthur didn't step back:
“Alfred?”
One more step. Ok, now they were really close, he was almost at Arthur's face, and Arthur hadn't run away yet, and he didn't look paralyzed in fear either, he was frowning and maybe blushing a little and looking at Alfred as if he was really wondering about his sanity, but that was normal. Alfred swallowed. God, this was hard, and it would be a lot better if he could say something, but he couldn't think of anything and so-
“Alfred? What are you doing?”
Arthur's voice sounded tense. And he was, now that Alfred was thinking, holding his file in front of his body as if it were a shield, but hell, how else was he going to hold it anyway? Right, concentration. A true hero wouldn't fail now.
He raised his hands. Touched Arthur's cheek (which was nothing short of exhilarating, his face was warm and soft and red, and Alfred wanted to grin like an idiot) and, oh, ops, he wasn't supposed to be touching, but it was too late now, and anyway, he raised Arthur's face and-
Well, and then he kissed him.
“Aw, dammit,” he said, immediately pulling back “I'm sorry, this is all wrong, I-”
“Wrong?” Arthur whispered, and his eyes looked huge and green and scared and Alfred shook his head, a little frantic:
“Yes, I was supposed to wait for you to kiss me first, and now I went and- uh, do you mind if we try this again? I kinda lost my focus here, and-”
“Oh,” Arthur said, and then, a little stronger, “Oh, I see,” and then he pulled Alfred by his tie:
“You're such an idiot,” he grunted, and kissed his mouth. Alfred's eyes widened.
Just for one second. Then his eyes were closed, and he held Arthur's shoulders and pulled him against his chest:
“HA,” he said when they stopped to breath. “I knew it would work!”
“... what?”
“My super awesome cunning plan! I think I can die happy now, coz I've just seen a piece of heaven.”
Arthur laughed, a little nervous:
“What?”
“Hey, Arthur, do you have a map? Because I just keep getting lost in your eyes!”
“Alfred,” he was still flushed, his golden eyebrows making a contrast with the red face, and he looked adorable. “Shut up, will you?”
“Anything for you,” Alfred said. His face would split if his smile got any bigger. He pulled Arthur again, hugging him tight, he’d have send some awesome gift to Francis and Antonio one of these days, and he kissed Arthur's face, then his lips:
“My love for you is like the universe... never-ending!”
“My,” Arthur said. “How do you come up with this stuff? Let's go, I'm hungry, and- if you'd like to- to have dinner with me-”
“Sure,” Alfred said. He was too happy to care about food anyway. “I've gotta thirst, baby, and you smell like my Gatorade.”
“God, Alfred, shut up! ”
There was a perfect line about shutting up and mouths and, erm, anyway, it was too soon for that. Maybe in a few hours. For now, Alfred was content in just kissing him again.
~
An: … told you it was silly :D All the lines here are real, I swear. Well. Real in the sense that you’ll find if you google it. Not that someone would actually say it. Probably. (at least not the shit in my pants one, EW). Thanks for reading! :D
ETA: I just checked ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oichibi_chan's post in the main comm, and she linked to this vid. Looks like my portray of Antonio's technique is more accurate than I thought \o/
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/US (some random France/Spain)
Rating: PG
Warnings: lots and lots of silliness, lame pick-up lines (that was the prompt, actually, so there).
Summary:
Alfred was going to date Arthur. And to convince Arthur, what better than some pretty heroically awesome pick up lines?
Written for the kink-meme.
1.
Alfred was going to date Arthur. It was decided.
It hadn't been easy, coming to this conclusion. It took a long process involving serious thinking and lots of embarrassing and incredibly hot fantasies and, oddly enough, a broken window, but now it was decided, and Alfred never went back on his decisions.
The one he wanted, the one he was always thinking about, the love of his life, was Arthur Kirkland, that much was settled. And knowing this, seeing it so clearly, made Alfred feel a lot better, because as any hero worth his awesomeness and incredibly cool moves knows, defining your goals is the first step to reach them. And now that he had it all as defined as it could be and knew exactly what he wanted, he could focus on solving the one tiny little detail that stood between him and complete happiness:
Convincing Arthur to date him.
Ok, maybe it was a little more than a detail. Especially considering that this epiphany had come a little late. It would have been nice to discover his undying love and devotion before saying right at Arthur's face, and in front of everyone, that he had burnt his scones again, burnt it, and even if Alfred could ignore the complete lack of anything resembling taste he couldn't possibly eat charcoal anyway, so next time Arthur should just buy his food or eat it himself, because- well.
It would have been nice to realize he loved the guy before saying that.
But then again, if it weren't for those sad lumps of coal that Arthur called food, Alfred would probably have never noticed his own feelings, because he was halfway trough his tirade when the lights changed, or maybe it was the air, or something, and suddenly the murderous look on Arthur's eyes didn't look, well, murderous, but really hurt and humiliated and, and then Alfred had kinda lost steam there and Arthur's eyes, sad and green and glittering, haunted him for the rest of the day. And the night. And then, after long considerations, Alfred came to the conclusion he was caring, and he was almost convincing himself that no, he wasn't, actually, and Arthur didn't mind it anyway, not after all these years, when the wind made some branch break his window, almost giving him a heart attack, but preventing him from going into full-scale denial.
Alfred called it a sign. Clearly, the universe approved of his love, so there was no choice: he would have to ask Arthur out.
Cool.
Alfred thought about asking Francis for some advice, but then he changed his mind. He could do this on his own, and Arthur would be so awed with his brilliance and wit that he would swoon. Encouraged, Alfred started his research.
Google didn't fail him. It took him less than ten minutes to find an impressive list of nice things he could say to take Arthur to, erm, the nearest fast-food place, first, and to his bed, eventually, after Arthur could get over the shock of being asked out by someone as awesome as him.
Alfred hoped it would be fast. But it was ok. He knew that even kissing Arthur would fill his life with joy and light - not that it wasn't already, mind you, but it would be even more joyful and, and lit up, or something, and yeah, anyway. He printed the list, and he could hardly wait for the next summit. Arthur wouldn't even know what had hit him.
2.
The meeting was about to start.
Alfred wasn't exactly caring. The meeting itself would be useless as always, and talking to Arthur was more important. And that was why he went to him with a bright and confident smile on his face, and said:
“Did you invite all of these people? I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”
Arthur didn't even stop walking:
“It's a summit, America. How could it be just the two of us?”
And he entered the room without looking back.
Alfred frowned. This was going to be a little harder then he thought. Luckily, he still had a lot of other lines to try. He hurried after Arthur:
“Iggy, wait, I need to talk with you.”
“Don't call me that. Ever,” Arthur said. He was opening his files, and Alfred couldn't help but notice how sexy he looked, glaring at some document that had come out wrong.
“No, really,” he said “You know what? Your eyes are the same color as my Porsche.”
Arthur frowned. He was still staring at his file:
“Really, now. That's nice, Alfred.”
… this wasn't working. Looked like Alfred would have to be a little more explicit:
“So, then, do you mind if I hang out here until its safe back where I farted?”
“Oh for God's sake, Alfred! Go bother someone else, will you? I'm trying to work.”
“But I-”
“Alfred!”
Ok, when he was being like that, all serious and authoritative and all British-Empire like, it was no use talking to him. Alfred passed Francis and Antonio on his way. They were discussing something in a very quiet voice, and Francis stopped to give him a sympathetic look.
Alfred sank on his chair, sulking.
Of course, he wouldn't just give up. He was a hero, and heroes persevered. He waited until the coffee break, waited until Arthur was up, and- and waited some more until he finished talking with Kiku, and then Canada, and then France, of all people, for someone who enjoyed isolation Arthur was surely getting popular, wasn't he? Alfred had to wait until he was done talking with every single idiot who came his way, until Arthur was finally alone buying tea from the coffee machine. Which was just plain wrong, but it wasn’t the point. Anyway. Alfred took a deep breath:
“Hey there, Arthur.”
Arthur tensed:
“Hi.”
“I'm here,” Alfred beamed. “So, what are your other wishes?”
Arthur stared:
“What?”
“Erm. Your wishes. As in-”
“Oh. I don't know,” he took a sip of his tea “I’d like to be home, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Erm-”
Now he wasn't sure what to say. The list didn't say anything about the follow-up, and what was he supposed to do, discuss his work? A little confused, he tried the next one:
“Tell me, do you know karate?”
“Yes.”
“'Cause your- wait, what?”
Arthur was getting impatient:
“I’m not good at it, actually, but I got a few things from Kiku. Why?”
“Uh...”
Cause your body is really kicking would sound kinda stupid now, what with him being so serious and all, and anyway, Alfred was distracted:
“Really? Really really? That's so cool! Why didn't I know that?”
“I don't know,” Arthur said, his face a little red. “You never asked, I guess. Anything else?”
“You need to show it to me, sometime, this is really- oh, right. They call me "coffee". That's because-”
“Oh, Germany is calling. Let's go back.”
And, without the slightest hesitation. Arthur went back to the table.
It was probably for the good. Alfred wasn't exactly comfortable in saying because I grind so fine.
Even so, he wasn't going to give up. Now that he knew for sure Arthur was the one he wanted, it seemed unbelievable that just yesterday he wasn't aware of it. Everything Arthur did was charming. The way he tilted his head to read the papers on the table. The way he rested his chin on his hand. The way his lips moved when he accused Alfred of wasting everyone's time with stupid digressions. The way his green eyes shined with disdain for everyone in the room. The way he openly yawned when Francis was speaking.
So, he was hot. Not necessarily nice.
Then again, who was? Alfred was willing to be forgiving. He waited until the discussion was over – something about global warming, or whales, or the effect of global warming on whales, or something – and run to Arthur.
And Arthur, for some strange reason, didn't seem exactly thrilled to see him. He must be tired, Alfred thought. After a hard day despising everyone. Or something.
“America,” he said, in that careful controlled voice. “What do you want?”
Interesting question, Alfred thought. He took a deep breath.
If he wanted Arthur to understand him, he would have to be more explicit. Even if it killed his soul a little, a hero couldn't lose to some misguided shyness or whatever it was. He would have to go straight to the point.
“So,” he said, trying not to let his voice tremble. “What can I get for fifty bucks?”
He waited, biting his lip. To be completely honest, he thought this one deserved a slap on the face, but the list guaranteed it worked, so. Yeah.
Arthur sighed:
“That depends on what you want to buy, Alfred.”
“Erm...” right, and now what?, he thought, panicking. How could he look into Arthur's eyes (green and glittering like emeralds, not that Alfred didn't know this already, but it was always worth mentioning) and say your body?
“Hamburgers,” he said, completely chickening out. “I want to buy some and I forgot how much it is.”
“I have no idea. But, Alfred, maybe you should eat something a little healthier. All those burgers might be bad for you.”
“I can take it. And it beats eating your food; at least the burgers are edible.”
“I see,” Arthur said. His face was blank. “Would that be all?”
“No, no, I- excuse me, but you have a beep on your nose.”
“Come again?”
He didn't even know, this one was particularly mysterious, but it was on the list, so he raised his hand and gently squeezed Arthur's noise and said:
“BEEP!”
And left as fast as he could, leaving a very confused Arthur behind him.
He didn't make it too far, because Francis was waiting for him outside. Antonio was with him.
“Alfred, chér, this is just too painful,” he said “Wouldn't you like some advices?”
“Uh? Advices?” Alfred laughed, a little nervous. “What for? I don't need advices. I'm just fine; what would I need advices for?”
They exchanged a knowing look, something that Alfred considered very unnerving and kinda rude of them, really, and then Antonio smiled:
“About love, Alfred, and the fine art of flirting, because, no offense, but you're-”
“Hey, I'm being awesome! And I don't- I'm not doing anything, it not like I'm in love or something, so I don't know what you're talking about, ah, ah.”
Francis shook his head:
“Your call, mon petit. But don't be afraid to come running when things backfire on your face.”
“They won't! Because there are no things. Now excuse me, I have, uh, work to do. Bye.”
He left with the distinct feeling they were laughing at him.
3.
Alfred was a little more optimistic on the next day.
He had to, or he would despair and get depressed, and heroes didn't do depressed. Now besides the fantasies and all, he had dreamt about Arthur, which meant he needed to do something, fast, because they would have this meeting in the morning and then another in the afternoon and that was it, he wouldn't have another chance, ever, unless-
Well, unless he visited Arthur, of course, but it would be nice to solve this now.
But when Arthur saw him, right at the entrance, he started to walk faster, and Alfred had to run to catch up with him:
“Arthur? Hey, Arthur! Hi, the voices in my head told me to come over and talk to you.”
Arthur shuddered. Impressed with the wit of this amazing line, probably. Alfred smiled:
“So. I'm Mr. Right. Someone said you were looking for me.”
“No,” Arthur mumbled. “Actually, Kiku was. Something about video games.”
“Uh? No, I meant- erm. You should be happy. To see me, I mean.”
“Really. Why?”
He was frowning, and had stiffened a little. Alfred's smile dropped:
“Why? Because- because you should! Because- uh, and why not anyway?”
“Because every time you come near you insult me. Anything else?”
“That's not true! You're the one always calling me an idiot!”
“Right,” Arthur said. “Right. Care to get out of my way, Alfred? The meeting is about to start.”
“Just one more thing. I just shit into my pants. Can I get into yours?”
Arthur ran way.
Alfred frowned. This means he probably wouldn't appreciate the next one ( My love for you is like diarrhea, I just can't hold it in). He'd have to think this carefully.
“Alfred,” Francis said, making him jump three feet in the air. “If you're really going to use bad lines, couldn't you at least find something a little more poetic?”
He seemed in some kind of pain, Alfred thought, still trying to recover from the scare. It was probably this virus that was catching everyone.
“'Course not, that would be lame. And I'm not using anything. I don't know what you're talking about.”
But after the coffee break (Hey I'm looking for treasure, can I look around your chest?) and another break due to something involving Romano and a big gun, (Can I stir your drink?, and he was kinda relieved when Arthur said no, because there was no way he could say Mind if I use my dick? if he had said yes), Alfred was forced to admit there was some kind of flaw on his cunning plan.
Even the relatively obvious ones – explicit enough to avoid misunderstandings, but not enough to make Alfred too embarrassed to say it without stammering like an idiot, like Want to come see my HARD DRIVE? I promise it isn't 3.5 inches and it ain't floppy, this one was awesome!, weren't working all that well. Or, like, at all.
On top of everything else, Arthur had brought his stupid scones. He ate one and then he stopped and tried to stare down the wall or something, glaring at the poor thing for thee minutes, and then he turned to Alfred and asked if he didn't want some.
He didn't, ew. Those things looked even weirder than the ones from before. But this time Alfred didn't go too far, he just said Arthur should learn how to cook before he killed someone, and left it at that.
Arthur didn't answer.
He was almost at the door when Alfred tried to ask:
“So... What's a nation like you doing with a face like that?”
“It's the only one I have,” Arthur snapped.
Which was completely right. Alfred would have to email the site, asking what he was supposed to answer in cases like this.
“Ok, ok, lemme try again. So. Did it hurt, when you fell from heaven?”
Arthur glared at him.
As in, intensely so, eyes burning, and Alfred wasn't the most perceptive nation alive, but he could tell when someone hated him with the passion of a thousand suns:
“A- Arthur? Did I say anything-?”
“Yes, Alfred. It did. Happy?”
He turned and left, and Alfred stood there, very confused, and a little stung too. This really wasn't working.
Clearly, he would have to use the last one and just go and say I have a .357 magnum pointed at your kidney. Wanna go get some coffee?”
And how depressing it was that, after going trough all this trouble, he still had to eat his lunch alone? This wouldn’t do, like, at all. He would have to be more emphatic, or something, or Arthur wouldn’t get it, and come on, how stupid could someone be, at this rate it would take ages before they could take this to the next level. Or, like, any level at all. Because Arthur was stupid.
Alfred was getting back to the meeting room, when he saw Francis and Antonio stalking him again.
“America, come here,” Francis said. His tone made Alfred frown, but he went, crossing his arms:
“What do you want?”
“To make a public service,” Francis said “Listen, my child. Your plans will work much better if you stop this silliness and just compliment his cooking.”
Alfred blushed:
“W-what?”
“Oh, come on now,” Francis’ smile was a little patronizing; “I'm the country of L'Amour, I know these things.”
“But I-”
“Here's what you will do: you'll eat those rocks he bakes, and tell him it tastes good. Then you won’t insult him during the meetings, maybe even agree with something or other, and voilá. You'll be inside his pants before you can say 'thank you, big brother France'.”
“Ah, I don't know,” Antonio said, before Alfred could get over this shock to answer. “I think this situation calls for something more drastic.”
“Yes, cher, but don't you think he has to win Arthur's favor first?”
“But nothing works,” Alfred said, “Not that I'm trying. I still don't know what you're talking about.”
“Well then, I'm the country of passion,” Antonio said. “What you need now, Alfred, is to show him how intense your feelings are. So you'll follow him after the meeting-”
“I already tried that.”
“...without saying anything stupid-”
“Hey! I’m not! For your information, I happen to have a great line to say now, and it involved complimenting him, so there. ”
“Really, now. And what’s the line?”
“Well…” Alfred scratched his head, a little embarrassed. It was weird to say those things to Antonio. It seemed wrong. “I was going to say, um, it was like this, like, I was going to say your shirt is very becoming on you, you know, if I were on you I’d be coming to.”
Antonio stared, a blank look on his face. Francis frowned:
“I’d be- oh. Right. Coming. Right. Mon Dieu, Alfred, why don’t you just go and say ‘hey, you’re hot, wanna have sex?”
“Well…” Alfred blushed. “That one’s on the list too, but I thought it would be kinda lame.”
“Anyway,” Antonio said, a little more forcefully than he had to. “No. Don’t say this. Do what I’m saying. You go after him, and then you'll kiss him. Only not really, you'll get real close, until your lips are almost touching his.”
Alfred was going to protest, but the mental image was too distracting. And tempting. And exciting. There was just one problem:
“He’ll run away.”
Francis raised one eyebrow. Antonio smiled:
“No, he won't. So, you'll get close, and if he pulls back you'll take one step forward, until you close the distance between you.”
“... well now that sounds creepy.”
“But it isn't. This is England, he’s bound to give you mixed signs, so you'll have to press him a little. Just enough for him to be completely sure he's not misunderstanding, but not enough to actually force him into something he doesn't want.”
“Which, believe me, you won't be able to even if you try,” Francis said. Alfred decided to ignore this before he could fully consider the implications.
“...right.”
“So,” Antonio said “You'll tilt your head until your lips are almost touching, and when you’re almost feeling the cheap beer on his breath, when you almost taste his lips, you'll stop. Francis, allow me to demonstrate.”
“But of course,” Francis smiled.
“Now wait a minute,” America started, but Antonio raised one authoritative finger, and he stopped, biting his lower lip.
Antonio turned to Francis. He held his chin gently with the tip of his fingers, looking straight at Francis’ eyes, and Alfred had to remind himself he was doing on purpose. The guy was dangerous, how could anyone turn on and off an expression like that, and- his lips were slightly open, and even if he knew what was going to happen, Alfred found himself holding his breath. Francis was being affected too, his eyelashes fluttering, eyes almost closing. Antonio stopped right before actually touching him, and for half a second they stood there like a picture or something, and then Antonio whispered something in Spanish. Alfred could guess his breath flickering over Francis lips and, the sound was hot, the words, it sounded plaintive and possessive at the same time, and then Francis moaned and pushed forward and kissed him.
Like, really kissed. He pulled Antonio by his waist, and Antonio was holding his face, then his hair, and those two were totally getting it on right here, and Alfred flushed:
“Er- guys? I think I got the point...”
Now Antonio had his fingers on Francis hair and Francis was kinda touching his ass, and Alfred tried to clear his throat, then again a little louder, and then he shouted:
“Guys! There are cameras here! Get a room, will you?”
They stopped.
Francis looked at him:
“You're still here.”
“Well, yes, I-”
“Go to the meeting! Arthur is there, isn't he?”
“But you-”
“You'll be right behind you. Go.”
“But-” he didn't want to say this. Didn't want to even think about it, but it would be better to get it out of the way and plan for it, right, be prepared.. “What if he doesn't like it? I mean, if he hates every minute of it, or if he doesn't react because he's frozen in terror?”
“Then he won't kiss you,” Antonio said. His voice was softer now. “He won't let you get this close. And then you'll make the saddest face you can, for Chrissakes, don't ruin your future chances laughing and pretending you don't care, you'll look sad and you'll say 'I see you don't want me like I want you, please forgive me', and then you leave with the most dejected face you can fake.”
“I won't have to fake,” Alfred mumbled. “But what if he gets afraid? I'm stronger than him, after all.”
Francis coughed. Alfred could swear it was a barely disguised laugh.
“Don't worry,” he said. “Dear England will have his arms free, and his hands will be strategically placed to make some damage to your vital parts, in case your advances make him uncomfortable.”
“Ouch,” Antonio said.
“Believe me, I know.”
“Now, America, be nice and get lost.”
“There are still cameras here, you know,” Alfred said, but they weren't listening anymore.
He wasn't really sure about that, but hey, if it didn’t work, he could always go back to the lines. There was more than fifty he hadn’t tried yet, and one of them was bound to work. So he could give this a chance.
And Arthur started by ruining everything, of course. He took his half-baked scones and didn't offer anything, it was like Alfred wasn’t even there. Alfred rolled his eyes, and he got one anyway (almost hitting Arthur’s nose on the process) and pushed it into his mouth, because he wouldn't let Arthur's lack of manners ruin his awesome plan.
It took all his strength to not to spit the thing as soon as it touched his tongue, but he managed, somehow, and munched away, while Arthur gave him an incredulous look. But then Arthur blushed and looked down, which was probably a good sign. Ha, success was imminent!
And Alfred went out of his way to be nice. He didn't question or insulted anything Arthur said (It involved spending a lot of the meeting in silence, and he had to bite his hand twice). But then, when he actually said something, Arthur didn't call him an idiot.
Which was a great sign.
So, when the stupid meeting was finally over, Alfred managed to catch him at the door:
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Arthur shrugged.
So far, so good. When they were in the middle of the hallway, Alfred stopped:
“Arthur. I need to talk to you.”
Arthur stopped too, and looked up at him. He didn't seem impatient, not yet. He would in a minute, so Alfred had to take his chance now. Right. He took one step forward.
Arthur didn't step back:
“Alfred?”
One more step. Ok, now they were really close, he was almost at Arthur's face, and Arthur hadn't run away yet, and he didn't look paralyzed in fear either, he was frowning and maybe blushing a little and looking at Alfred as if he was really wondering about his sanity, but that was normal. Alfred swallowed. God, this was hard, and it would be a lot better if he could say something, but he couldn't think of anything and so-
“Alfred? What are you doing?”
Arthur's voice sounded tense. And he was, now that Alfred was thinking, holding his file in front of his body as if it were a shield, but hell, how else was he going to hold it anyway? Right, concentration. A true hero wouldn't fail now.
He raised his hands. Touched Arthur's cheek (which was nothing short of exhilarating, his face was warm and soft and red, and Alfred wanted to grin like an idiot) and, oh, ops, he wasn't supposed to be touching, but it was too late now, and anyway, he raised Arthur's face and-
Well, and then he kissed him.
“Aw, dammit,” he said, immediately pulling back “I'm sorry, this is all wrong, I-”
“Wrong?” Arthur whispered, and his eyes looked huge and green and scared and Alfred shook his head, a little frantic:
“Yes, I was supposed to wait for you to kiss me first, and now I went and- uh, do you mind if we try this again? I kinda lost my focus here, and-”
“Oh,” Arthur said, and then, a little stronger, “Oh, I see,” and then he pulled Alfred by his tie:
“You're such an idiot,” he grunted, and kissed his mouth. Alfred's eyes widened.
Just for one second. Then his eyes were closed, and he held Arthur's shoulders and pulled him against his chest:
“HA,” he said when they stopped to breath. “I knew it would work!”
“... what?”
“My super awesome cunning plan! I think I can die happy now, coz I've just seen a piece of heaven.”
Arthur laughed, a little nervous:
“What?”
“Hey, Arthur, do you have a map? Because I just keep getting lost in your eyes!”
“Alfred,” he was still flushed, his golden eyebrows making a contrast with the red face, and he looked adorable. “Shut up, will you?”
“Anything for you,” Alfred said. His face would split if his smile got any bigger. He pulled Arthur again, hugging him tight, he’d have send some awesome gift to Francis and Antonio one of these days, and he kissed Arthur's face, then his lips:
“My love for you is like the universe... never-ending!”
“My,” Arthur said. “How do you come up with this stuff? Let's go, I'm hungry, and- if you'd like to- to have dinner with me-”
“Sure,” Alfred said. He was too happy to care about food anyway. “I've gotta thirst, baby, and you smell like my Gatorade.”
“God, Alfred, shut up! ”
There was a perfect line about shutting up and mouths and, erm, anyway, it was too soon for that. Maybe in a few hours. For now, Alfred was content in just kissing him again.
~
An: … told you it was silly :D All the lines here are real, I swear. Well. Real in the sense that you’ll find if you google it. Not that someone would actually say it. Probably. (at least not the shit in my pants one, EW). Thanks for reading! :D
oichibi_chan's post in the main comm, and she linked to this vid. Looks like my portray of Antonio's technique is more accurate than I thought \o/
