[Fanfic] Courtship
Title: Courtship
Pairing: America/England
Genre: Fluff, Sap
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur does things properly. Courting Alfred should be no different.
Notes: Written as a (very, oh god so very) late Christmas Present for doomy_slasher as a thank you for being a most wondrous Beta, and for putting up with my awful grammar, poor tenses, and very sporadic writing.
There's something about Alfred that makes Arthur shiver inside. Maybe it's the way he blushes when Arthur reach for his hand? Or the innocent insisting of being fully clothed while sharing a bed? Oh, there's something about Alfred. From the first time Arthur had walked up and held his hand and asked, "Be mine?" he's been surprise after surprise. His stammered, "Yes," brought a smile to Arthur's face and they sealed it with a kiss.
That had been the first surprise - that for all his Hollywood films, the Sex Scandals and scantily clad women, Alfred kissed hesitantly, carefully and almost as if he was worried he'd be found lacking. Arthur could never find Alfred, golden, sweet Alfred lacking, especially when they were curled up on a couch, cuddling, Alfred carefully sliding a hand up and down his arms - almost like he couldn't believe the Englishman was really here.
"I don't - it's just," he whispered into the messy blond hair.
"I'll wait for you," Arthur promised him.
So Arthur set out to woo him, drawing on every trick he'd learned in his millennium of life. He would approach this new, delicate relation with all the honesty and dedication it deserved. He'd nurture it and care for it, and one day, Arthur, was determined, Alfred would fly for him . Alfred was a romantic at heart, and after all his years, well, Arthur could do romance as well as anyone else. First though, was a proper courtship.
First he sent the traditional gifts a man might send his beloved. Flowers of course - Red Roses, Purple Lilacs, Clover and Forget-Me-Nots would arrive on Alfred's desk, or on his door step, and once, with the help of his First Lady, a bouquet of flowers waited for him on Air Force One. The First Lady was kind enough to send pictures of Alfred with his nose buried in flowers, smiling the sort of smile one wears when one is being wooed.
"I approve of this very much," she told him later. "I haven't seen him smile like that in weeks."
His heart lifted by the way the month of flowers had been accepted, he met Alfred and his boss at the Washington Embassy. Hat in hand, the Englishman sat through the fifteen minute coffee break, sitting as close as he dared to Alfred, just talking. Alfred gleefully babbled on about a new invention meant to tap into geothermic energy, Arthur offered to help build it. He ducked his head and gave a quick smile at the offer.
"He hasn't stopped talking about him in days," Alfred's Boss sighed to his Boss later that night when the new President thought he couldn't hear the conversation. "You do realize I'm supposed to be safe guarding Alfred from the likes of him, right?"
Next, Arthur swallowed his pride and got Violet Candies from Francis, rich Chocolate from Belgium and some of Kiku's Pocky. Arthur weren't sure if he was aware of his intentions - Alfred'd never been on for the subtle approach - but the way he shyly touched the wrapped candies and looked around, searching for who left them, made him think that perhaps he was aware of what was going on. The slow, careful way he savored each one hit like a truck - Arthur had to excuse himself from the meeting to compose himself, risking Ludwig's wrath at being interrupted. When he come back, Alfred tugged him into a tight hug, burying his head in the crook of the neck where the shoulder met chest. At first every thing seems all right until he heard the muffled sniffle.
"No one's ever bothered this much," he whispered softly.
For the last gift he almost give up, but it's the thought of him clinging to Arthur, shocked someone would bother to woo him that made him determine to succeed. He thought perhaps he'd have to find a movie or something else, but as it turned out, Alfred had a large library and used it religiously. He found a small bookshop, run by a very odd man with a very strange name (what sort of man is named after an angel after all, and just who did that annoying slickly dressed gentleman think he was?), but with his assistance found a tooled leather bound copy of short Westerns by one of Alfred's most beloved authors, Louis L'Amour. Alfred's eyes lit up in pleasure as he discovered the book lying in wait for him. That entire meeting was oddly unproductive, as everyone kept staring at Alfred waiting for him to come up with an off the wall theory, rather then sitting there clutching his new book.
"I swear if you break his heart," Matthew hissed at Arthur from where he's just pinned him to the wall with that hockey stick of his. "Commonwealth or no, I will end you."
It wasn't until the next meeting, when they all went out for drinks afterward, almost four months later that he finally got to see Alfred again. They'd been exchanging letters - real ones, written on parchment, written with ink and pen. He'd written him soft poems, and a few rock songs or two. He was sent fantastic photos of the ocean, and stars in gloriously magnificent colors back in exchange. It was the one of the first times they'd really talked, not as nations but as themselves. He walked into the ballroom and see him at last. Alfred had been trying to better his relations with Europe, and his easy conversation with Francis shows that it's working. However, Francis had been hounding Arthur about his courtship of Alfred and the last thing he wanted was the Frenchman butting in.
With a quick cough to clear his throat, he asked, "May I have this dance?"
Francis leaned back and smiled as Alfred takes his hand. "Of course."
With the ease born of having danced in ballrooms practically since it was invented, he lead Alfred around the room, gently moving to the music. Both of them lost track of time as the music swayed on. It wasn't until the music stopped that Arthur realized it was midnight. Alfred was pressed close again, his head resting on his shoulder. It's a perfectly imperfect moment - the sounds of the party breaking up keeps interrupting the words he'd planned to say, but the stars are out, sparkling against the dark sky, and the two of them are standing next to a window overlooking the city.
Finally though, Arthur forces himself to let go. There's no use pretending the he's still dancing, not with Matthew waiting with a raised eyebrow, and an icy glare not even five feet away. Feeling a little guilty, they untangled themselves. He murmured softly to Alfred who didn't want to let him go.
"Good night, love."
Matthew leads Alfred away, and Francis swoops down on him and hauls him off for a lecture on properly courting one's beloved. In the end, he got his way and Francis goes to drown his sorrow at the 'unromantic English soul' with Gilbert who thinks the whole thing is just hilariously funny. He'd planned it all out - kept Francis from getting too annoying, managed to get on Alfred's Boss and his wife's good side, the Queen approved, and he even had Matthew's tactic approval.
Alfred had flown to England for a meeting about some thing or another, Arthur really didn't care one way or another. The meeting went much like he expected, with the politicians talking a great deal but saying very little. With paperwork up to his eyebrows, and no end in sight, he finally hauled the American off in disgust at the double talk. While it was rather improper, they spent the day together, walking the streets of London. Dinner was street food, bought and consumed nearly on the spot. Alfred grinned at him over the steaming cup of coffee he'd bought for the American, grumbling about taste - or the lack thereof. He smiled back, his breath caught in his throat at how openly gorgeous Alfred was like this. Arthur couldn't help it, he leaned forward and gently kissed him, lips barely touching. Alfred's mouth was still curled up in a smile. The lady who'd sold them their dinner laughed and told them to get on home - night was falling and lovers were better indoors no?
Neither one spoke very much on the way home, content to just walk together their hands tangled together as they wandered towards a warm home and a new beginning.
Pairing: America/England
Genre: Fluff, Sap
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur does things properly. Courting Alfred should be no different.
Notes: Written as a (very, oh god so very) late Christmas Present for doomy_slasher as a thank you for being a most wondrous Beta, and for putting up with my awful grammar, poor tenses, and very sporadic writing.
There's something about Alfred that makes Arthur shiver inside. Maybe it's the way he blushes when Arthur reach for his hand? Or the innocent insisting of being fully clothed while sharing a bed? Oh, there's something about Alfred. From the first time Arthur had walked up and held his hand and asked, "Be mine?" he's been surprise after surprise. His stammered, "Yes," brought a smile to Arthur's face and they sealed it with a kiss.
That had been the first surprise - that for all his Hollywood films, the Sex Scandals and scantily clad women, Alfred kissed hesitantly, carefully and almost as if he was worried he'd be found lacking. Arthur could never find Alfred, golden, sweet Alfred lacking, especially when they were curled up on a couch, cuddling, Alfred carefully sliding a hand up and down his arms - almost like he couldn't believe the Englishman was really here.
"I don't - it's just," he whispered into the messy blond hair.
"I'll wait for you," Arthur promised him.
So Arthur set out to woo him, drawing on every trick he'd learned in his millennium of life. He would approach this new, delicate relation with all the honesty and dedication it deserved. He'd nurture it and care for it, and one day, Arthur, was determined, Alfred would fly for him . Alfred was a romantic at heart, and after all his years, well, Arthur could do romance as well as anyone else. First though, was a proper courtship.
First he sent the traditional gifts a man might send his beloved. Flowers of course - Red Roses, Purple Lilacs, Clover and Forget-Me-Nots would arrive on Alfred's desk, or on his door step, and once, with the help of his First Lady, a bouquet of flowers waited for him on Air Force One. The First Lady was kind enough to send pictures of Alfred with his nose buried in flowers, smiling the sort of smile one wears when one is being wooed.
"I approve of this very much," she told him later. "I haven't seen him smile like that in weeks."
His heart lifted by the way the month of flowers had been accepted, he met Alfred and his boss at the Washington Embassy. Hat in hand, the Englishman sat through the fifteen minute coffee break, sitting as close as he dared to Alfred, just talking. Alfred gleefully babbled on about a new invention meant to tap into geothermic energy, Arthur offered to help build it. He ducked his head and gave a quick smile at the offer.
"He hasn't stopped talking about him in days," Alfred's Boss sighed to his Boss later that night when the new President thought he couldn't hear the conversation. "You do realize I'm supposed to be safe guarding Alfred from the likes of him, right?"
Next, Arthur swallowed his pride and got Violet Candies from Francis, rich Chocolate from Belgium and some of Kiku's Pocky. Arthur weren't sure if he was aware of his intentions - Alfred'd never been on for the subtle approach - but the way he shyly touched the wrapped candies and looked around, searching for who left them, made him think that perhaps he was aware of what was going on. The slow, careful way he savored each one hit like a truck - Arthur had to excuse himself from the meeting to compose himself, risking Ludwig's wrath at being interrupted. When he come back, Alfred tugged him into a tight hug, burying his head in the crook of the neck where the shoulder met chest. At first every thing seems all right until he heard the muffled sniffle.
"No one's ever bothered this much," he whispered softly.
For the last gift he almost give up, but it's the thought of him clinging to Arthur, shocked someone would bother to woo him that made him determine to succeed. He thought perhaps he'd have to find a movie or something else, but as it turned out, Alfred had a large library and used it religiously. He found a small bookshop, run by a very odd man with a very strange name (what sort of man is named after an angel after all, and just who did that annoying slickly dressed gentleman think he was?), but with his assistance found a tooled leather bound copy of short Westerns by one of Alfred's most beloved authors, Louis L'Amour. Alfred's eyes lit up in pleasure as he discovered the book lying in wait for him. That entire meeting was oddly unproductive, as everyone kept staring at Alfred waiting for him to come up with an off the wall theory, rather then sitting there clutching his new book.
"I swear if you break his heart," Matthew hissed at Arthur from where he's just pinned him to the wall with that hockey stick of his. "Commonwealth or no, I will end you."
It wasn't until the next meeting, when they all went out for drinks afterward, almost four months later that he finally got to see Alfred again. They'd been exchanging letters - real ones, written on parchment, written with ink and pen. He'd written him soft poems, and a few rock songs or two. He was sent fantastic photos of the ocean, and stars in gloriously magnificent colors back in exchange. It was the one of the first times they'd really talked, not as nations but as themselves. He walked into the ballroom and see him at last. Alfred had been trying to better his relations with Europe, and his easy conversation with Francis shows that it's working. However, Francis had been hounding Arthur about his courtship of Alfred and the last thing he wanted was the Frenchman butting in.
With a quick cough to clear his throat, he asked, "May I have this dance?"
Francis leaned back and smiled as Alfred takes his hand. "Of course."
With the ease born of having danced in ballrooms practically since it was invented, he lead Alfred around the room, gently moving to the music. Both of them lost track of time as the music swayed on. It wasn't until the music stopped that Arthur realized it was midnight. Alfred was pressed close again, his head resting on his shoulder. It's a perfectly imperfect moment - the sounds of the party breaking up keeps interrupting the words he'd planned to say, but the stars are out, sparkling against the dark sky, and the two of them are standing next to a window overlooking the city.
Finally though, Arthur forces himself to let go. There's no use pretending the he's still dancing, not with Matthew waiting with a raised eyebrow, and an icy glare not even five feet away. Feeling a little guilty, they untangled themselves. He murmured softly to Alfred who didn't want to let him go.
"Good night, love."
Matthew leads Alfred away, and Francis swoops down on him and hauls him off for a lecture on properly courting one's beloved. In the end, he got his way and Francis goes to drown his sorrow at the 'unromantic English soul' with Gilbert who thinks the whole thing is just hilariously funny. He'd planned it all out - kept Francis from getting too annoying, managed to get on Alfred's Boss and his wife's good side, the Queen approved, and he even had Matthew's tactic approval.
Alfred had flown to England for a meeting about some thing or another, Arthur really didn't care one way or another. The meeting went much like he expected, with the politicians talking a great deal but saying very little. With paperwork up to his eyebrows, and no end in sight, he finally hauled the American off in disgust at the double talk. While it was rather improper, they spent the day together, walking the streets of London. Dinner was street food, bought and consumed nearly on the spot. Alfred grinned at him over the steaming cup of coffee he'd bought for the American, grumbling about taste - or the lack thereof. He smiled back, his breath caught in his throat at how openly gorgeous Alfred was like this. Arthur couldn't help it, he leaned forward and gently kissed him, lips barely touching. Alfred's mouth was still curled up in a smile. The lady who'd sold them their dinner laughed and told them to get on home - night was falling and lovers were better indoors no?
Neither one spoke very much on the way home, content to just walk together their hands tangled together as they wandered towards a warm home and a new beginning.