[fanfic] The Perks of Platinum Membership - USUK
Fanfiction: The Perks of Platinum Membership
Author: 9mm_meg
Characters/Pairings: USUK main. Also a smidge of GerIta, Prussia, France, Spain, Romano, & Canada
Rating: PG-13 for some language, some smooching, and some innuendo
Word Count: 3136
Warnings: Human names, title!fail, and also… GOLF. You are warned.
Summary: All Alfred and Arthur want is a little quality time to themselves…
“And it’s Kirkland teeing off first for the fifth hole, a par 4…”
“Alfred.”
“He’ll have to shape up that backswing if he wants to catch up with the leader, Jones…”
“Alfred…”
“Who, the audience will recall, is currently sitting at two below par for the course.”
“It’s ‘whom,’ and will you shut it already?!”
Alfred grinned as he watched his partner mumble something about what bloody audience and do his little wiggly pre-shot ritual. Look up, look down, step step step, look up, look down, adjust the grip… It was cute, really, but after about a solid minute of this, he was starting to lose patience. So, he put his best announcer-whisper back on.
“And Kirkland’s taking his time with this one… He knows the pressure is on…”
Arthur sent him a glare over his Izod-clad shoulder, then turned back and wiggled a couple more times before swinging hard and sending the ball down the fairway… and to the right, where it bounced twice before hitting sand.
“Oh bollocks.”
“And he slices it right into the bunker. What a shame.” Alfred clapped lightly a few times for good measure, avoiding the low swing of Arthur’s driver aimed at his shin as he strutted toward the tee box. “Allow me to show you how it’s done, darlin’,” he said, then threw him a winning smile.
His reply was an unimpressed look, one incredibly thick eyebrow raised questioningly. Arthur rolled his eyes and made his way back to where their bags were standing.
Alfred bent over and teed up, making sure to give Arthur a good view of how nice these plaid shorts cupped his butt, and then making sure that the recipient of said awesome view was enjoying it, which he was. He winked, prompting another eye-roll.
Standing straight again, he took a quick glance over the fairway… Approximately 400 yards to the pin, bunker to the right about two-thirds of the way down, another just in front of the green… The breeze was light and out of the south, probably wouldn’t interfere much. There was a slight grade down towards the green starting about halfway… If he drove it that far (and he would-his average drive was enough to overshoot the pin entirely, thanks to that freakish strength of his) (and oh, how he’d love to enter one of those long drive competitions), he’d have to put a little bite in there to make it stay put before it rolled into the second bunker. He’d chip it up to the green from there.
“Hand me my Callaway driver, would ya?” he said, his one gloved hand held out somewhere in the vicinity of Arthur while his eyes stayed on the little yellow flag.
“I’m not your caddy, you know,” Arthur muttered, but moments later he felt the grip hit his hand and turned to flash another smile, but it was totally wasted since Arthur had pulled his phone out and was fiddling with it.
Pouting a bit, Alfred addressed the ball and began his own pre-shot ritual (which was nowhere as ridiculous or long as Arthur’s, thank you). He pulled the bill of his hat down a smidge before tweaking his grip and checking his aim down the fairway, then planted his feet a little more firmly and started his oh-so amazing backswing-
Just as his own phone buzzed in his pocket and blared a cheerful text message notification tone.
Alfred swore as he watched his ball fly resolutely in the wrong direction and join Arthur’s in the sand trap… then rounded on his partner, who was doubled over laughing at him, stupid phone still lit up in his hand.
“Seriously?!” he yelled. “That was totally uncalled-for, you douche!”
Still laughing, Arthur held his hands up in a sign of surrender and managed to get out, “It wasn’t me! I promise you, I didn’t do it…” before succumbing to another laughing fit.
He was still suspicious as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, but the offending message was a video from Prussia.
“It’s Gilbert. And that was a mulligan, by the way,” he told Arthur before pressing play.
“Oh, it was most certainly not! No do-overs, Alfr-”
“SCHEISSE!”
“Oh, Ludi! I’m so sorry!”
Both of them stared at the screen, speechless as they watched a titanium driver fly from Italy’s hands and hit Germany squarely in the head. The camera jerked, and they heard several different people laughing, Gilbert’s voice roaring over everyone else, presumably because he was holding the phone. Feliciano ran to the stunned German and immediately started trying to kiss his head better, only to be held out at arm’s length as Ludwig’s face turned bright red. The camera wobbled and panned over to reveal Spain and France leaning on each other for support as they struggled to breathe, and Romano on the ground holding his sides, cackling. All of them were in golfing gear, Alfred noted, and just before the video ended, he caught a glimpse of the sign next to the tee box.
“Dude, they’re here!” he said, then promptly called Gilbert, who he’d just noticed was listed in his contacts for some reason as ‘The Awesomeness that is Prussia, Fool’. Clearly he’d have to keep a closer eye on his phone.
“Awesomeness speaking!” Gilbert answered, and Alfred switched over to the speaker so Arthur could hear.
“Hey man! Where’s our fricken invite? You can take half of Europe out for a round and forget me and Arthur?”
“Well, we were trying to teach Feli and Lovi-”
“Don’t call me that, kraut face!”
“-how to play, and then we thought you two would wanna, y’know… catch up and all that after the meeting…” He laughed, and Alfred heard Francis saying something in the background… He wasn’t sure what, but it was most likely inappropriate.
“Seems to be going well, judging by the video…. But naw, Arthur flew in like, two days before the conference started. We’re plenty caught up,” he added, the smirk on his face clear in his voice.
Arthur snatched the phone, ears as scarlet as Ludwig’s face had been in the video. “A-anyway, Gilbert, we’re over here at the fifth hole right now, actually, so-”
“Really?! Screw this, we’re heading that way!”
Alfred and Arthur exchanged a panicked look. Despite Alfred’s testimony to the opposite, the two of them had hardly had more than a few minutes of quality time together since Arthur had arrived for the world conference. He had come in early, but it seemed as though every time they got a spare moment, something had come up… The president had called, reminding Alfred of a few last minute things to add to the agenda… Mattie had called, reminding Alfred about the president’s reminder (it was tradition for Canada to pass along his own contact info to every new president for the sole purpose of helping to keep an eye on his twin)… Then Tony had had a mini-meltdown when he found out that Alfred was leaving him at the house alone to spend a week with ‘the fucking limey’ and upset Whaley, who had then attempted to beach himself on the steps of the pool.
Arthur had protested the outing this afternoon in favor of just heading back to their suite, which Alfred had whole-heartedly wanted as well, but he’d unfortunately reserved their tee time a month in advance and insisted that the country club would revoke his platinum membership status were he to cancel. (He’d also mentioned that he’d yet to meet his monthly drink purchase minimum, so the two of them would need to have at least five beers apiece.) The plan was to get through their 18 holes as quickly as possible, then spend the remainder of the evening with cell phones off, doors locked, and clothes abandoned. Adding six more nations to their game was a no-go.
“I don’t think they’d take kindly to your replaying any holes on the course,” Arthur said warningly, but Gilbert only laughed.
“Diplomatic immunity, bitches! What’re they gonna do?”
“Revoke my membership!” Alfred yelped, voice an octave higher and eyes wide with fear. He’d shelled out entirely too much cash for that private locker room, Championship caddy service (which they’d done without today), and open bar-not to mention the on-call catering service equipped to get no fewer than three burgers in his hand within five minutes of making the phone call. No way was he giving it up.
“Sucks to be you then! You’re just scared of having my awesome golf skills compared to yours, pussy!”
“Whatever. I’m like the next Tiger Woods, dude!”
“Oh, ja? Then prove it!”
He waved dismissively at Arthur, who was now scowling and pointing at his watch, then mouthed, Don’t worry-I got this. “Alright. I will,” he said. “You’re on 10, right? I bet you a hundred bucks and you guys staying the hell over there that I can hit your green from here.”
Arthur blanched. “You can’t be serious!” he hissed. “You can’t possibly hit it that far! What if you bloody miss?!”
“Challenge accepted, Amerika. I’ll call when we get over there, loser. Hope you have cash on you!”
There was a beep beep beep as Gilbert hung up, and Arthur groaned in frustration. “Honestly, love? Now we’ll never get out of here!”
“Eager, aren’t we?”
His comment was ignored, Arthur clearing his throat and saying, “Tiger Woods though? You’re neither Asian nor black. And despite what you believe about yourself, you’re not a particularly brilliant golfer either.”
Alfred grinned. “I am a sex addict though.”
Arthur was thoughtful for a moment.
“… You know, I can’t really argue with that.”
_
Five minutes and one group of businessmen politely asking to play through later, Alfred’s phone buzzed again.
“Yo.”
“Okay, let’s see this lack of awesomeness.” The rest of Prussia’s group was catcalling in the background.
Alfred smirked. “You see that every time you look in the mirror, Gil. Prepare to be amazed.”
He chose his graphite-shafted driver, figuring it would be most likely to stand up to the extreme force he was about to exert upon it, and opted for a nice, star-spangled ball rather than a plain old white one. He’d been saving them for a special occasion, but he decided this little display of epicness needed some flair.
After several years of membership, Alfred had come to know the course pretty well. He knew that directly beyond the fifth hole’s green was a thin strip of rough, then a row of tall elms. Behind the trees was the fairway of the tenth hole, which butted up against the fifth for a short distance before doglegging off to the left. All told, there were about 750 yards between the tee box where he stood and the green far out of sight where the other nations were waiting. Arthur watched him expectantly, as if to ask how the hell he meant to pull this off, so he gave him an optimistic grin and made another show of bending over suggestively to set up the ball.
Instead of admiring his rear, Arthur kicked it.
“Okey dokey. Everybody ready?” he asked after standing back up and rubbing his backside.
“Ready for you to fail. Maybe you should get off the phone dummkopf.”
“Yeah yeah, getting there. Oh, and just so you know, fore.”
He handed his phone to Arthur, who held his hand over the mic and said, “So help me, Alfred, if you mess this up…”
“Not gonna. I’m ready to get the holy hell out of here, myself,” he replied “Now stand back, Artie baby. I don’t want you fainting from sheer awesome overload.”
“Call me that again, and I will strangle you in your sleep,” Arthur muttered, but backed up a few steps anyway.
Alfred didn’t bother with any practice swings. He stepped up to the ball, feet a bit further apart from his usual stance, and made sure the spikes on his shoes were dug deep in the turf. The usual hat, grip, and stance adjusting followed, and with no further preamble, Alfred swung, sending the ball flying along with a spray of grass and dirt. The impact sounded like a low-caliber gunshot, and he heard Arthur swear behind him in surprise.
They watched the airborne ball until it disappeared from view, and moments later, there was an eruption of noise from the phone, still on speaker.
“Well?!” Arthur shouted at the phone, Alfred waiting with baited breath. “Did he make it or not?!”
“You’re JOKING!!”
They heard nothing but shouting and laughter for a solid minute, until the phone chimed to let them know another video message had arrived, this time from Francis. Arthur opened it quickly, and the two of them watched as France blew a kiss to the camera, then turned the phone around just in time to see a red, white, and blue golf ball come tearing out of the sky, hit the turf, and bounce high above their heads before finally landing directly in the cup.
“… I. AM. SO. AWESOME.”
_
Gilbert & Co. weren’t heard from again for the remainder of their game (Alfred had a sneaking suspicion that it was due to a lack of cash), so the pair finished up without too many distractions, aside from Alfred’s constant commentary. They met no one to hold them up on the way into the clubhouse, and once the door to the locker room was shut behind them, he heard Arthur breathe a sigh of relief.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Alfred told him. “Hurry up and get your crap. We’re getting outta here ASAP.” He opened his locker and grabbed the suit and dress shoes inside (they’d come here straight from the meeting), but when he turned around, Arthur was seated on the bench, shoeless and in the process of un-tucking his shirt.
“I said don’t get cozy!” he accused. “You can change when we get back to the hotel!”
Arthur scowled at him, and started pulling his shirt up. “I’ll just be a minute. I don’t want to leave in these sweaty things,” he said, then gave him a smirk. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen off the course in that pink shirt anyway…”
Alfred glanced down at his attire, then gave the scowl right back. “This is salmon. Like the fish. The girl at Lacoste said it looked nice with my skin tone.” And naturally, he’d had to get the matching shorts (white with a salmonnotpink and springy green plaid pattern). He thought he looked pretty damn good, actually. The salesgirl had certainly said as much.
He was about to tell Arthur so, but the man just had to take that particular moment to whip his striped polo over his head, and look back up at him… sandy blond hair ruffled, face and chest glistening a bit with a light sheen of sweat…
Alfred’s golf bag, shoes, and neatly hung suit hit the floor, and he practically leapt across the gap between them and smashed their lips together, bumping his glasses up his nose and knocking the baseball cap off his head, but not caring in the slightest. Arthur’s startled mmff was ignored, but it turned into an eager hum as a gloved hand found its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. Alfred smiled and started to bring him closer, but Arthur pulled back a bit.
“Bit impatient, aren’t we?” he mumbled against Alfred’s lips.
“Not my fault. It’s built in.” Alfred kissed him again, briefly, and said, “I think we need that suite. Right now.”
Arthur hummed in agreement, then brought their lips back together-
And Alfred’s phone rang.
He hissed every curse he knew (including those in Spanish and French) as he dug his phone out of his pocket. It was Matt’s ringtone, the little maple-loving douche… If he didn’t pick it up, he knew his brother would call again and again, and then again until he answered. For the millionth time, he wished that whole Canadian invisibility thing worked over the phone, too.
“I hate you,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Love you, too, Al. Where are you? I said we needed to go over this paperwork for the meeting tomorrow-”
“When the hell did I agree to that?”
“Today. After I said, ‘Hey, we need to discuss this, eh?’ and you said, ‘Okaysurewhatever,’ and I said, ‘Okay I’ll see you later.’ That’s when.”
“Mattie, when I say ‘Okaysurewhatever,’ it means I wasn’t listening to you. You should be familiar with this concept by now. And also, I’m uh, kinda… busy.”
“Doing wha-merde, do not answer that. Hanging up now. Bye Arthur, since you’re obviously there.”
“Cheers.”
Alfred hung up and fell forward to rest his head on Arthur’s bare shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he whined. Sure, Matt was sufficiently frightened away for the evening, but judging by how things had gone so far, there would undoubtedly be something else to ruin their plans the minute they arrived at the hotel…
When they arrived at the hotel. Who said it had to be anytime in the near future?
“You know what?” he breathed against Arthur’s neck, a sudden idea striking him. “I think you need a shower.”
“Well, of course I do,” Arthur replied, offended. “You don’t smell all that lovely yourse-” He seemed to catch Alfred’s drift midsentence, and abruptly pushed him back.
Alfred gave him a faux-innocent smile.
“You are not suggesting what I’m assuming you’re suggesting. And you are not suggesting that we do what you aren’t suggesting in a public place.”
With another smile, he said, “It’s a private locker room.”
Arthur stared for a moment, then let a slow smirk creep over his face. “Is that so?” he said, reaching up to remove Alfred’s crookedly hanging glasses. “And how much exactly are you paying for this?”
“More than I care to admit,” Alfred replied. He used his teeth to pull the glove off his left hand, then helped Arthur to his feet before unceremoniously tossing his cell phone into the bottom of his still-open locker. A moment later, Arthur’s joined it, and he kicked the door shut.
“It’d be such a pity to let that go to waste, then.” Arthur’s hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it, and Alfred mimicked the action.
“Mm-hmm. Yeah, I think we need to take full advantage of the amenities,” Alfred purred as he continued to strip down.
Arthur stepped closer and helped him shrug out of his shirt before planting a row of kisses down his jaw. “It would only be fitting.”
“God, I knew I loved this country club,” Alfred said as Arthur grabbed his hand and pulled him along to the showers.
______
END
A/N: I have no idea where this came from. (headdesk)
Comments are always welcome, and thanks for reading! <3
Author: 9mm_meg
Characters/Pairings: USUK main. Also a smidge of GerIta, Prussia, France, Spain, Romano, & Canada
Rating: PG-13 for some language, some smooching, and some innuendo
Word Count: 3136
Warnings: Human names, title!fail, and also… GOLF. You are warned.
Summary: All Alfred and Arthur want is a little quality time to themselves…
“And it’s Kirkland teeing off first for the fifth hole, a par 4…”
“Alfred.”
“He’ll have to shape up that backswing if he wants to catch up with the leader, Jones…”
“Alfred…”
“Who, the audience will recall, is currently sitting at two below par for the course.”
“It’s ‘whom,’ and will you shut it already?!”
Alfred grinned as he watched his partner mumble something about what bloody audience and do his little wiggly pre-shot ritual. Look up, look down, step step step, look up, look down, adjust the grip… It was cute, really, but after about a solid minute of this, he was starting to lose patience. So, he put his best announcer-whisper back on.
“And Kirkland’s taking his time with this one… He knows the pressure is on…”
Arthur sent him a glare over his Izod-clad shoulder, then turned back and wiggled a couple more times before swinging hard and sending the ball down the fairway… and to the right, where it bounced twice before hitting sand.
“Oh bollocks.”
“And he slices it right into the bunker. What a shame.” Alfred clapped lightly a few times for good measure, avoiding the low swing of Arthur’s driver aimed at his shin as he strutted toward the tee box. “Allow me to show you how it’s done, darlin’,” he said, then threw him a winning smile.
His reply was an unimpressed look, one incredibly thick eyebrow raised questioningly. Arthur rolled his eyes and made his way back to where their bags were standing.
Alfred bent over and teed up, making sure to give Arthur a good view of how nice these plaid shorts cupped his butt, and then making sure that the recipient of said awesome view was enjoying it, which he was. He winked, prompting another eye-roll.
Standing straight again, he took a quick glance over the fairway… Approximately 400 yards to the pin, bunker to the right about two-thirds of the way down, another just in front of the green… The breeze was light and out of the south, probably wouldn’t interfere much. There was a slight grade down towards the green starting about halfway… If he drove it that far (and he would-his average drive was enough to overshoot the pin entirely, thanks to that freakish strength of his) (and oh, how he’d love to enter one of those long drive competitions), he’d have to put a little bite in there to make it stay put before it rolled into the second bunker. He’d chip it up to the green from there.
“Hand me my Callaway driver, would ya?” he said, his one gloved hand held out somewhere in the vicinity of Arthur while his eyes stayed on the little yellow flag.
“I’m not your caddy, you know,” Arthur muttered, but moments later he felt the grip hit his hand and turned to flash another smile, but it was totally wasted since Arthur had pulled his phone out and was fiddling with it.
Pouting a bit, Alfred addressed the ball and began his own pre-shot ritual (which was nowhere as ridiculous or long as Arthur’s, thank you). He pulled the bill of his hat down a smidge before tweaking his grip and checking his aim down the fairway, then planted his feet a little more firmly and started his oh-so amazing backswing-
Just as his own phone buzzed in his pocket and blared a cheerful text message notification tone.
Alfred swore as he watched his ball fly resolutely in the wrong direction and join Arthur’s in the sand trap… then rounded on his partner, who was doubled over laughing at him, stupid phone still lit up in his hand.
“Seriously?!” he yelled. “That was totally uncalled-for, you douche!”
Still laughing, Arthur held his hands up in a sign of surrender and managed to get out, “It wasn’t me! I promise you, I didn’t do it…” before succumbing to another laughing fit.
He was still suspicious as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, but the offending message was a video from Prussia.
“It’s Gilbert. And that was a mulligan, by the way,” he told Arthur before pressing play.
“Oh, it was most certainly not! No do-overs, Alfr-”
“SCHEISSE!”
“Oh, Ludi! I’m so sorry!”
Both of them stared at the screen, speechless as they watched a titanium driver fly from Italy’s hands and hit Germany squarely in the head. The camera jerked, and they heard several different people laughing, Gilbert’s voice roaring over everyone else, presumably because he was holding the phone. Feliciano ran to the stunned German and immediately started trying to kiss his head better, only to be held out at arm’s length as Ludwig’s face turned bright red. The camera wobbled and panned over to reveal Spain and France leaning on each other for support as they struggled to breathe, and Romano on the ground holding his sides, cackling. All of them were in golfing gear, Alfred noted, and just before the video ended, he caught a glimpse of the sign next to the tee box.
“Dude, they’re here!” he said, then promptly called Gilbert, who he’d just noticed was listed in his contacts for some reason as ‘The Awesomeness that is Prussia, Fool’. Clearly he’d have to keep a closer eye on his phone.
“Awesomeness speaking!” Gilbert answered, and Alfred switched over to the speaker so Arthur could hear.
“Hey man! Where’s our fricken invite? You can take half of Europe out for a round and forget me and Arthur?”
“Well, we were trying to teach Feli and Lovi-”
“Don’t call me that, kraut face!”
“-how to play, and then we thought you two would wanna, y’know… catch up and all that after the meeting…” He laughed, and Alfred heard Francis saying something in the background… He wasn’t sure what, but it was most likely inappropriate.
“Seems to be going well, judging by the video…. But naw, Arthur flew in like, two days before the conference started. We’re plenty caught up,” he added, the smirk on his face clear in his voice.
Arthur snatched the phone, ears as scarlet as Ludwig’s face had been in the video. “A-anyway, Gilbert, we’re over here at the fifth hole right now, actually, so-”
“Really?! Screw this, we’re heading that way!”
Alfred and Arthur exchanged a panicked look. Despite Alfred’s testimony to the opposite, the two of them had hardly had more than a few minutes of quality time together since Arthur had arrived for the world conference. He had come in early, but it seemed as though every time they got a spare moment, something had come up… The president had called, reminding Alfred of a few last minute things to add to the agenda… Mattie had called, reminding Alfred about the president’s reminder (it was tradition for Canada to pass along his own contact info to every new president for the sole purpose of helping to keep an eye on his twin)… Then Tony had had a mini-meltdown when he found out that Alfred was leaving him at the house alone to spend a week with ‘the fucking limey’ and upset Whaley, who had then attempted to beach himself on the steps of the pool.
Arthur had protested the outing this afternoon in favor of just heading back to their suite, which Alfred had whole-heartedly wanted as well, but he’d unfortunately reserved their tee time a month in advance and insisted that the country club would revoke his platinum membership status were he to cancel. (He’d also mentioned that he’d yet to meet his monthly drink purchase minimum, so the two of them would need to have at least five beers apiece.) The plan was to get through their 18 holes as quickly as possible, then spend the remainder of the evening with cell phones off, doors locked, and clothes abandoned. Adding six more nations to their game was a no-go.
“I don’t think they’d take kindly to your replaying any holes on the course,” Arthur said warningly, but Gilbert only laughed.
“Diplomatic immunity, bitches! What’re they gonna do?”
“Revoke my membership!” Alfred yelped, voice an octave higher and eyes wide with fear. He’d shelled out entirely too much cash for that private locker room, Championship caddy service (which they’d done without today), and open bar-not to mention the on-call catering service equipped to get no fewer than three burgers in his hand within five minutes of making the phone call. No way was he giving it up.
“Sucks to be you then! You’re just scared of having my awesome golf skills compared to yours, pussy!”
“Whatever. I’m like the next Tiger Woods, dude!”
“Oh, ja? Then prove it!”
He waved dismissively at Arthur, who was now scowling and pointing at his watch, then mouthed, Don’t worry-I got this. “Alright. I will,” he said. “You’re on 10, right? I bet you a hundred bucks and you guys staying the hell over there that I can hit your green from here.”
Arthur blanched. “You can’t be serious!” he hissed. “You can’t possibly hit it that far! What if you bloody miss?!”
“Challenge accepted, Amerika. I’ll call when we get over there, loser. Hope you have cash on you!”
There was a beep beep beep as Gilbert hung up, and Arthur groaned in frustration. “Honestly, love? Now we’ll never get out of here!”
“Eager, aren’t we?”
His comment was ignored, Arthur clearing his throat and saying, “Tiger Woods though? You’re neither Asian nor black. And despite what you believe about yourself, you’re not a particularly brilliant golfer either.”
Alfred grinned. “I am a sex addict though.”
Arthur was thoughtful for a moment.
“… You know, I can’t really argue with that.”
_
Five minutes and one group of businessmen politely asking to play through later, Alfred’s phone buzzed again.
“Yo.”
“Okay, let’s see this lack of awesomeness.” The rest of Prussia’s group was catcalling in the background.
Alfred smirked. “You see that every time you look in the mirror, Gil. Prepare to be amazed.”
He chose his graphite-shafted driver, figuring it would be most likely to stand up to the extreme force he was about to exert upon it, and opted for a nice, star-spangled ball rather than a plain old white one. He’d been saving them for a special occasion, but he decided this little display of epicness needed some flair.
After several years of membership, Alfred had come to know the course pretty well. He knew that directly beyond the fifth hole’s green was a thin strip of rough, then a row of tall elms. Behind the trees was the fairway of the tenth hole, which butted up against the fifth for a short distance before doglegging off to the left. All told, there were about 750 yards between the tee box where he stood and the green far out of sight where the other nations were waiting. Arthur watched him expectantly, as if to ask how the hell he meant to pull this off, so he gave him an optimistic grin and made another show of bending over suggestively to set up the ball.
Instead of admiring his rear, Arthur kicked it.
“Okey dokey. Everybody ready?” he asked after standing back up and rubbing his backside.
“Ready for you to fail. Maybe you should get off the phone dummkopf.”
“Yeah yeah, getting there. Oh, and just so you know, fore.”
He handed his phone to Arthur, who held his hand over the mic and said, “So help me, Alfred, if you mess this up…”
“Not gonna. I’m ready to get the holy hell out of here, myself,” he replied “Now stand back, Artie baby. I don’t want you fainting from sheer awesome overload.”
“Call me that again, and I will strangle you in your sleep,” Arthur muttered, but backed up a few steps anyway.
Alfred didn’t bother with any practice swings. He stepped up to the ball, feet a bit further apart from his usual stance, and made sure the spikes on his shoes were dug deep in the turf. The usual hat, grip, and stance adjusting followed, and with no further preamble, Alfred swung, sending the ball flying along with a spray of grass and dirt. The impact sounded like a low-caliber gunshot, and he heard Arthur swear behind him in surprise.
They watched the airborne ball until it disappeared from view, and moments later, there was an eruption of noise from the phone, still on speaker.
“Well?!” Arthur shouted at the phone, Alfred waiting with baited breath. “Did he make it or not?!”
“You’re JOKING!!”
They heard nothing but shouting and laughter for a solid minute, until the phone chimed to let them know another video message had arrived, this time from Francis. Arthur opened it quickly, and the two of them watched as France blew a kiss to the camera, then turned the phone around just in time to see a red, white, and blue golf ball come tearing out of the sky, hit the turf, and bounce high above their heads before finally landing directly in the cup.
“… I. AM. SO. AWESOME.”
_
Gilbert & Co. weren’t heard from again for the remainder of their game (Alfred had a sneaking suspicion that it was due to a lack of cash), so the pair finished up without too many distractions, aside from Alfred’s constant commentary. They met no one to hold them up on the way into the clubhouse, and once the door to the locker room was shut behind them, he heard Arthur breathe a sigh of relief.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Alfred told him. “Hurry up and get your crap. We’re getting outta here ASAP.” He opened his locker and grabbed the suit and dress shoes inside (they’d come here straight from the meeting), but when he turned around, Arthur was seated on the bench, shoeless and in the process of un-tucking his shirt.
“I said don’t get cozy!” he accused. “You can change when we get back to the hotel!”
Arthur scowled at him, and started pulling his shirt up. “I’ll just be a minute. I don’t want to leave in these sweaty things,” he said, then gave him a smirk. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen off the course in that pink shirt anyway…”
Alfred glanced down at his attire, then gave the scowl right back. “This is salmon. Like the fish. The girl at Lacoste said it looked nice with my skin tone.” And naturally, he’d had to get the matching shorts (white with a salmonnotpink and springy green plaid pattern). He thought he looked pretty damn good, actually. The salesgirl had certainly said as much.
He was about to tell Arthur so, but the man just had to take that particular moment to whip his striped polo over his head, and look back up at him… sandy blond hair ruffled, face and chest glistening a bit with a light sheen of sweat…
Alfred’s golf bag, shoes, and neatly hung suit hit the floor, and he practically leapt across the gap between them and smashed their lips together, bumping his glasses up his nose and knocking the baseball cap off his head, but not caring in the slightest. Arthur’s startled mmff was ignored, but it turned into an eager hum as a gloved hand found its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. Alfred smiled and started to bring him closer, but Arthur pulled back a bit.
“Bit impatient, aren’t we?” he mumbled against Alfred’s lips.
“Not my fault. It’s built in.” Alfred kissed him again, briefly, and said, “I think we need that suite. Right now.”
Arthur hummed in agreement, then brought their lips back together-
And Alfred’s phone rang.
He hissed every curse he knew (including those in Spanish and French) as he dug his phone out of his pocket. It was Matt’s ringtone, the little maple-loving douche… If he didn’t pick it up, he knew his brother would call again and again, and then again until he answered. For the millionth time, he wished that whole Canadian invisibility thing worked over the phone, too.
“I hate you,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Love you, too, Al. Where are you? I said we needed to go over this paperwork for the meeting tomorrow-”
“When the hell did I agree to that?”
“Today. After I said, ‘Hey, we need to discuss this, eh?’ and you said, ‘Okaysurewhatever,’ and I said, ‘Okay I’ll see you later.’ That’s when.”
“Mattie, when I say ‘Okaysurewhatever,’ it means I wasn’t listening to you. You should be familiar with this concept by now. And also, I’m uh, kinda… busy.”
“Doing wha-merde, do not answer that. Hanging up now. Bye Arthur, since you’re obviously there.”
“Cheers.”
Alfred hung up and fell forward to rest his head on Arthur’s bare shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he whined. Sure, Matt was sufficiently frightened away for the evening, but judging by how things had gone so far, there would undoubtedly be something else to ruin their plans the minute they arrived at the hotel…
When they arrived at the hotel. Who said it had to be anytime in the near future?
“You know what?” he breathed against Arthur’s neck, a sudden idea striking him. “I think you need a shower.”
“Well, of course I do,” Arthur replied, offended. “You don’t smell all that lovely yourse-” He seemed to catch Alfred’s drift midsentence, and abruptly pushed him back.
Alfred gave him a faux-innocent smile.
“You are not suggesting what I’m assuming you’re suggesting. And you are not suggesting that we do what you aren’t suggesting in a public place.”
With another smile, he said, “It’s a private locker room.”
Arthur stared for a moment, then let a slow smirk creep over his face. “Is that so?” he said, reaching up to remove Alfred’s crookedly hanging glasses. “And how much exactly are you paying for this?”
“More than I care to admit,” Alfred replied. He used his teeth to pull the glove off his left hand, then helped Arthur to his feet before unceremoniously tossing his cell phone into the bottom of his still-open locker. A moment later, Arthur’s joined it, and he kicked the door shut.
“It’d be such a pity to let that go to waste, then.” Arthur’s hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it, and Alfred mimicked the action.
“Mm-hmm. Yeah, I think we need to take full advantage of the amenities,” Alfred purred as he continued to strip down.
Arthur stepped closer and helped him shrug out of his shirt before planting a row of kisses down his jaw. “It would only be fitting.”
“God, I knew I loved this country club,” Alfred said as Arthur grabbed his hand and pulled him along to the showers.
______
END
A/N: I have no idea where this came from. (headdesk)
Comments are always welcome, and thanks for reading! <3